Title: The Malay Archipelago, Volume 1 - The Land of the Orang-utan and the Bird of Paradise; A Narrative of Travel, with Studies of Man and Nature
Author: Wallace, Alfred Russel, 1823-1913
Language: English
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THE MALAY ARCHIPELAGO, VOLUME I. (of II.)

By Alfred Russel Wallace



     The land of the orang-utan, and the bird of paradise.

     A narrative of travel, with sketches of man and nature.



     To CHARLES DARWIN,

     AUTHOR OF "THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES,"

     I dedicate this book,
     Not only as a token of personal esteem and friendship
     But also
     To express my deep admiration
     For
     His genius and his works.



Contents

PREFACE.

THE MALAY ARCHIPELAGO.

   CHAPTER I.     PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
   CHAPTER II.    SINGAPORE.
   CHAPTER III.   MALACCA AND MOUNT OPHIR.
   CHAPTER IV.    BORNEO--THE ORANGUTAN.
   CHAPTER V.     BORNEO--JOURNEY INTO THE INTERIOR.
   CHAPTER VI.    BORNEO--THE DYAKS.
   CHAPTER VII.   JAVA.
   CHAPTER VIII.  SUMATRA.
   CHAPTER IX.    NATURAL HISTORY OF THE INDO-MALAY ISLANDS.
   CHAPTER X.     BALI AND LOMBOCK.
   CHAPTER XI.    LOMBOCK: MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF THE PEOPLE.
   CHAPTER XII.   LOMBOCK: HOW THE RAJAH TOOK THE CENSUS.
   CHAPTER XIII.  TIMOR.
   CHAPTER XIV.   THE NATURAL HISTORY OF THE TIMOR GROUP.
   CHAPTER XV.    CELEBES.
   CHAPTER XVI.   CELEBES.
   CHAPTER XVII.  CELEBES.
   CHAPTER XVIII. NATURAL HISTORY OF CELEBES.
   CHAPTER XIX.   BANDA.
   CHAPTER XX.    AMBOYNA.

     
PREFACE.

My readers will naturally ask why I have delayed writing this book
for six years after my return; and I feel bound to give them full
satisfaction on this point.

When I reached England in the spring of 1862, I found myself surrounded
by a room full of packing cases containing the collections that I had,
from time to time, sent home for my private use. These comprised nearly
three thousand bird-skins of about one thousand species, at least twenty
thousand beetles and butterflies of about seven thousand species, and
some quadrupeds and land shells besides. A large proportion of these
I had not seen for years, and in my then weakened state of health, the
unpacking, sorting, and arranging of such a mass of specimens occupied a
long time.

I very soon decided that until I had done something towards naming and
describing the most important groups in my collection, and had worked
out some of the more interesting problems of variation and geographical
distribution (of which I had had glimpses while collecting them), I
would not attempt to publish my travels. Indeed, I could have printed
my notes and journals at once, leaving all reference to questions of
natural history for a future work; but, I felt that this would be as
unsatisfactory to myself as it would be disappointing to my friends, and
uninstructive to the public.

Since my return, up to this date, I have published eighteen papers
in the "Transactions" or "Proceedings of the Linnean Zoological and
Entomological Societies", describing or cataloguing portions of my
collections, along with twelve others in various scientific periodicals
on more general subjects connected with them.

Nearly two thousand of my Coleoptera, and many hundreds of my
butterflies, have been already described by various eminent naturalists,
British and foreign; but a much larger number remains undescribed. Among
those to whom science is most indebted for this laborious work, I must
name Mr. F. P. Pascoe, late President of the Entomological Society of
London, who had almost completed the classification and description
of my large collection of Longicorn beetles (now in his possession),
comprising more than a thousand species, of which at least nine hundred
were previously undescribed and new to European cabinets.

The remaining orders of insects, comprising probably more than two
thousand species, are in the collection of Mr. William Wilson Saunders,
who has caused the larger portion of them to be described by good
entomologists. The Hymenoptera alone amounted to more than nine hundred
species, among which were two hundred and eighty different kinds of
ants, of which two hundred were new.

The six years' delay in publishing my travels thus enables me to give
what I hope may be an interesting and instructive sketch of the main
results yet arrived at by the study of my collections; and as the
countries I have to describe are not much visited or written about, and
their social and physical conditions are not liable to rapid change, I
believe and hope that my readers will gain much more than they will
lose by not having read my book six years ago, and by this time perhaps
forgotten all about it.

I must now say a few words on the plan of my work.

My journeys to the various islands were regulated by the seasons and
the means of conveyance. I visited some islands two or three times at
distant intervals, and in some cases had to make the same voyage four
times over. A chronological arrangement would have puzzled my readers.
They would never have known where they were, and my frequent references
to the groups of islands, classed in accordance with the peculiarities
of their animal productions and of their human inhabitants, would have
been hardly intelligible. I have adopted, therefore, a geographical,
zoological, and ethnological arrangement, passing from island to island
in what seems the most natural succession, while I transgress the order
in which I myself visited them, as little as possible.

I divide the Archipelago into five groups of islands, as follows:

I. THE INDO-MALAY ISLANDS: comprising the Malay Peninsula and Singapore,
Borneo, Java, and Sumatra.

II. THE TIMOR GROUP: comprising the islands of Timor, Flores, Sumbawa,
and Lombock, with several smaller ones.

III. CELEBES: comprising also the Sula Islands and Bouton.

IV. THE MOLUCCAN GROUP: comprising Bouru, Ceram, Batchian, Gilolo,
and Morty; with the smaller islands of Ternate, Tidore, Makian, Kaióa,
Amboyna, Banda, Goram, and Matabello.

V. THE PAPUAN GROUP: comprising the great island of New Guinea, with
the Aru Islands, Mysol, Salwatty, Waigiou, and several others. The Ke
Islands are described with this group on account of their ethnology,
though zoologically and geographically they belong to the Moluccas.

The chapters relating to the separate islands of each of these groups
are followed by one on the Natural History of that group; and the work
may thus be divided into five parts, each treating one of the natural
divisions of the Archipelago.

The first chapter is an introductory one, on the Physical Geography of
the whole region; and the last is a general sketch of the races of man
in the Archipelago and the surrounding countries. With this explanation,
and a reference to the maps which illustrate the work, I trust that my
readers will always know where they are, and in what direction they are
going.

I am well aware that my book is far too small for the extent of the
subjects it touches upon. It is a mere sketch; but so far as it goes,
I have endeavoured to make it an accurate one. Almost the whole of the
narrative and descriptive portions were written on the spot, and
have had little more than verbal alterations. The chapters on Natural
History, as well as many passages in other parts of the work, have been
written in the hope of exciting an interest in the various questions
connected with the origin of species and their geographical
distribution. In some cases I have been able to explain my views in
detail; while in others, owing to the greater complexity of the subject,
I have thought it better to confine myself to a statement of the more
interesting facts of the problem, whose solution is to be found in the
principles developed by Mr. Darwin in his various works. The numerous
illustrations will, it is believed, add much to the interest and value
of the book. They have been made from my own sketches, from photographs,
or from specimens--and such, only subjects that would really illustrate
the narrative or the descriptions, have been chosen.

I have to thank Messrs. Walter and Henry Woodbury, whose acquaintance
I had the pleasure of making in Java, for a number of photographs of
scenery and of natives, which have been of the greatest assistance to
me. Mr. William Wilson Saunders has kindly allowed me to figure the
curious horned flies; and to Mr. Pascoe I am indebted for a loan of
two of the very rare Longicorns which appear in the plate of Bornean
beetles. All the other specimens figured are in my own collection.

As the main object of all my journeys was to obtain specimens of natural
history, both for my private collection and to supply duplicates to
museums and amateurs, I will give a general statement of the number of
specimens I collected, and which reached home in good condition. I must
premise that I generally employed one or two, and sometimes three Malay
servants to assist me; and for nearly half the time had the services of
an English lad, Charles Allen. I was just eight years away from England,
but as I travelled about fourteen thousand miles within the Archipelago,
and made sixty or seventy separate journeys, each involving some
preparation and loss of time, I do not think that more than six years
were really occupied in collecting.

I find that my Eastern collections amounted to:


     310 specimens of Mammalia.
     100 specimens of Reptiles.
     8,050 specimens of Birds.
     7,500 specimens of Shells.
     13,100 specimens of Lepidoptera.
     83,200 specimens of Coleoptera.
     13,400 specimens of other Insects.

     125,660 specimens of natural history in all.

It now only remains for me to thank all those friends to whom I am
indebted for assistance or information. My thanks are more especially
due to the Council of the Royal Geographical Society, through whose
valuable recommendations I obtained important aid from our own
Government and from that of Holland; and to Mr. William Wilson Saunders,
whose kind and liberal encouragement in the early portion of my journey
was of great service to me. I am also greatly indebted to Mr. Samuel
Stevens (who acted as my agent), both for the care he took of my
collections, and for the untiring assiduity with which he kept me
supplied, both with useful information and with whatever necessaries I
required.

I trust that these, and all other friends who have been in any way
interested in my travels and collections, may derive from the perusal of
my book, some faint reflexion of the pleasures I myself enjoyed amid the
scenes and objects it describes.



THE MALAY ARCHIPELAGO.



CHAPTER I. PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.

From a look at a globe or a map of the Eastern hemisphere, we shall
perceive between Asia and Australia a number of large and small islands
forming a connected group distinct from those great masses of land, and
having little connection with either of them. Situated upon the Equator,
and bathed by the tepid water of the great tropical oceans, this region
enjoys a climate more uniformly hot and moist than almost any other part
of the globe, and teems with natural productions which are elsewhere
unknown. The richest of fruits and the most precious of spices are
Indigenous here. It produces the giant flowers of the Rafflesia, the
great green-winged Ornithoptera (princes among the butterfly tribes),
the man-like Orangutan, and the gorgeous Birds of Paradise. It is
inhabited by a peculiar and interesting race of mankind--the Malay,
found nowhere beyond the limits of this insular tract, which has hence
been named the Malay Archipelago.

To the ordinary Englishman this is perhaps the least known part of the
globe. Our possessions in it are few and scanty; scarcely any of our
travellers go to explore it; and in many collections of maps it is
almost ignored, being divided between Asia and the Pacific Islands. It
thus happens that few persons realize that, as a whole, it is comparable
with the primary divisions of the globe, and that some of its separate
islands are larger than France or the Austrian Empire. The traveller,
however, soon acquires different ideas. He sails for days or even weeks
along the shores of one of these great islands, often so great that its
inhabitants believe it to be a vast continent. He finds that voyages
among these islands are commonly reckoned by weeks and months, and that
their several inhabitants are often as little known to each other as are
the native races of the northern to those of the southern continent of
America. He soon comes to look upon this region as one apart from the
rest of the world, with its own races of men and its own aspects of
nature; with its own ideas, feelings, customs, and modes of speech, and
with a climate, vegetation, and animated life altogether peculiar to
itself.

From many points of view these islands form one compact geographical
whole, and as such they have always been treated by travellers and men
of science; but, a more careful and detailed study of them under various
aspects reveals the unexpected fact that they are divisible into two
portions nearly equal in extent which differ widely in their natural
products, and really form two parts of the primary divisions of the
earth. I have been able to prove this in considerable detail by
my observations on the natural history of the various parts of the
Archipelago; and, as in the description of my travels and residence in
the several islands I shall have to refer continually to this view, and
adduce facts in support of it, I have thought it advisable to commence
with a general sketch of the main features of the Malayan region as will
render the facts hereafter brought forward more interesting, and their
bearing upon the general question more easily understood. I proceed,
therefore, to sketch the limits and extent of the Archipelago, and to
point out the more striking features of its geology, physical geography,
vegetation, and animal life.

Definition and Boundaries.--For reasons which depend mainly on the
distribution of animal life, I consider the Malay Archipelago to include
the Malay Peninsula as far as Tenasserim and the Nicobar Islands on the
west, the Philippines on the north, and the Solomon Islands, beyond New
Guinea, on the east. All the great islands included within these limits
are connected together by innumerable smaller ones, so that no one
of them seems to be distinctly separated from the rest. With but few
exceptions all enjoy an uniform and very similar climate, and are
covered with a luxuriant forest vegetation. Whether we study their form
and distribution on maps, or actually travel from island to island, our
first impression will be that they form a connected whole, all the parts
of which are intimately related to each other.

Extent of the Archipelago and Islands.--The Malay Archipelago extends
for more than 4,000 miles in length from east to west, and is about
1,300 in breadth from north to south. It would stretch over an expanse
equal to that of all Europe from the extreme west far into Central Asia,
or would cover the widest parts of South America, and extend far beyond
the land into the Pacific and Atlantic oceans. It includes three islands
larger than Great Britain; and in one of them, Borneo, the whole of the
British Isles might be set down, and would be surrounded by a sea of
forests. New Guinea, though less compact in shape, is probably larger
than Borneo. Sumatra is about equal in extent to Great Britain; Java,
Luzon, and Celebes are each about the size of Ireland. Eighteen more
islands are, on the average, as large as Jamaica; more than a hundred
are as large as the Isle of Wight; while the isles and islets of smaller
size are innumerable.

The absolute extent of land in the Archipelago is not greater than that
contained by Western Europe from Hungary to Spain; but, owing to the
manner in which the land is broken up and divided, the variety of its
productions is rather in proportion to the immense surface over which
the islands are spread, than to the quantity of land which they contain.

Geological Contrasts.--One of the chief volcanic belts upon the globe
passes through the Archipelago, and produces a striking contrast in the
scenery of the volcanic and non-volcanic islands. A curving line, marked
out by scores of active, and hundreds of extinct, volcanoes may be
traced through the whole length of Sumatra and Java, and thence by the
islands of Bali, Lombock, Sumbawa, Flores, the Serwatty Islands, Banda,
Amboyna, Batchian, Makian, Tidore, Ternate, and Gilolo, to Morty Island.
Here there is a slight but well-marked break, or shift, of about 200
miles to the westward, where the volcanic belt begins again in North
Celebes, and passes by Siau and Sanguir to the Philippine Islands along
the eastern side of which it continues, in a curving line, to their
northern extremity. From the extreme eastern bend of this belt at Banda,
we pass onwards for 1,000 miles over a non-volcanic district to the
volcanoes observed by Dampier, in 1699, on the north-eastern coast
of New Guinea, and can there trace another volcanic belt through New
Britain, New Ireland, and the Solomon Islands, to the eastern limits of
the Archipelago.

In the whole region occupied by this vast line of volcanoes, and for a
considerable breadth on each side of it, earthquakes are of continual
recurrence, slight shocks being felt at intervals of every few weeks or
months, while more severe ones, shaking down whole villages, and doing
more or less injury to life and property, are sure to happen, in one
part or another of this district, almost every year. On many of the
islands the years of the great earthquakes form the chronological
epochs of the native inhabitants, by the aid of which the ages of their
children are remembered, and the dates of many important events are
determined.

I can only briefly allude to the many fearful eruptions that have taken
place in this region. In the amount of injury to life and property, and
in the magnitude of their effects, they have not been surpassed by
any upon record. Forty villages were destroyed by the eruption of
Papandayang in Java, in 1772, when the whole mountain was blown up by
repeated explosions, and a large lake left in its place. By the great
eruption of Tomboro in Sumbawa, in 1815, 12,000 people were destroyed,
and the ashes darkened the air and fell thickly upon the earth and sea
for 300 miles around. Even quite recently, since I left the country, a
mountain which had been quiescent for more than 200 years suddenly burst
into activity. The island of Makian, one of the Moluccas, was rent
open in 1646 by a violent eruption which left a huge chasm on one side,
extending into the heart of the mountain. It was, when I last visited
it in 1860, clothed with vegetation to the summit, and contained twelve
populous Malay villages. On the 29th of December, 1862, after 215 years
of perfect inaction, it again suddenly burst forth, blowing up and
completely altering the appearance of the mountain, destroying the
greater part of the inhabitants, and sending forth such volumes of ashes
as to darken the air at Ternate, forty miles off, and to almost entirely
destroy the growing crops on that and the surrounding islands.

The island of Java contains more volcanoes, active and extinct, than
any other known district of equal extent. They are about forty-five in
number, and many of them exhibit most beautiful examples of the volcanic
cone on a large scale, single or double, with entire or truncated
summits, and averaging 10,000 feet high.

It is now well ascertained that almost all volcanoes have been slowly
built up by the accumulation of matter--mud, ashes, and lava--ejected
by themselves. The openings or craters, however, frequently shift their
position, so that a country may be covered with a more or less irregular
series of hills in chains and masses, only here and there rising into
lofty cones, and yet the whole may be produced by true volcanic action.
In this manner the greater part of Java has been formed. There has been
some elevation, especially on the south coast, where extensive cliffs
of coral limestone are found; and there may be a substratum of older
stratified rocks; but still essentially Java is volcanic, and that noble
and fertile island--the very garden of the East, and perhaps upon the
whole the richest, the best cultivated, and the best governed tropical
island in the world--owes its very existence to the same intense
volcanic activity which still occasionally devastates its surface.

The great island of Sumatra exhibits, in proportion to its extent, a
much smaller number of volcanoes, and a considerable portion of it has
probably a non-volcanic origin.

To the eastward, the long string of islands from Java, passing by the
north of Timor and away to Banda, are probably all due to volcanic
action. Timor itself consists of ancient stratified rocks, but is said
to have one volcano near its centre.

Going northward, Amboyna, a part of Bouru, and the west end of Ceram,
the north part of Gilolo, and all the small islands around it, the
northern extremity of Celebes, and the islands of Siau and Sanguir, are
wholly volcanic. The Philippine Archipelago contains many active
and extinct volcanoes, and has probably been reduced to its present
fragmentary condition by subsidences attending on volcanic action.

All along this great line of volcanoes are to be found more or less
palpable signs of upheaval and depression of land. The range of islands
south of Sumatra, a part of the south coast of Java and of the islands
east of it, the west and east end of Timor, portions of all the
Moluccas, the Ke and Aru Islands, Waigiou, and the whole south and east
of Gilolo, consist in a great measure of upraised coral-rock, exactly
corresponding to that now forming in the adjacent seas. In many places
I have observed the unaltered surfaces of the elevated reefs, with great
masses of coral standing up in their natural position, and hundreds of
shells so fresh-looking that it was hard to believe that they had
been more than a few years out of the water; and, in fact, it is very
probable that such changes have occurred within a few centuries.

The united lengths of these volcanic belts is about ninety degrees,
or one-fourth of the entire circumference of the globe. Their width is
about fifty miles; but, for a space of two hundred miles on each side
of them, evidences of subterranean action are to be found in recently
elevated coral-rock, or in barrier coral-reefs, indicating recent
submergence. In the very centre or focus of the great curve of volcanoes
is placed the large island of Borneo, in which no sign of recent
volcanic action has yet been observed, and where earthquakes, so
characteristic of the surrounding regions, are entirely unknown. The
equally large island of New Guinea occupies another quiescent area,
on which no sign of volcanic action has yet been discovered. With the
exception of the eastern end of its northern peninsula, the large and
curiously-shaped island of Celebes is also entirely free from volcanoes;
and there is some reason to believe that the volcanic portion has once
formed a separate island. The Malay Peninsula is also non-volcanic.

The first and most obvious division of the Archipelago would therefore
be into quiescent and volcanic regions, and it might, perhaps, be
expected that such a division would correspond to some differences in
the character of the vegetation and the forms of life. This is the case,
however, to a very limited extent; and we shall presently see that,
although this development of subterranean fires is on so vast a
scale--has piled up chains of mountains ten or twelve thousand feet
high--has broken up continents and raised up islands from the ocean--yet
it has all the character of a recent action which has not yet succeeded
in obliterating the traces of a more ancient distribution of land and
water.

Contrasts of Vegetation.--Placed immediately upon the Equator and
surrounded by extensive oceans, it is not surprising that the various
islands of the Archipelago should be almost always clothed with a forest
vegetation from the level of the sea to the summits of the loftiest
mountains. This is the general rule. Sumatra, New Guinea, Borneo, the
Philippines and the Moluccas, and the uncultivated parts of Java and
Celebes, are all forest countries, except a few small and unimportant
tracts, due perhaps, in some cases, to ancient cultivation or accidental
fires. To this, however, there is one important exception in the island
of Timor and all the smaller islands around it, in which there is
absolutely no forest such as exists in the other islands, and this
character extends in a lesser degree to Flores, Sumbawa, Lombock, and
Bali.

In Timor the most common trees are Eucalypti of several species, also
characteristic of Australia, with sandalwood, acacia, and other sorts
in less abundance. These are scattered over the country more or less
thickly, but, never so as to deserve the name of a forest. Coarse
and scanty grasses grow beneath them on the more barren hills, and a
luxuriant herbage in the moister localities. In the islands between
Timor and Java there is often a more thickly wooded country abounding
in thorny and prickly trees. These seldom reach any great height, and
during the force of the dry season they almost completely lose
their leaves, allowing the ground beneath them to be parched up, and
contrasting strongly with the damp, gloomy, ever-verdant forests of the
other islands. This peculiar character, which extends in a less degree
to the southern peninsula of Celebes and the east end of Java, is most
probably owing to the proximity of Australia. The south-east monsoon,
which lasts for about two-thirds of the year (from March to November),
blowing over the northern parts of that country, produces a degree of
heat and dryness which assimilates the vegetation and physical aspect of
the adjacent islands to its own. A little further eastward in Timor and
the Ke Islands, a moister climate prevails; the southeast winds blowing
from the Pacific through Torres Straits and over the damp forests of New
Guinea, and as a consequence, every rocky islet is clothed with verdure
to its very summit. Further west again, as the same dry winds blow
over a wider and wider extent of ocean, they have time to absorb fresh
moisture, and we accordingly find the island of Java possessing a less
and less arid climate, until in the extreme west near Batavia, rain
occurs more or less all the year round, and the mountains are everywhere
clothed with forests of unexampled luxuriance.

Contrasts in Depth of Sea.--It was first pointed out by Mr. George
Windsor Earl, in a paper read before the Royal Geographical Society
in 1845, and subsequently in a pamphlet "On the Physical Geography
of South-Eastern Asia and Australia", dated 1855, that a shallow sea
connected the great islands of Sumatra, Java, and Borneo with the
Asiatic continent, with which their natural productions generally
agreed; while a similar shallow sea connected New Guinea and some of the
adjacent islands to Australia, all being characterised by the presence
of marsupials.

We have here a clue to the most radical contrast in the Archipelago, and
by following it out in detail I have arrived at the conclusion that
we can draw a line among the islands, which shall so divide them that
one-half shall truly belong to Asia, while the other shall no less
certainly be allied to Australia. I term these respectively the
Indo-Malayan and the Austro-Malayan divisions of the Archipelago.

On referring to pages 12, 13, and 36 of Mr. Earl's pamphlet, it will be
seen that he maintains the former connection of Asia and Australia as
an important part of his view; whereas, I dwell mainly on their
long continued separation. Notwithstanding this and other important
differences between us, to him undoubtedly belongs the merit of first
indicating the division of the Archipelago into an Australian and an
Asiatic region, which it has been my good fortune to establish by more
detailed observations.

Contrasts in Natural Productions.--To understand the importance of this
class of facts, and its bearing upon the former distribution of land and
sea, it is necessary to consider the results arrived at by geologists
and naturalists in other parts of the world.

It is now generally admitted that the present distribution of living
things on the surface of the earth is mainly the result of the last
series of changes that it has undergone. Geology teaches us that
the surface of the land, and the distribution of land and water, is
everywhere slowly changing. It further teaches us that the forms of life
which inhabit that surface have, during every period of which we possess
any record, been also slowly changing.

It is not now necessary to say anything about how either of those
changes took place; as to that, opinions may differ; but as to the fact
that the changes themselves have occurred, from the earliest geological
ages down to the present day, and are still going on, there is no
difference of opinion. Every successive stratum of sedimentary rock,
sand, or gravel, is a proof that changes of level have taken place; and
the different species of animals and plants, whose remains are found
in these deposits, prove that corresponding changes did occur in the
organic world.

Taking, therefore, these two series of changes for granted, most of the
present peculiarities and anomalies in the distribution of species may
be directly traced to them. In our own islands, with a very few trifling
exceptions, every quadruped, bird, reptile, insect, and plant, is found
also on the adjacent continent. In the small islands of Sardinia and
Corsica, there are some quadrupeds and insects, and many plants, quite
peculiar. In Ceylon, more closely connected to India than Britain is to
Europe, many animals and plants are different from those found in India,
and peculiar to the island. In the Galapagos Islands, almost every
indigenous living thing is peculiar to them, though closely resembling
other kinds found in the nearest parts of the American continent.

Most naturalists now admit that these facts can only be explained by
the greater or less lapse of time since the islands were upraised from
beneath the ocean, or were separated from the nearest land; and this
will be generally (though not always) indicated by the depth of the
intervening sea. The enormous thickness of many marine deposits through
wide areas shows that subsidence has often continued (with intermitting
periods of repose) during epochs of immense duration. The depth of sea
produced by such subsidence will therefore generally be a measure of
time; and in like manner, the change which organic forms have undergone
is a measure of time. When we make proper allowance for the continued
introduction of new animals and plants from surrounding countries by
those natural means of dispersal which have been so well explained by
Sir Charles Lyell and Mr. Darwin, it is remarkable how closely these two
measures correspond. Britain is separated from the continent by a very
shallow sea, and only in a very few cases have our animals or plants
begun to show a difference from the corresponding continental species.
Corsica and Sardinia, divided from Italy by a much deeper sea, present
a much greater difference in their organic forms. Cuba, separated from
Yucatan by a wider and deeper strait, differs more markedly, so that
most of its productions are of distinct and peculiar species; while
Madagascar, divided from Africa by a deep channel three hundred miles
wide, possesses so many peculiar features as to indicate separation at
a very remote antiquity, or even to render it doubtful whether the two
countries have ever been absolutely united.

Returning now to the Malay Archipelago, we find that all the wide
expanse of sea which divides Java, Sumatra, and Borneo from each other,
and from Malacca and Siam, is so shallow that ships can anchor in any
part of it, since it rarely exceeds forty fathoms in depth; and if we go
as far as the line of a hundred fathoms, we shall include the Philippine
Islands and Bali, east of Java. If, therefore, these islands have
been separated from each other and the continent by subsidence of the
intervening tracts of land, we should conclude that the separation
has been comparatively recent, since the depth to which the land has
subsided is so small. It is also to be remarked that the great chain
of active volcanoes in Sumatra and Java furnishes us with a sufficient
cause for such subsidence, since the enormous masses of matter they have
thrown out would take away the foundations of the surrounding district;
and this may be the true explanation of the often-noticed fact that
volcanoes and volcanic chains are always near the sea. The subsidence
they produce around them will, in time, make a sea, if one does not
already exist.

But, it is when we examine the zoology of these countries that we find
what we most require--evidence of a very striking character that these
great islands must have once formed a part of the continent, and could
only have been separated at a very recent geological epoch. The elephant
and tapir of Sumatra and Borneo, the rhinoceros of Sumatra and the
allied species of Java, the wild cattle of Borneo and the kind long
supposed to be peculiar to Java, are now all known to inhabit some part
or other of Southern Asia. None of these large animals could possibly
have passed over the arms of the sea which now separate these countries,
and their presence plainly indicates that a land communication must have
existed since the origin of the species. Among the smaller mammals, a
considerable portion are common to each island and the continent; but
the vast physical changes that must have occurred during the breaking up
and subsidence of such extensive regions have led to the extinction of
some in one or more of the islands, and in some cases there seems also
to have been time for a change of species to have taken place. Birds
and insects illustrate the same view, for every family and almost every
genus of these groups found in any of the islands occurs also on the
Asiatic continent, and in a great number of cases the species are
exactly identical. Birds offer us one of the best means of determining
the law of distribution; for though at first sight it would appear that
the watery boundaries which keep out the land quadrupeds could be easily
passed over by birds, yet practically it is not so; for if we leave out
the aquatic tribes which are pre-eminently wanderers, it is found that
the others (and especially the Passeres, or true perching-birds, which
form the vast majority) are generally as strictly limited by straits and
arms of the sea as are quadrupeds themselves. As an instance, among the
islands of which I am now speaking, it is a remarkable fact that Java
possesses numerous birds which never pass over to Sumatra, though they
are separated by a strait only fifteen miles wide, and with islands in
mid-channel. Java, in fact, possesses more birds and insects peculiar
to itself than either Sumatra or Borneo, and this would indicate that it
was earliest separated from the continent; next in organic individuality
is Borneo, while Sumatra is so nearly identical in all its animal forms
with the peninsula of Malacca, that we may safely conclude it to have
been the most recently dismembered island.

The general result therefore, at which we arrive, is that the great
islands of Java, Sumatra, and Borneo resemble in their natural
productions the adjacent parts of the continent, almost as much as such
widely-separated districts could be expected to do even if they still
formed a part of Asia; and this close resemblance, joined with the fact
of the wide extent of sea which separates them being so uniformly and
remarkably shallow, and lastly, the existence of the extensive range of
volcanoes in Sumatra and Java, which have poured out vast quantities
of subterranean matter and have built up extensive plateaux and lofty
mountain ranges, thus furnishing a vera causa for a parallel line of
subsidence--all lead irresistibly to the conclusion that at a very
recent geological epoch, the continent of Asia extended far beyond its
present limits in a south-easterly direction, including the islands of
Java, Sumatra, and Borneo, and probably reaching as far as the present
100-fathom line of soundings.

The Philippine Islands agree in many respects with Asia and the other
islands, but present some anomalies, which seem to indicate that they
were separated at an earlier period, and have since been subject to many
revolutions in their physical geography.

Turning our attention now to the remaining portion of the Archipelago,
we shall find that all the islands from Celebes and Lombock eastward
exhibit almost as close a resemblance to Australia and New Guinea as
the Western Islands do to Asia. It is well known that the natural
productions of Australia differ from those of Asia more than those of
any of the four ancient quarters of the world differ from each other.
Australia, in fact, stands alone: it possesses no apes or monkeys, no
cats or tigers, wolves, bears, or hyenas; no deer or antelopes, sheep or
oxen; no elephant, horse, squirrel, or rabbit; none, in short, of those
familiar types of quadruped which are met with in every other part
of the world. Instead of these, it has Marsupials only: kangaroos and
opossums; wombats and the duckbilled Platypus. In birds it is almost as
peculiar. It has no woodpeckers and no pheasants--families which
exist in every other part of the world; but instead of them it has the
mound-making brush-turkeys, the honeysuckers, the cockatoos, and the
brush-tongued lories, which are found nowhere else upon the globe. All
these striking peculiarities are found also in those islands which form
the Austro-Malayan division of the Archipelago.

The great contrast between the two divisions of the Archipelago is
nowhere so abruptly exhibited as on passing from the island of Bali to
that of Lombock, where the two regions are in closest proximity. In Bali
we have barbets, fruit-thrushes, and woodpeckers; on passing over to
Lombock these are seen no more, but we have abundance of cockatoos,
honeysuckers, and brush-turkeys, which are equally unknown in Bali, or
any island further west. [I was informed, however, that there were a
few cockatoos at one spot on the west of Bali, showing that the
intermingling of the productions of these islands is now going on.] The
strait is here fifteen miles wide, so that we may pass in two hours from
one great division of the earth to another, differing as essentially in
their animal life as Europe does from America. If we travel from Java
or Borneo to Celebes or the Moluccas, the difference is still more
striking. In the first, the forests abound in monkeys of many kinds,
wild cats, deer, civets, and otters, and numerous varieties of squirrels
are constantly met with. In the latter none of these occur; but the
prehensile-tailed Cuscus is almost the only terrestrial mammal seen,
except wild pigs, which are found in all the islands, and deer (which
have probably been recently introduced) in Celebes and the Moluccas. The
birds which are most abundant in the Western Islands are woodpeckers,
barbets, trogons, fruit-thrushes, and leaf-thrushes; they are seen
daily, and form the great ornithological features of the country. In
the Eastern Islands these are absolutely unknown, honeysuckers and small
lories being the most common birds, so that the naturalist feels himself
in a new world, and can hardly realize that he has passed from the one
region to the other in a few days, without ever being out of sight of
land.

The inference that we must draw from these facts is, undoubtedly, that
the whole of the islands eastwards beyond Java and Borneo do essentially
form a part of a former Australian or Pacific continent, although some
of them may never have been actually joined to it. This continent must
have been broken up not only before the Western Islands were separated
from Asia, but probably before the extreme southeastern portion of Asia
was raised above the waters of the ocean; for a great part of the
land of Borneo and Java is known to be geologically of quite recent
formation, while the very great difference of species, and in many cases
of genera also, between the productions of the Eastern Malay Islands and
Australia, as well as the great depth of the sea now separating them,
all point to a comparatively long period of isolation.

It is interesting to observe among the islands themselves how a shallow
sea always intimates a recent land connexion. The Aru Islands, Mysol,
and Waigiou, as well as Jobie, agree with New Guinea in their species of
mammalia and birds much more closely than they do with the Moluccas,
and we find that they are all united to New Guinea by a shallow sea.
In fact, the 100-fathom line round New Guinea marks out accurately the
range of the true Paradise birds.

It is further to be noted--and this is a very interesting point in
connection with theories of the dependence of special forms of life
on external conditions--that this division of the Archipelago into
two regions characterised by a striking diversity in their natural
productions does not in any way correspond to the main physical or
climatal divisions of the surface. The great volcanic chain runs through
both parts, and appears to produce no effect in assimilating their
productions. Borneo closely resembles New Guinea not only in its vast
size and its freedom from volcanoes, but in its variety of geological
structure, its uniformity of climate, and the general aspect of the
forest vegetation that clothes its surface. The Moluccas are the
counterpart of the Philippines in their volcanic structure, their
extreme fertility, their luxuriant forests, and their frequent
earthquakes; and Bali with the east end of Java has a climate almost
as dry and a soil almost as arid as that of Timor. Yet between these
corresponding groups of islands, constructed as it were after the same
pattern, subjected to the same climate, and bathed by the same oceans,
there exists the greatest possible contrast when we compare their animal
productions. Nowhere does the ancient doctrine--that differences
or similarities in the various forms of life that inhabit different
countries are due to corresponding physical differences or similarities
in the countries themselves--meet with so direct and palpable a
contradiction. Borneo and New Guinea, as alike physically as two
distinct countries can be, are zoologically wide as the poles asunder;
while Australia, with its dry winds, its open plains, its stony deserts,
and its temperate climate, yet produces birds and quadrupeds which are
closely related to those inhabiting the hot damp luxuriant forests,
which everywhere clothe the plains and mountains of New Guinea.

In order to illustrate more clearly the means by which I suppose this
great contrast has been brought about, let us consider what would occur
if two strongly contrasted divisions of the earth were, by natural
means, brought into proximity. No two parts of the world differ so
radically in their productions as Asia and Australia, but the difference
between Africa and South America is also very great, and these two
regions will well serve to illustrate the question we are considering.
On the one side we have baboons, lions, elephants, buffaloes, and
giraffes; on the other spider-monkeys, pumas, tapirs, anteaters,
and sloths; while among birds, the hornbills, turacos, orioles, and
honeysuckers of Africa contrast strongly with the toucans, macaws,
chatterers, and hummingbirds of America.

Now let us endeavour to imagine (what it is very probable may occur in
future ages) that a slow upheaval of the bed of the Atlantic should take
place, while at the same time earthquake-shocks and volcanic action on
the land should cause increased volumes of sediment to be poured down
by the rivers, so that the two continents should gradually spread out by
the addition of newly-formed lands, and thus reduce the Atlantic which
now separates them, to an arm of the sea a few hundred miles wide. At
the same time we may suppose islands to be upheaved in mid-channel; and,
as the subterranean forces varied in intensity, and shifted their points
of greatest action, these islands would sometimes become connected with
the land on one side or other of the strait, and at other times again be
separated from it. Several islands would at one time be joined together,
at another would be broken up again, until at last, after many long ages
of such intermittent action, we might have an irregular archipelago
of islands filling up the ocean channel of the Atlantic, in whose
appearance and arrangement we could discover nothing to tell us which
had been connected with Africa and which with America. The animals and
plants inhabiting these islands would, however, certainly reveal this
portion of their former history. On those islands which had ever formed
a part of the South American continent, we should be sure to find such
common birds as chatterers and toucans and hummingbirds, and some of the
peculiar American quadrupeds; while on those which had been separated
from Africa, hornbills, orioles, and honeysuckers would as certainly be
found. Some portion of the upraised land might at different times have
had a temporary connection with both continents, and would then contain
a certain amount of mixture in its living inhabitants. Such seems to
have been the case with the islands of Celebes and the Philippines.
Other islands, again, though in such close proximity as Bali and
Lombock, might each exhibit an almost unmixed sample of the productions
of the continents of which they had directly or indirectly once formed a
part.

In the Malay Archipelago we have, I believe, a case exactly parallel
to that which I have here supposed. We have indications of a vast
continent, with a peculiar fauna and flora having been gradually and
irregularly broken up; the island of Celebes probably marking its
furthest westward extension, beyond which was a wide ocean. At the
same time Asia appears to have been extending its limits in a southeast
direction, first in an unbroken mass, then separated into islands as
we now see it, and almost coming into actual contact with the scattered
fragments of the great southern land.

From this outline of the subject, it will be evident how important an
adjunct Natural History is to Geology; not only in interpreting
the fragments of extinct animals found in the earth's crust, but in
determining past changes in the surface which have left no geological
record. It is certainly a wonderful and unexpected fact that an accurate
knowledge of the distribution of birds and insects should enable us to
map out lands and continents which disappeared beneath the ocean long
before the earliest traditions of the human race. Wherever the geologist
can explore the earth's surface, he can read much of its past history,
and can determine approximately its latest movements above and below the
sea-level; but wherever oceans and seas now extend, he can do nothing
but speculate on the very limited data afforded by the depth of the
waters. Here the naturalist steps in, and enables him to fill up this
great gap in the past history of the earth.

One of the chief objects of my travels was to obtain evidence of this
nature; and my search after such evidence has been rewarded by great
success, so that I have been able to trace out with some probability the
past changes which one of the most interesting parts of the earth has
undergone. It may be thought that the facts and generalizations here
given would have been more appropriately placed at the end rather than
at the beginning of a narrative of the travels which supplied the facts.
In some cases this might be so, but I have found it impossible to give
such an account as I desire of the natural history of the numerous
islands and groups of islands in the Archipelago, without constant
reference to these generalizations which add so much to their interest.
Having given this general sketch of the subject, I shall be able to show
how the same principles can be applied to the individual islands of a
group, as to the whole Archipelago; and thereby make my account of the
many new and curious animals which inhabit them both, more interesting
and more instructive than if treated as mere isolated facts.

Contrasts of Races.--Before I had arrived at the conviction that the
eastern and western halves of the Archipelago belonged to distinct
primary regions of the earth, I had been led to group the natives of the
Archipelago under two radically distinct races. In this I differed from
most ethnologists who had before written on the subject; for it had
been the almost universal custom to follow William von Humboldt and
Pritchard, in classing all the Oceanic races as modifications of one
type. Observation soon showed me, however, that Malays and Papuans
differed radically in every physical, mental, and moral character; and
more detailed research, continued for eight years, satisfied me that
under these two forms, as types, the whole of the peoples of the Malay
Archipelago and Polynesia could be classified. On drawing the line which
separates these races, it is found to come near to that which divides
the zoological regions, but somewhat eastward of it; a circumstance
which appears to me very significant of the same causes having
influenced the distribution of mankind that have determined the range of
other animal forms.

The reason why exactly the same line does not limit both is sufficiently
intelligible. Man has means of traversing the sea which animals do not
possess; and a superior race has power to press out or assimilate an
inferior one. The maritime enterprise and higher civilization of the
Malay races have enabled them to overrun a portion of the adjacent
region, in which they have entirely supplanted the indigenous
inhabitants if it ever possessed any; and to spread much of their
language, their domestic animals, and their customs far over the
Pacific, into islands where they have but slightly, or not at all,
modified the physical or moral characteristics of the people.

I believe, therefore, that all the peoples of the various islands can be
grouped either with the Malays or the Papuans; and that these two have
no traceable affinity to each other. I believe, further, that all the
races east of the line I have drawn have more affinity for each other
than they have for any of the races west of that line; that, in fact,
the Asiatic races include the Malays, and all have a continental origin,
while the Pacific races, including all to the east of the former
(except perhaps some in the Northern Pacific), are derived, not from
any existing continent, but from lands which now exist or have recently
existed in the Pacific Ocean. These preliminary observations will enable
the reader better to apprehend the importance I attach to the details of
physical form or moral character, which I shall give in describing the
inhabitants of many of the islands.



CHAPTER II. SINGAPORE.

 (A SKETCH OF THE TOWN AND ISLAND AS SEEN DURING SEVERAL VISITS FROM 1854 TO 1862.)

FEW places are more interesting to a traveller from Europe than the town
and island of Singapore, furnishing, as it does, examples of a variety
of Eastern races, and of many different religions and modes of life. The
government, the garrison, and the chief merchants are English; but
the great mass of the population is Chinese, including some of the
wealthiest merchants, the agriculturists of the interior, and most of
the mechanics and labourers. The native Malays are usually fishermen and
boatmen, and they form the main body of the police. The Portuguese of
Malacca supply a large number of the clerks and smaller merchants. The
Klings of Western India are a numerous body of Mahometans, and,
with many Arabs, are petty merchants and shopkeepers. The grooms and
washermen are all Bengalees, and there is a small but highly respectable
class of Parsee merchants. Besides these, there are numbers of Javanese
sailors and domestic servants, as well as traders from Celebes, Bali,
and many other islands of the Archipelago. The harbour is crowded with
men-of-war and trading vessels of many European nations, and hundreds
of Malay praus and Chinese junks, from vessels of several hundred tons
burthen down to little fishing boats and passenger sampans; and the town
comprises handsome public buildings and churches, Mahometan mosques,
Hindu temples, Chinese joss-houses, good European houses, massive
warehouses, queer old Kling and China bazaars, and long suburbs of
Chinese and Malay cottages.

By far the most conspicuous of the various kinds of people in Singapore,
and those which most attract the stranger's attention, are the Chinese,
whose numbers and incessant activity give the place very much the
appearance of a town in China. The Chinese merchant is generally a fat
round-faced man with an important and business-like look. He wears the
same style of clothing (loose white smock, and blue or black trousers)
as the meanest coolie, but of finer materials, and is always clean and
neat; and his long tail tipped with red silk hangs down to his heels.
He has a handsome warehouse or shop in town and a good house in the
country. He keeps a fine horse and gig, and every evening may be seen
taking a drive bareheaded to enjoy the cool breeze. He is rich--he
owns several retail shops and trading schooners, he lends money at high
interest and on good security, he makes hard bargains, and gets fatter
and richer every year.

In the Chinese bazaar are hundreds of small shops in which a
miscellaneous collection of hardware and dry goods are to be found, and
where many things are sold wonderfully cheap. You may buy gimlets at
a penny each, white cotton thread at four balls for a halfpenny, and
penknives, corkscrews, gunpowder, writing-paper, and many other
articles as cheap or cheaper than you can purchase them in England. The
shopkeeper is very good-natured; he will show you everything he has, and
does not seem to mind if you buy nothing. He bates a little, but not so
much as the Klings, who almost always ask twice what they are willing to
take. If you buy a few things from him, he will speak to you afterwards
every time you pass his shop, asking you to walk in and sit down, or
take a cup of tea; and you wonder how he can get a living where so many
sell the same trifling articles.

The tailors sit at a table, not on one; and both they and the shoemakers
work well and cheaply. The barbers have plenty to do, shaving heads and
cleaning ears; for which latter operation they have a great array of
little tweezers, picks, and brushes. In the outskirts of the town are
scores of carpenters and blacksmiths. The former seem chiefly to make
coffins and highly painted and decorated clothes-boxes. The latter are
mostly gun-makers, and bore the barrels of guns by hand out of solid
bars of iron. At this tedious operation they may be seen every day, and
they manage to finish off a gun with a flintlock very handsomely. All
about the streets are sellers of water, vegetables, fruit, soup,
and agar-agar (a jelly made of seaweed), who have many cries
as unintelligible as those of London. Others carry a portable
cooking-apparatus on a pole balanced by a table at the other end, and
serve up a meal of shellfish, rice, and vegetables for two or three
halfpence--while coolies and boatmen waiting to be hired are everywhere
to be met with.

In the interior of the island the Chinese cut down forest trees in the
jungle, and saw them up into planks; they cultivate vegetables, which
they bring to market; and they grow pepper and gambir, which form
important articles of export. The French Jesuits have established
missions among these inland Chinese, which seem very successful. I lived
for several weeks at a time with the missionary at Bukit-tima, about the
centre of the island, where a pretty church has been built and there are
about 300 converts. While there, I met a missionary who had just arrived
from Tonquin, where he had been living for many years. The Jesuits still
do their work thoroughly as of old. In Cochin China, Tonquin, and China,
where all Christian teachers are obliged to live in secret, and
are liable to persecution, expulsion, and sometimes death, every
province--even those farthest in the interior--has a permanent Jesuit
mission establishment constantly kept up by fresh aspirants, who are
taught the languages of the countries they are going to at Penang or
Singapore. In China there are said to be near a million converts; in
Tonquin and Cochin China, more than half a million. One secret of
the success of these missions is the rigid economy practised in the
expenditure of the funds. A missionary is allowed about £30. a year, on
which he lives in whatever country he may be. This renders it possible
to support a large number of missionaries with very limited means; and
the natives, seeing their teachers living in poverty and with none of
the luxuries of life, are convinced that they are sincere in what they
teach, and have really given up home and friends and ease and safety,
for the good of others. No wonder they make converts, for it must be a
great blessing to the poor people among whom they labour to have a man
among them to whom they can go in any trouble or distress, who will
comfort and advise them, who visits them in sickness, who relieves
them in want, and who they see living from day-to-day in danger of
persecution and death--entirely for their sakes.

My friend at Bukit-tima was truly a father to his flock. He preached
to them in Chinese every Sunday, and had evenings for discussion and
conversation on religion during the week. He had a school to teach their
children. His house was open to them day and night. If a man came to him
and said, "I have no rice for my family to eat today," he would give
him half of what he had in the house, however little that might be. If
another said, "I have no money to pay my debt," he would give him half
the contents of his purse, were it his last dollar. So, when he was
himself in want, he would send to some of the wealthiest among his
flock, and say, "I have no rice in the house," or "I have given away my
money, and am in want of such and such articles." The result was that
his flock trusted and loved him, for they felt sure that he was their
true friend, and had no ulterior designs in living among them.

The island of Singapore consists of a multitude of small hills, three or
four hundred feet high, the summits of many of which are still covered
with virgin forest. The mission-house at Bukit-tima was surrounded
by several of these wood-topped hills, which were much frequented by
woodcutters and sawyers, and offered me an excellent collecting ground
for insects. Here and there, too, were tiger pits, carefully covered
over with sticks and leaves, and so well concealed, that in several
cases I had a narrow escape from falling into them. They are shaped
like an iron furnace, wider at the bottom than the top, and are perhaps
fifteen or twenty feet deep so that it would be almost impossible for
a person unassisted to get out of one. Formerly a sharp stake was stuck
erect in the bottom; but after an unfortunate traveller had been killed
by falling on one, its use was forbidden. There are always a few tigers
roaming about Singapore, and they kill on an average a Chinaman every
day, principally those who work in the gambir plantations, which are
always made in newly-cleared jungle. We heard a tiger roar once or twice
in the evening, and it was rather nervous work hunting for insects among
the fallen trunks and old sawpits when one of these savage animals might
be lurking close by, awaiting an opportunity to spring upon us.

Several hours in the middle of every fine day were spent in these
patches of forest, which were delightfully cool and shady by contrast
with the bare open country we had to walk over to reach them. The
vegetation was most luxuriant, comprising enormous forest trees, as well
as a variety of ferns, caladiums, and other undergrowth, and abundance
of climbing rattan palms. Insects were exceedingly abundant and very
interesting, and every day furnished scores of new and curious forms.

In about two months I obtained no less than 700 species of beetles,
a large proportion of which were quite new, and among them were 130
distinct kinds of the elegant Longicorns (Cerambycidae), so much
esteemed by collectors. Almost all these were collected in one patch of
jungle, not more than a square mile in extent, and in all my subsequent
travels in the East I rarely if ever met with so productive a spot. This
exceeding productiveness was due in part no doubt to some favourable
conditions in the soil, climate, and vegetation, and to the season being
very bright and sunny, with sufficient showers to keep everything
fresh. But it was also in a great measure dependent, I feel sure, on
the labours of the Chinese wood-cutters. They had been at work here for
several years, and during all that time had furnished a continual supply
of dry and dead and decaying leaves and bark, together with abundance of
wood and sawdust, for the nourishment of insects and their larvae. This
had led to the assemblage of a great variety of species in a limited
space, and I was the first naturalist who had come to reap the harvest
they had prepared. In the same place, and during my walks in other
directions, I obtained a fair collection of butterflies and of other
orders of insects, so that on the whole I was quite satisfied with
these--my first attempts to gain a knowledge of the Natural History of
the Malay Archipelago.



CHAPTER III. MALACCA AND MOUNT OPHIR.

 (JULY TO SEPTEMBER, 1854.)

BIRDS and most other kinds of animals being scarce at Singapore, I
left it in July for Malacca, where I spent more than two months in the
interior, and made an excursion to Mount Ophir. The old and picturesque
town of Malacca is crowded along the banks of the small river, and
consists of narrow streets of shops and dwelling houses, occupied by the
descendants of the Portuguese, and by Chinamen. In the suburbs are
the houses of the English officials and of a few Portuguese merchants,
embedded in groves of palms and fruit-trees, whose varied and beautiful
foliage furnishes a pleasing relief to the eye, as well as most grateful
shade.

The old fort, the large Government House, and the ruins of a cathedral
attest the former wealth and importance of this place, which was once
as much the centre of Eastern trade as Singapore is now. The following
description of it by Linschott, who wrote two hundred and seventy years
ago, strikingly exhibits the change it has undergone:

"Malacca is inhabited by the Portuguese and by natives of the country,
called Malays. The Portuguese have here a fortress, as at Mozambique,
and there is no fortress in all the Indies, after those of Mozambique
and Ormuz, where the captains perform their duty better than in this
one. This place is the market of all India, of China, of the Moluccas,
and of other islands around about--from all which places, as well
as from Banda, Java, Sumatra, Siam, Pegu, Bengal, Coromandel, and
India--arrive ships which come and go incessantly, charged with an
infinity of merchandises. There would be in this place a much greater
number of Portuguese if it were not for the inconvenience, and
unhealthiness of the air, which is hurtful not only to strangers, but
also to natives of the country. Thence it is that all who live in the
country pay tribute of their health, suffering from a certain disease,
which makes them lose either their skin or their hair. And those who
escape consider it a miracle, which occasions many to leave the country,
while the ardent desire of gain induces others to risk their health, and
endeavour to endure such an atmosphere. The origin of this town, as the
natives say, was very small, only having at the beginning, by reason of
the unhealthiness of the air, but six or seven fishermen who inhabited
it. But the number was increased by the meeting of fishermen from Siam,
Pegu, and Bengal, who came and built a city, and established a peculiar
language, drawn from the most elegant modes of speaking of other
nations, so that in fact the language of the Malays is at present the
most refined, exact, and celebrated of all the East. The name of Malacca
was given to this town, which, by the convenience of its situation, in
a short time grew to such wealth, that it does not yield to the most
powerful towns and regions around about. The natives, both men and
women, are very courteous and are reckoned the most skillful in the
world in compliments, and study much to compose and repeat verses and
love-songs. Their language is in vogue through the Indies, as the French
is here."

At present, a vessel over a hundred tons hardly ever enters its port,
and the trade is entirely confined to a few petty products of the
forests, and to the fruit, which the trees, planted by the old
Portuguese, now produce for the enjoyment of the inhabitants of
Singapore. Although rather subject to fevers, it is not at present
considered very unhealthy.

The population of Malacca consists of several races. The ubiquitous
Chinese are perhaps the most numerous, keeping up their manners,
customs, and language; the indigenous Malays are next in point of
numbers, and their language is the Lingua-franca of the place. Next come
the descendants of the Portuguese--a mixed, degraded, and degenerate
race, but who still keep up the use of their mother tongue, though
ruefully mutilated in grammar; and then there are the English rulers,
and the descendants of the Dutch, who all speak English. The Portuguese
spoken at Malacca is a useful philological phenomenon. The verbs have
mostly lost their inflections, and one form does for all moods, tenses,
numbers, and persons. Eu vai, serves for "I go," "I went," or, "I will
go." Adjectives, too, have been deprived of their feminine and
plural terminations, so that the language is reduced to a marvellous
simplicity, and, with the admixture of a few Malay words, becomes rather
puzzling to one who has heard only the pure Lusitanian.

In costume these several peoples are as varied as in their speech. The
English preserve the tight-fitting coat, waistcoat, and trousers, and
the abominable hat and cravat; the Portuguese patronise a light jacket,
or, more frequently, shirt and trousers only; the Malays wear their
national jacket and sarong (a kind of kilt), with loose drawers; while
the Chinese never depart in the least from their national dress, which,
indeed, it is impossible to improve for a tropical climate, whether as
regards comfort or appearance. The loosely-hanging trousers, and neat
white half-shirt half-jacket, are exactly what a dress should be in this
low latitude.

I engaged two Portuguese to accompany me into the interior; one as
a cook, the other to shoot and skin birds, which is quite a trade in
Malacca. I first stayed a fortnight at a village called Gading, where
I was accommodated in the house of some Chinese converts, to whom I was
recommended by the Jesuit missionaries. The house was a mere shed, but
it was kept clean, and I made myself sufficiently comfortable. My
hosts were forming a pepper and gambir plantation, and in the immediate
neighbourhood were extensive tin-washings, employing over a thousand
Chinese. The tin is obtained in the form of black grains from beds of
quartzose sand, and is melted into ingots in rude clay furnaces. The
soil seemed poor, and the forest was very dense with undergrowth, and
not at all productive of insects; but, on the other hand, birds were
abundant, and I was at once introduced to the rich ornithological
treasures of the Malayan region.

The very first time I fired my gun I brought down one of the most
curious and beautiful of the Malacca birds, the blue-billed gaper
(Cymbirhynchus macrorhynchus), called by the Malays the "Rainbird." It
is about the size of a starling, black and rich claret colour with
white shoulder stripes, and a very large and broad bill of the most pure
cobalt blue above and orange below, while the iris is emerald green.
As the skins dry the bill turns dull black, but even then the bird is
handsome. When fresh killed, the contrast of the vivid blue with the
rich colours of the plumage is remarkably striking and beautiful.
The lovely Eastern trogons, with their rich-brown backs, beautifully
pencilled wings, and crimson breasts, were also soon obtained, as well
as the large green barbets (Megalaema versicolor)--fruit-eating birds,
something like small toucans, with a short, straight bristly bill, and
whose head and neck are variegated with patches of the most vivid blue
and crimson. A day or two after, my hunter brought me a specimen of
the green gaper (Calyptomena viridis), which is like a small
cock-of-the-rock, but entirely of the most vivid green, delicately
marked on the wings with black bars. Handsome woodpeckers and gay
kingfishers, green and brown cuckoos with velvety red faces and green
beaks, red-breasted doves and metallic honeysuckers, were brought in day
after day, and kept me in a continual state of pleasurable excitement.
After a fortnight one of my servants was seized with fever, and on
returning to Malacca, the same disease, attacked the other as well as
myself. By a liberal use of quinine, I soon recovered, and obtaining
other men, went to stay at the Government bungalow of Ayer-panas,
accompanied by a young gentleman, a native of the place, who had a taste
for natural history.

At Ayer-panas we had a comfortable house to stay in, and plenty of
room to dry and preserve our specimens; but, owing to there being no
industrious Chinese to cut down timber, insects were comparatively
scarce, with the exception of butterflies, of which I formed a very fine
collection. The manner in which I obtained one fine insect was curious,
and indicates how fragmentary and imperfect a traveller's collection
must necessarily be. I was one afternoon walking along a favourite road
through the forest, with my gun, when I saw a butterfly on the ground.
It was large, handsome, and quite new to me, and I got close to it
before it flew away. I then observed that it had been settling on the
dung of some carnivorous animal. Thinking it might return to the same
spot, I next day after breakfast took my net, and as I approached the
place was delighted to see the same butterfly sitting on the same piece
of dung, and succeeded in capturing it. It was an entirely new species
of great beauty, and has been named by Mr. Hewitson--Nymphalis calydona.
I never saw another specimen of it, and it was only after twelve years
had elapsed that a second individual reached this country from the
northwestern part of Borneo.

Having determined to visit Mount Ophir, which is situated in the middle
of the peninsula about fifty miles east of Malacca, we engaged six
Malays to accompany us and carry our baggage. As we meant to stay at
least a week at the mountain, we took with us a good supply of rice, a
little biscuit, butter and coffee, some dried fish and a little brandy,
with blankets, a change of clothes, insect and bird boxes, nets, guns
and ammunition. The distance from Ayer-panas was supposed to be about
thirty miles.

Our first day's march lay through patches of forest, clearings, and
Malay villages, and was pleasant enough. At night we slept at the house
of a Malay chief, who lent us a verandah, and gave us a fowl and some
eggs. The next day the country got wilder and more hilly. We passed
through extensive forests, along paths often up to our knees in mud,
and were much annoyed by the leeches for which this district is famous.
These little creatures infest the leaves and herbage by the side of the
paths, and when a passenger comes along they stretch themselves out at
full length, and if they touch any part of his dress or body, quit their
leaf and adhere to it. They then creep on to his feet, legs, or other
part of his body and suck their fill, the first puncture being rarely
felt during the excitement of walking. On bathing in the evening we
generally found half a dozen or a dozen on each of us, most frequently
on our legs, but sometimes on our bodies, and I had one who sucked his
fill from the side of my neck, but who luckily missed the jugular vein.
There are many species of these forest leeches. All are small, but some
are beautifully marked with stripes of bright yellow. They probably
attach themselves to deer or other animals which frequent the forest
paths, and have thus acquired the singular habit of stretching
themselves out at the sound of a footstep or of rustling foliage. Early
in the afternoon we reached the foot of the mountain, and encamped by
the side of a fine stream, whose rocky banks were overgrown with
ferns. Our oldest Malay had been accustomed to shoot birds in this
neighbourhood for the Malacca dealers, and had been to the top of the
mountain, and while we amused ourselves shooting and insect hunting, he
went with two others to clear the path for our ascent the next day.

Early next morning we started after breakfast, carrying blankets and
provisions, as we intended to sleep upon the mountain. After passing
a little tangled jungle and swampy thickets through which our men had
cleared a path, we emerged into a fine lofty forest pretty clear of
undergrowth, and in which we could walk freely. We ascended steadily up
a moderate slope for several miles, having a deep ravine on our left.
We then had a level plateau or shoulder to cross, after which the
ascent was steeper and the forest denser until we came out upon the
"Padang-batu," or stone field, a place of which we had heard much, but
could never get anyone to describe intelligibly. We found it to be a
steep slope of even rock, extending along the mountain side farther than
we could see. Parts of it were quite bare, but where it was cracked and
fissured there grew a most luxuriant vegetation, among which the pitcher
plants were the most remarkable. These wonderful plants never seem to
succeed well in our hot-houses, and are there seen to little advantage.
Here they grew up into half climbing shrubs, their curious pitchers
of various sizes and forms hanging abundantly from their leaves, and
continually exciting our admiration by their size and beauty. A few
coniferae of the genus Dacrydium here first appeared, and in the
thickets just above the rocky surface we walked through groves of those
splendid ferns Dipteris Horsfieldii and Matonia pectinata, which bear
large spreading palmate fronds on slender stems six or eight feet high.
The Matonia is the tallest and most elegant, and is known only from this
mountain, and neither of them is yet introduced into our hot-houses.

It was very striking to come out from the dark, cool, and shady forest
in which we had been ascending since we started, on to this hot, open
rocky slope where we seemed to have entered at one step from a lowland
to an alpine vegetation. The height, as measured by a sympiesometer, was
about 2,800 feet. We had been told we should find water at Padang-batu
as we were exceedingly thirsty; but we looked about for it in vain. At
last we turned to the pitcher-plants, but the water contained in the
pitchers (about half a pint in each) was full of insects, and otherwise
uninviting. On tasting it, however, we found it very palatable though
rather warm, and we all quenched our thirst from these natural jugs.
Farther on we came to forest again, but of a more dwarf and stunted
character than below; and alternately passing along ridges and
descending into valleys, we reached a peak separated from the true
summit of the mountain by a considerable chasm. Here our porters gave
in, and declared they could carry their loads no further; and certainly
the ascent to the highest peak was very precipitous. But on the spot
where we were there was no water, whereas it was well known that there
was a spring close to the summit, so we determined to go on without
them, and carry with us only what was absolutely necessary. We
accordingly took a blanket each, and divided our food and other articles
among us, and went on with only the old Malay and his son.

After descending into the saddle between the two peaks we found the
ascent very laborious, the slope being so steep, as often to necessitate
hand-climbing. Besides a bushy vegetation the ground was covered
knee-deep with mosses on a foundation of decaying leaves and rugged
rock, and it was a hard hour's climb to the small ledge just below the
summit, where an overhanging rock forms a convenient shelter, and a
little basin collects the trickling water. Here we put down our loads,
and in a few minutes more stood on the summit of Mount Ophir, 4,000
feet above the sea. The top is a small rocky platform covered with
rhododendrons and other shrubs. The afternoon was clear, and the view
fine in its way--ranges of hill and valley everywhere covered with
interminable forest, with glistening rivers winding among them.

In a distant view a forest country is very monotonous, and no mountain I
have ever ascended in the tropics presents a panorama equal to that from
Snowdon, while the views in Switzerland are immeasurably superior.
When boiling our coffee I took observations with a good boiling-point
thermometer, as well as with the sympiesometer, and we then enjoyed our
evening meal and the noble prospect that lay before us. The night was
calm and very mild, and having made a bed of twigs and branches over
which we laid our blankets, we passed a very comfortable night. Our
porters had followed us after a rest, bringing only their rice to cook,
and luckily we did not require the baggage they left behind them. In the
morning I caught a few butterflies and beetles, and my friend got a few
land-shells; and we then descended, bringing with us some specimens of
the ferns and pitcher-plants of Padang-batu.

The place where we had first encamped at the foot of the mountain being
very gloomy, we chose another in a kind of swamp near a stream overgrown
with Zingiberaceous plants, in which a clearing was easily made. Here
our men built two little huts without sides that would just shelter us
from the rain; we lived in them for a week, shooting and insect-hunting,
and roaming about the forests at the foot of the mountain. This was the
country of the great Argus pheasant, and we continually heard its cry.
On asking the old Malay to try and shoot one for me, he told me that
although he had been for twenty years shooting birds in these forests he
had never yet shot one, and had never even seen one except after it had
been caught. The bird is so exceedingly shy and wary, and runs along
the ground in the densest parts of the forest so quickly, that it is
impossible to get near it; and its sober colours and rich eye-like
spots, which are so ornamental when seen in a museum, must harmonize
well with the dead leaves among which it dwells, and render it very
inconspicuous. All the specimens sold in Malacca are caught in snares,
and my informant, though he had shot none, had snared plenty.

The tiger and rhinoceros are still found here, and a few years ago
elephants abounded, but they have lately all disappeared. We found some
heaps of dung, which seemed to be that of elephants, and some tracks of
the rhinoceros, but saw none of the animals. However, we kept a fire up
all night in case any of these creatures should visit us, and two of our
men declared that they did one day see a rhinoceros. When our rice was
finished, and our boxes full of specimens, we returned to Ayer-Panas,
and a few days afterwards went on to Malacca, and thence to Singapore.
Mount Ophir has quite a reputation for fever, and all our friends were
astonished at our recklessness in staying so long at its foot; but none
of us suffered in the least, and I shall ever look back with pleasure
to my trip as being my first introduction to mountain scenery in the
Eastern tropics.

The meagreness and brevity of the sketch I have here given of my visit
to Singapore and the Malay Peninsula is due to my having trusted chiefly
to some private letters and a notebook, which were lost; and to a paper
on Malacca and Mount Ophir which was sent to the Royal Geographical
Society, but which was neither read nor printed owing to press of matter
at the end of a session, and the MSS. of which cannot now be found. I
the less regret this, however, as so many works have been written on
these parts; and I always intended to pass lightly over my travels in
the western and better known portions of the Archipelago, in order to
devote more space to the remoter districts, about which hardly anything
has been written in the English language.



CHAPTER IV. BORNEO--THE ORANGUTAN.

I ARRIVED at Sarawak on November 1st, 1854, and left it on January 25th,
1856. In the interval I resided at many different localities, and saw
a good deal of the Dyak tribes as well as of the Bornean Malays. I
was hospitably entertained by Sir James Brooke, and lived in his house
whenever I was at the town of Sarawak in the intervals of my journeys.
But so many books have been written about this part of Borneo since I
was there, that I shall avoid going into details of what I saw and heard
and thought of Sarawak and its ruler, confining myself chiefly to my
experiences as a naturalist in search of shells, insects, birds and the
Orangutan, and to an account of a journey through a part of the interior
seldom visited by Europeans.

The first four months of my visit were spent in various parts of
the Sarawak River, from Santubong at its mouth up to the picturesque
limestone mountains and Chinese gold-fields of Bow and Bede. This part
of the country has been so frequently described that I shall pass it
over, especially as, owing to its being the height of the wet season, my
collections were comparatively poor and insignificant.

In March 1865 I determined to go to the coalworks which were being
opened near the Simunjon River, a small branch of the Sadong, a river
east of Sarawak and between it and the Batang-Lupar. The Simunjon enters
the Sadong River about twenty miles up. It is very narrow and very
winding, and much overshadowed by the lofty forest, which sometimes
almost meets over it. The whole country between it and the sea is a
perfectly level forest-covered swamp, out of which rise a few isolated
hills, at the foot of one of which the works are situated. From the
landing-place to the hill a Dyak road had been formed, which consisted
solely of tree-trunks laid end to end. Along these the barefooted
natives walk and carry heavy burdens with the greatest ease, but to a
booted European it is very slippery work, and when one's attention is
constantly attracted by the various objects of interest around, a few
tumbles into the bog are almost inevitable. During my first walk along
this road I saw few insects or birds, but noticed some very handsome
orchids in flower, of the genus Coelogyne, a group which I afterwards
found to be very abundant, and characteristic of the district. On the
slope of the hill near its foot a patch of forest had been cleared away,
and several rude houses erected, in which were residing Mr. Coulson
the engineer, and a number of Chinese workmen. I was at first kindly
accommodated in Mr. Coulson's house, but finding the spot very suitable
for me and offering great facilities for collecting, I had a small house
of two rooms and a verandah built for myself. Here I remained nearly
nine months, and made an immense collection of insects, to which class
of animals I devoted my chief attention, owing to the circumstances
being especially favourable.

In the tropics a large proportion of the insects of all orders, and
especially of the large and favourite group of beetles, are more or less
dependent on vegetation, and particularly on timber, bark, and leaves
in various stages of decay. In the untouched virgin forest, the insects
which frequent such situations are scattered over an immense extent of
country, at spots where trees have fallen through decay and old age, or
have succumbed to the fury of the tempest; and twenty square miles of
country may not contain so many fallen and decayed trees as are to be
found in any small clearing. The quantity and the variety of beetles
and of many other insects that can be collected at a given time in any
tropical locality, will depend, first upon the immediate vicinity of a
great extent of virgin forest, and secondly upon the quantity of trees
that for some months past have been, and which are still being cut down,
and left to dry and decay upon the ground.

Now, during my whole twelve years' collecting in the western and eastern
tropics, I never enjoyed such advantages in this respect as at the
Simunjon coalworks. For several months from twenty to fifty Chinamen and
Dyaks were employed almost exclusively in clearing a large space in the
forest, and in making a wide opening for a railroad to the Sadong River,
two miles distant. Besides this, sawpits were established at various
points in the jungle, and large trees were felled to be cut up into
beams and planks. For hundreds of miles in every direction a magnificent
forest extended over plain and mountain, rock and morass, and I arrived
at the spot just as the rains began to diminish and the daily sunshine
to increase; a time which I have always found the most favourable season
for collecting. The number of openings, sunny places, and pathways were
also an attraction to wasps and butterflies; and by paying a cent each
for all insects that were brought me, I obtained from the Dyaks and the
Chinamen many fine locusts and Phasmidae, as well as numbers of handsome
beetles.

When I arrived at the mines, on the 14th of March, I had collected in
the four preceding months, 320 different kinds of beetles. In less
than a fortnight I had doubled this number, an average of about 24 new
species every day. On one day I collected 76 different kinds, of which
34 were new to me. By the end of April I had more than a thousand
species, and they then went on increasing at a slower rate, so that
I obtained altogether in Borneo about two thousand distinct kinds,
of which all but about a hundred were collected at this place, and on
scarcely more than a square mile of ground. The most numerous and most
interesting groups of beetles were the Longicorns and Rhynchophora, both
pre-eminently wood-feeders. The former, characterised by their graceful
forms and long antenna, were especially numerous, amounting to nearly
three hundred species, nine-tenths of which were entirely new, and many
of them remarkable for their large size, strange forms, and beautiful
colouring. The latter correspond to our weevils and allied groups, and
in the tropics are exceedingly numerous and varied, often swarming upon
dead timber, so that I sometimes obtained fifty or sixty different kinds
in a day. My Bornean collections of this group exceeded five hundred
species.

My collection of butterflies was not large; but I obtained some rare
and very handsome insects, the most remarkable being the Ornithoptera
Brookeana, one of the most elegant species known. This beautiful
creature has very long and pointed wings, almost resembling a sphinx
moth in shape. It is deep velvety black, with a curved band of spots of
a brilliant metallic-green colour extending across the wings from tip to
tip, each spot being shaped exactly like a small triangular feather, and
having very much the effect of a row of the wing coverts of the Mexican
trogon, laid upon black velvet. The only other marks are a broad
neck-collar of vivid crimson, and a few delicate white touches on the
outer margins of the hind wings. This species, which was then quite new
and which I named after Sir James Brooke, was very rare. It was seen
occasionally flying swiftly in the clearings, and now and then settling
for an instant at puddles and muddy places, so that I only succeeded in
capturing two or three specimens. In some other parts of the country I
was assured it was abundant, and a good many specimens have been sent
to England; but as yet all have been males, and we are quite unable to
conjecture what the female may be like, owing to the extreme isolation
of the species, and its want of close affinity to any other known
insect.

One of the most curious and interesting reptiles which I met with in
Borneo was a large tree-frog, which was brought me by one of the Chinese
workmen. He assured me that he had seen it come down in a slanting
direction from a high tree, as if it flew. On examining it, I found the
toes very long and fully webbed to their very extremity, so that when
expanded they offered a surface much larger than the body. The
forelegs were also bordered by a membrane, and the body was capable of
considerable inflation. The back and limbs were of a very deep shining
green colour, the undersurface and the inner toes yellow, while the
webs were black, rayed with yellow. The body was about four inches long,
while the webs of each hind foot, when fully expanded, covered a surface
of four square inches, and the webs of all the feet together about
twelve square inches. As the extremities of the toes have dilated
discs for adhesion, showing the creature to be a true tree frog, it is
difficult to imagine that this immense membrane of the toes can be for
the purpose of swimming only, and the account of the Chinaman, that it
flew down from the tree, becomes more credible. This is, I believe, the
first instance known of a "flying frog," and it is very interesting to
Darwinians as showing that the variability of the toes which have been
already modified for purposes of swimming and adhesive climbing, have
been taken advantage of to enable an allied species to pass through the
air like the flying lizard. It would appear to be a new species of the
genus Rhacophorus, which consists of several frogs of a much smaller
size than this, and having the webs of the toes less developed.

During my stay in Borneo I had no hunter to shoot for me regularly, and,
being myself fully occupied with insects, I did not succeed in obtaining
a very good collection of the birds or Mammalia, many of which, however,
are well known, being identical with species found in Malacca. Among the
Mammalia were five squirrels,and two tigercats--the Gymnurus Rafflesii,
which looks like a cross between a pig and a polecat, and the Cynogale
Bennetti--a rare, otter-like animal, with very broad muzzle clothed with
long bristles.

One of my chief objects in coming to stay at Simunjon was to see the
Orangutan (or great man-like ape of Borneo) in his native haunts, to
study his habits, and obtain good specimens of the different varieties
and species of both sexes, and of the adult and young animals. In all
these objects I succeeded beyond my expectations, and will now give some
account of my experience in hunting the Orangutan, or "Mias," as it is
called by the natives; and as this name is short, and easily pronounced,
I shall generally use it in preference to Simia satyrus, or Orangutan.

Just a week after my arrival at the mines, I first saw a Mias. I was out
collecting insects, not more than a quarter of a mile from the house,
when I heard a rustling in a tree near, and, looking up, saw a large
red-haired animal moving slowly along, hanging from the branches by its
arms. It passed on from tree to tree until it was lost in the jungle,
which was so swampy that I could not follow it. This mode of progression
was, however, very unusual, and is more characteristic of the Hylobates
than of the Orang. I suppose there was some individual peculiarity in
this animal, or the nature of the trees just in this place rendered it
the most easy mode of progression.

About a fortnight afterwards I heard that one was feeding in a tree in
the swamp just below the house, and, taking my gun, was fortunate enough
to find it in the same place. As soon as I approached, it tried to
conceal itself among the foliage; but, I got a shot at it, and the
second barrel caused it to fall down almost dead, the two balls having
entered the body. This was a male, about half-grown, being scarcely
three feet high. On April 26th, I was out shooting with two Dyaks, when
we found another about the same size. It fell at the first shot, but did
not seem much hurt, and immediately climbed up the nearest tree, when I
fired, and it again fell, with a broken arm and a wound in the body. The
two Dyaks now ran up to it, and each seized hold of a hand, telling me
to cut a pole, and they would secure it. But although one arm was broken
and it was only a half-grown animal, it was too strong for these young
savages, drawing them up towards its mouth notwithstanding all their
efforts, so that they were again obliged to leave go, or they would have
been seriously bitten. It now began climbing up the tree again; and, to
avoid trouble, I shot it through the heart.

On May 2nd, I again found one on a very high tree, when I had only a
small 80-bore gun with me. However, I fired at it, and on seeing me it
began howling in a strange voice like a cough, and seemed in a great
rage, breaking off branches with its hands and throwing them down, and
then soon made off over the tree-tops. I did not care to follow it,
as it was swampy, and in parts dangerous, and I might easily have lost
myself in the eagerness of pursuit.

On the 12th of May I found another, which behaved in a very similar
manner, howling and hooting with rage, and throwing down branches. I
shot at it five times, and it remained dead on the top of the tree,
supported in a fork in such a manner that it would evidently not fall.
I therefore returned home, and luckily found some Dyaks, who came back
with me, and climbed up the tree for the animal. This was the first
full-grown specimen I had obtained; but it was a female, and not nearly
so large or remarkable as the full-grown males. It was, however, 3 ft.
6 in. high, and its arms stretched out to a width of 6 ft. 6 in. I
preserved the skin of this specimen in a cask of arrack, and prepared a
perfect skeleton, which was afterwards purchased for the Derby Museum.

Only four days afterwards some Dyaks saw another Mias near the same
place, and came to tell me. We found it to be a rather large one, very
high up on a tall tree. At the second shot it fell rolling over, but
almost immediately got up again and began to climb. At a third shot it
fell dead. This was also a full-grown female, and while preparing to
carry it home, we found a young one face downwards in the bog. This
little creature was only about a foot long, and had evidently been
hanging to its mother when she first fell. Luckily it did not appear to
have been wounded, and after we had cleaned the mud out of its mouth it
began to cry out, and seemed quite strong and active. While carrying
it home it got its hands in my beard, and grasped so tightly that I had
great difficulty in getting free, for the fingers are habitually bent
inwards at the last joint so as to form complete hooks. At this time it
had not a single tooth, but a few days afterwards it cut its two lower
front teeth. Unfortunately, I had no milk to give it, as neither Malays,
Chinese nor Dyaks ever use the article, and I in vain inquired for
any female animal that could suckle my little infant. I was therefore
obliged to give it rice-water from a bottle with a quill in the cork,
which after a few trials it learned to suck very well. This was very
meagre diet, and the little creature did not thrive well on it,
although I added sugar and cocoa-nut milk occasionally, to make it
more nourishing. When I put my finger in its mouth it sucked with great
vigour, drawing in its cheeks with all its might in the vain effort to
extract some milk, and only after persevering a long time would it give
up in disgust, and set up a scream very like that of a baby in similar
circumstances.

When handled or nursed, it was very quiet and contented, but when laid
down by itself would invariably cry; and for the first few nights was
very restless and noisy. I fitted up a little box for a cradle, with a
soft mat for it to lie upon, which was changed and washed every day; and
I soon found it necessary to wash the little Mias as well. After I had
done so a few times, it came to like the operation, and as soon as it
was dirty would begin crying and not leave off until I took it out and
carried it to the spout, when it immediately became quiet, although
it would wince a little at the first rush of the cold water and make
ridiculously wry faces while the stream was running over its head. It
enjoyed the wiping and rubbing dry amazingly, and when I brushed its
hair seemed to be perfectly happy, lying quite still with its arms and
legs stretched out while I thoroughly brushed the long hair of its back
and arms. For the first few days it clung desperately with all four
hands to whatever it could lay hold of, and I had to be careful to
keep my beard out of its way, as its fingers clutched hold of hair more
tenaciously than anything else, and it was impossible to free myself
without assistance. When restless, it would struggle about with its
hands up in the air trying to find something to take hold of, and, when
it had got a bit of stick or rag in two or three of its hands, seemed
quite happy. For want of something else, it would often seize its own
feet, and after a time it would constantly cross its arms and grasp with
each hand the long hair that grew just below the opposite shoulder. The
great tenacity of its grasp soon diminished, and I was obliged to
invent some means to give it exercise and strengthen its limbs. For this
purpose I made a short ladder of three or four rounds, on which I put
it to hang for a quarter of an hour at a time. At first it seemed much
pleased, but it could not get all four hands in a comfortable position,
and, after changing about several times, would leave hold of one hand
after the other, and drop onto the floor. Sometimes when hanging only
by two hands, it would loose one, and cross it to the opposite shoulder,
grasping its own hair; and, as this seemed much more agreeable than
the stick, it would then loose the other and tumble down, when it would
cross both and lie on its back quite contentedly, never seeming to be
hurt by its numerous tumbles. Finding it so fond of hair, I endeavoured
to make an artificial mother, by wrapping up a piece of buffalo-skin
into a bundle, and suspending it about a foot from the floor. At first
this seemed to suit it admirably, as it could sprawl its legs about and
always find some hair, which it grasped with the greatest tenacity. I
was now in hopes that I had made the little orphan quite happy; and so
it seemed for some time, until it began to remember its lost parent, and
try to suck. It would pull itself up close to the skin, and try about
everywhere for a likely place; but, as it only succeeded in getting
mouthfuls of hair and wool, it would be greatly disgusted, and scream
violently, and, after two or three attempts, let go altogether. One day
it got some wool into its throat, and I thought it would have choked,
but after much gasping it recovered, and I was obliged to take the
imitation mother to pieces again, and give up this last attempt to
exercise the little creature.

After the first week I found I could feed it better with a spoon, and
give it a little more varied and more solid food. Well-soaked biscuit
mixed with a little egg and sugar, and sometimes sweet potatoes, were
readily eaten; and it was a never-failing amusement to observe the
curious changes of countenance by which it would express its approval
or dislike of what was given to it. The poor little thing would lick its
lips, draw in its cheeks, and turn up its eyes with an expression of
the most supreme satisfaction when it had a mouthful particularly to its
taste. On the other hand, when its food was not sufficiently sweet or
palatable, it would turn the mouthful about with its tongue for a moment
as if trying to extract what flavour there was, and then push it all
out between its lips. If the same food was continued, it would set up a
scream and kick about violently, exactly like a baby in a passion.

After I had had the little Mias about three weeks, I fortunately
obtained a young hare-lip monkey (Macacus cynomolgus), which, though
small, was very active, and could feed itself. I placed it in the
same box with the Mias, and they immediately became excellent friends,
neither exhibiting the least fear of the other. The little monkey would
sit upon the other's stomach, or even on its face, without the least
regard to its feelings. While I was feeding the Mias, the monkey would
sit by, picking up all that was spilt, and occasionally putting out its
hands to intercept the spoon; and as soon as I had finished would pick
off what was left sticking to the Mias' lips, and then pull open its
mouth and see if any still remained inside; afterwards lying down on the
poor creature's stomach as on a comfortable cushion. The little helpless
Mias would submit to all these insults with the most exemplary patience,
only too glad to have something warm near it, which it could clasp
affectionately in its arms. It sometimes, however, had its revenge; for
when the monkey wanted to go away, the Mias would hold on as long as it
could by the loose skin of its back or head, or by its tail, and it was
only after many vigorous jumps that the monkey could make his escape.

It was curious to observe the different actions of these two animals,
which could not have differed much in age. The Mias, like a very young
baby, lying on its back quite helpless, rolling lazily from side to
side, stretching out all four hands into the air, wishing to grasp
something, but hardly able to guide its fingers to any definite object;
and when dissatisfied, opening wide its almost toothless mouth, and
expressing its wants by a most infantine scream. The little monkey, on
the other hand, in constant motion, running and jumping about wherever
it pleased, examining everything around it, seizing hold of the smallest
object with the greatest precision, balancing itself on the edge of the
box or running up a post, and helping itself to anything eatable that
came in its way. There could hardly be a greater contrast, and the baby
Mias looked more baby-like by the comparison.

When I had had it about a month, it began to exhibit some signs of
learning to run alone. When laid upon the floor it would push itself
along by its legs, or roll itself over, and thus make an unwieldy
progression. When lying in the box it would lift itself up to the edge
into almost an erect position, and once or twice succeeded in tumbling
out. When left dirty, or hungry, or otherwise neglected, it would scream
violently until attended to, varied by a kind of coughing or pumping
noise very similar to that which is made by the adult animal. If no one
was in the house, or its cries were not attended to, it would be quiet
after a little while, but the moment it heard a footstep would begin
again harder than ever.

After five weeks it cut its two upper front teeth, but in all this time
it had not grown the least bit, remaining both in size and weight the
same as when I first procured it. This was no doubt owing to the want
of milk or other equally nourishing food. Rice-water, rice, and biscuits
were but a poor substitute, and the expressed milk of the cocoa-nut
which I sometimes gave it did not quite agree with its stomach. To this
I imputed an attack of diarrhoea from which the poor little creature
suffered greatly, but a small dose of castor-oil operated well, and
cured it. A week or two afterwards it was again taken ill, and this time
more seriously. The symptoms were exactly those of intermittent fever,
accompanied by watery swellings on the feet and head. It lost all
appetite for its food, and, after lingering for a week a most pitiable
object, died, after being in my possession nearly three months. I much
regretted the loss of my little pet, which I had at one time looked
forward to bringing up to years of maturity, and taking home to England.
For several months it had afforded me daily amusement by its curious
ways and the inimitably ludicrous expression of its little countenance.
Its weight was three pounds nine ounces, its height fourteen inches,
and the spread of its arms twenty-three inches. I preserved its skin and
skeleton, and in doing so found that when it fell from the tree it must
have broken an arm and a leg, which had, however, united so rapidly that
I had only noticed the hard swellings on the limbs where the irregular
junction of the bones had taken place.

Exactly a week after I had caught this interesting little animal, I
succeeded in shooting a full-grown male Orangutan. I had just come home
from an entomologising excursion when Charles [Charles Allen, an English
lad of sixteen, accompanied me as an assistant] rushed in out of breath
with running and excitement, and exclaimed, interrupted by gasps, "Get
the gun, sir,--be quick,--such a large Mias!" "Where is it?" I asked,
taking hold of my gun as I spoke, which happened luckily to have one
barrel loaded with ball. "Close by, sir--on the path to the mines--he
can't get away." Two Dyaks chanced to be in the house at the time, so I
called them to accompany me, and started off, telling Charley to bring
all the ammunition after me as soon as possible. The path from our
clearing to the mines led along the side of the hill a little way up its
slope, and parallel with it at the foot a wide opening had been made for
a road, in which several Chinamen were working, so that the animal could
not escape into the swampy forest below without descending to cross
the road or ascending to get round the clearings. We walked cautiously
along, not making the least noise, and listening attentively for any
sound which might betray the presence of the Mias, stopping at intervals
to gaze upwards. Charley soon joined us at the place where he had seen
the creature, and having taken the ammunition and put a bullet in
the other barrel, we dispersed a little, feeling sure that it must be
somewhere near, as it had probably descended the hill, and would not be
likely to return again.

After a short time I heard a very slight rustling sound overhead, but on
gazing up could see nothing. I moved about in every direction to get a
full view into every part of the tree under which I had been standing,
when I again heard the same noise but louder, and saw the leaves shaking
as if caused by the motion of some heavy animal which moved off to an
adjoining tree. I immediately shouted for all of them to come up and try
and get a view, so as to allow me to have a shot. This was not an easy
matter, as the Mias had a knack of selecting places with dense foliage
beneath. Very soon, however, one of the Dyaks called me and pointed
upwards, and on looking I saw a great red hairy body and a huge black
face gazing down from a great height, as if wanting to know what was
making such a disturbance below. I instantly fired, and he made off at
once, so that I could not then tell whether I had hit him.

He now moved very rapidly and very noiselessly for so large an animal,
so I told the Dyaks to follow and keep him in sight while I loaded.
The jungle was here full of large angular fragments of rock from the
mountain above, and thick with hanging and twisted creepers. Running,
climbing, and creeping among these, we came up with the creature on the
top of a high tree near the road, where the Chinamen had discovered him,
and were shouting their astonishment with open mouths: "Ya Ya, Tuan;
Orangutan, Tuan." Seeing that he could not pass here without descending,
he turned up again towards the hill, and I got two shots, and following
quickly, had two more by the time he had again reached the path, but he
was always more or less concealed by foliage, and protected by the large
branch on which he was walking. Once while loading I had a splendid view
of him, moving along a large limb of a tree in a semi-erect posture, and
showing it to be an animal of the largest size. At the path he got on
to one of the loftiest trees in the forest, and we could see one leg
hanging down useless, having been broken by a ball. He now fixed himself
in a fork, where he was hidden by thick foliage, and seemed disinclined
to move. I was afraid he would remain and die in this position, and as
it was nearly evening. I could not have got the tree cut down that day.
I therefore fired again, and he then moved off, and going up the hill
was obliged to get on to some lower trees, on the branches of one of
which he fixed himself in such a position that he could not fall, and
lay all in a heap as if dead, or dying.

I now wanted the Dyaks to go up and cut off the branch he was resting
on, but they were afraid, saying he was not dead, and would come and
attack them. We then shook the adjoining tree, pulled the hanging
creepers, and did all we could to disturb him, but without effect, so I
thought it best to send for two Chinamen with axes to cut down the tree.
While the messenger was gone, however, one of the Dyaks took courage
and climbed towards him, but the Mias did not wait for him to get near,
moving off to another tree, where he got on to a dense mass of branches
and creepers which almost completely hid him from our view. The tree was
luckily a small one, so when the axes came we soon had it cut through;
but it was so held up by jungle ropes and climbers to adjoining trees
that it only fell into a sloping position. The Mias did not move, and
I began to fear that after all we should not get him, as it was near
evening, and half a dozen more trees would have to be cut down before
the one he was on would fall. As a last resource we all began pulling at
the creepers, which shook the tree very much, and, after a few minutes,
when we had almost given up all hope, down he came with a crash and a
thud like the fall of a giant. And he was a giant, his head and body
being fully as large as a man's. He was of the kind called by the
Dyaks "Mias Chappan," or "Mias Pappan," which has the skin of the face
broadened out to a ridge or fold at each side. His outstretched arms
measured seven feet three inches across, and his height, measuring
fairly from the top of the head to the heel was four feet two inches.
The body just below the arms was three feet two inches round, and
was quite as long as a man's, the legs being exceedingly short in
proportion. On examination we found he had been dreadfully wounded. Both
legs were broken, one hip-joint and the root of the spine completely
shattered, and two bullets were found flattened in his neck and jaws.
Yet he was still alive when he fell. The two Chinamen carried him home
tied to a pole, and I was occupied with Charley the whole of the next
day preparing the skin and boiling the bones to make a perfect skeleton,
which are now preserved in the Museum at Derby.

About ten days after this, on June 4th, some Dyaks came to tell us that
the day before a Mias had nearly killed one of their companions. A few
miles down the river there is a Dyak house, and the inhabitants saw a
large Orang feeding on the young shoots of a palm by the riverside. On
being alarmed he retreated towards the jungle which was close by, and a
number of the men, armed with spears and choppers, ran out to intercept
him. The man who was in front tried to run his spear through the
animal's body, but the Mias seized it in his hands, and in an instant
got hold of the man's arm, which he seized in his mouth, making his
teeth meet in the flesh above the elbow, which he tore and lacerated in
a dreadful manner. Had not the others been close behind, the man
would have been more seriously injured, if not killed, as he was quite
powerless; but they soon destroyed the creature with their spears
and choppers. The man remained ill for a long time, and never fully
recovered the use of his arm.

They told me the dead Mias was still lying where it had been killed, so
I offered them a reward to bring it up to our landing-place immediately,
which they promised to do. They did not come, however, until the next
day, and then decomposition had commenced, and great patches of the hair
came off, so that it was useless to skin it. This I regretted much, as
it was a very fine full-grown male. I cut off the head and took it home
to clean, while I got my men to make a closed fence about five feet high
around the rest of the body, which would soon be devoured by maggots,
small lizards, and ants, leaving me the skeleton. There was a great gash
in his face, which had cut deep into the bone, but the skull was a very
fine one, and the teeth were remarkably large and perfect.

On June 18th I had another great success, and obtained a fine adult
male. A Chinaman told me he had seen him feeding by the side of the path
to the river, and I found him at the same place as the first individual
I had shot. He was feeding on an oval green fruit having a fine red
arillus, like the mace which surrounds the nutmeg, and which alone he
seemed to eat, biting off the thick outer rind and dropping it in a
continual shower. I had found the same fruit in the stomach of some
others which I had killed. Two shots caused this animal to loose his
hold, but he hung for a considerable time by one hand, and then fell
flat on his face and was half buried in the swamp. For several minutes
he lay groaning and panting, while we stood close around, expecting
every breath to be his last. Suddenly, however, by a violent effort
he raised himself up, causing us all to step back a yard or two, when,
standing nearly erect, he caught hold of a small tree, and began to
ascend it. Another shot through the back caused him to fall down dead. A
flattened bullet was found in his tongue, having entered the lower part
of the abdomen and completely traversed the body, fracturing the first
cervical vertebra. Yet it was after this fearful wound that he had
risen, and begun climbing with considerable facility. This also was a
full-grown male of almost exactly the same dimensions as the other two I
had measured.

On June 21st I shot another adult female, which was eating fruit in a
low tree, and was the only one which I ever killed by a single ball.

On June 24th I was called by a Chinaman to shoot a Mias, which, he said,
was on a tree close by his house, at the coal-mines. Arriving at the
place, we had some difficulty in finding the animal, as he had gone off
into the jungle, which was very rocky and difficult to traverse. At last
we found him up a very high tree, and could see that he was a male of
the largest size. As soon as I had fired, he moved higher up the tree,
and while he was doing so I fired again; and we then saw that one arm
was broken. He had now reached the very highest part of an immense tree,
and immediately began breaking off boughs all around, and laying them
across and across to make a nest. It was very interesting to see how
well he had chosen his place, and how rapidly he stretched out his
unwounded arm in every direction, breaking off good-sized boughs with
the greatest ease, and laying them back across each other, so that in
a few minutes he had formed a compact mass of foliage, which entirely
concealed him from our sight. He was evidently going to pass the night
here, and would probably get away early the next morning, if not wounded
too severely. I therefore fired again several times, in hopes of making
him leave his nest; but, though I felt sure I had hit him, as at each
shot he moved a little, he would not go away. At length he raised
himself up, so that half his body was visible, and then gradually sank
down, his head alone remaining on the edge of the nest. I now felt sure
he was dead, and tried to persuade the Chinaman and his companion to cut
down the tree; but it was a very large one, and they had been at work
all day, and nothing would induce them to attempt it. The next morning,
at daybreak, I came to the place, and found that the Mias was evidently
dead, as his head was visible in exactly the same position as before.
I now offered four Chinamen a day's wages each to cut the tree down
at once, as a few hours of sunshine would cause decomposition on the
surface of the skin; but, after looking at it and trying it, they
determined that it was very big and very hard, and would not attempt
it. Had I doubled my offer, they would probably have accepted it, as it
would not have been more than two or three hours' work; and had I been
on a short visit only, I would have done so; but as I was a resident,
and intended remaining several months longer, it would not have answered
to begin paying too exorbitantly, or I should have got nothing done in
the future at a lower rate.

For some weeks after, a cloud of flies could be seen all day, hovering
over the body of the dead Mias; but in about a month all was quiet, and
the body was evidently drying up under the influence of a vertical sun
alternating with tropical rains. Two or three months later two Malays,
on the offer of a dollar, climbed the tree and let down the dried
remains. The skin was almost entirely enclosing the skeleton, and
inside were millions of the pupa-cases of flies and other insects, with
thousands of two or three species of small necrophagous beetles. The
skull had been much shattered by balls, but the skeleton was perfect,
except one small wristbone, which had probably dropped out and been
carried away by a lizard.

Three days after I had shot this one and lost it, Charles found three
small Orangs feeding together. We had a long chase after them, and had a
good opportunity of seeing how they make their way from tree to tree by
always choosing those limbs whose branches are intermingled with
those of some other tree, and then grasping several of the small twigs
together before they venture to swing themselves across. Yet they do
this so quickly and certainly, that they make way among the trees at the
rate of full five or six miles an hour, as we had continually to run to
keep up with them. One of these we shot and killed, but it remained high
up in the fork of a tree; and, as young animals are of comparatively
little interest, I did not have the tree cut down to get it.

At this time I had the misfortune to slip among some fallen trees,
and hurt my ankle; and, not being careful enough at first, it became a
severe inflamed ulcer, which would not heal, and kept me a prisoner in
the house the whole of July and part of August. When I could get out
again, I determined to take a trip up a branch of the Simunjon River to
Semabang, where there was said to be a large Dyak house, a mountain with
abundance of fruit, and plenty of Orangs and fine birds. As the river
was very narrow, and I was obliged to go in a very small boat with
little luggage, I only took with me a Chinese boy as a servant. I
carried a cask of medicated arrack to put Mias skins in, and stores and
ammunition for a fortnight. After a few miles, the stream became very
narrow and winding, and the whole country on each side was flooded. On
the banks were an abundance of monkeys--the common Macacus cynomolgus,
a black Semnopithecus, and the extraordinary long-nosed monkey (Nasalis
larvatus), which is as large as a three-year old child, has a very long
tail, and a fleshy nose longer than that of the biggest-nosed man. The
further we went on the narrower and more winding the stream became;
fallen trees sometimes blocked up our passage, and sometimes tangled
branches and creepers met completely across it, and had to be cut away
before we could get on. It took us two days to reach Semabang, and we
hardly saw a bit of dry land all the way. In the latter part of the
journey I could touch the bushes on each side for miles; and we were
often delayed by the screw-pines (Pandanus), which grow abundantly in
the water, falling across the stream. In other places dense rafts of
floating grass completely filled up the channel, making our journey a
constant succession of difficulties.

Near the landing-place we found a fine house, 250 feet long, raised high
above the ground on posts, with a wide verandah and still wider platform
of bamboo in front of it. Almost all the people, however, were away on
some excursion after edible birds'-nests or bees'-wax, and there only
remained in the house two or three old men and women with a lot of
children. The mountain or hill was close by, covered with a complete
forest of fruit-trees, among which the Durian and Mangosteen were very
abundant; but the fruit was not yet quite ripe, except a little here
and there. I spent a week at this place, going out everyday in various
directions about the mountain, accompanied by a Malay, who had stayed
with me while the other boatmen returned. For three days we found no
Orangs, but shot a deer and several monkeys. On the fourth day, however,
we found a Mias feeding on a very lofty Durian tree, and succeeded in
killing it, after eight shots. Unfortunately it remained in the tree,
hanging by its hands, and we were obliged to leave it and return home,
as it was several miles off. As I felt pretty sure it would fall during
the night, I returned to the place early the next morning, and found
it on the ground beneath the tree. To my astonishment and pleasure, it
appeared to be a different kind from any I had yet seen; for although a
full-grown male, by its fully developed teeth and very large canines,
it had no sign of the lateral protuberance on the face, and was about
one-tenth smaller in all its dimensions than the other adult males.
The upper incisors, however, appeared to be broader than in the larger
species, a character distinguishing the Simia morio of Professor Owen,
which he had described from the cranium of a female specimen. As it was
too far to carry the animal home, I set to work and skinned the body on
the spot, leaving the head, hands, and feet attached, to be finished at
home. This specimen is now in the British Museum.

At the end of a week, finding no more Orangs, I returned home; and,
taking in a few fresh stores, and this time accompanied by Charles, went
up another branch of the river, very similar in character, to a place
called Menyille, where there were several small Dyak houses and one
large one. Here the landing place was a bridge of rickety poles, over a
considerable distance of water; and I thought it safer to leave my cask
of arrack securely placed in the fork of a tree. To prevent the natives
from drinking it, I let several of them see me put in a number of snakes
and lizards; but I rather think this did not prevent them from tasting
it. We were accommodated here in the verandah of the large house, in
which were several great baskets of dried human heads, the trophies of
past generations of head-hunters. Here also there was a little mountain
covered with fruit-trees, and there were some magnificent Durian trees
close by the house, the fruit of which was ripe; and as the Dyaks looked
upon me as a benefactor in killing the Mias, which destroys a great deal
of their fruit, they let us eat as much as we liked; we revelled in this
emperor of fruits in its greatest perfection.

The very day after my arrival in this place, I was so fortunate as to
shoot another adult male of the small Orang, the Mias-kassir of the
Dyaks. It fell when dead, but caught in a fork of the tree and remained
fixed. As I was very anxious to get it, I tried to persuade two young
Dyaks who were with me to cut down the tree, which was tall, perfectly
straight and smooth-barked, and without a branch for fifty or sixty
feet. To my surprise, they said they would prefer climbing up it, but it
would be a good deal of trouble, and, after a little talking together,
they said they would try. They first went to a clump of bamboo that
stood near, and cut down one of the largest stems. From this they
chopped off a short piece, and splitting it, made a couple of stout
pegs, about a foot long and sharp at one end. Then cutting a thick piece
of wood for a mallet, they drove one of the pegs into the tree and hung
their weight upon it. It held, and this seemed to satisfy them, for they
immediately began making a quantity of pegs of the same kind, while I
looked on with great interest, wondering how they could possibly ascend
such a lofty tree by merely driving pegs in it, the failure of any one
of which at a good height would certainly cause their death. When about
two dozen pegs were made, one of them began cutting some very long and
slender bamboo from another clump, and also prepared some cord from the
bark of a small tree. They now drove in a peg very firmly at about three
feet from the ground, and bringing one of the long bamboos, stood it
upright close to the tree, and bound it firmly to the two first pegs, by
means of the bark cord and small notches near the head of each peg.
One of the Dyaks now stood on the first peg and drove in a third, about
level with his face, to which he tied the bamboo in the same way, and
then mounted another step, standing on one foot, and holding by the
bamboo at the peg immediately above him, while he drove in the next one.
In this manner he ascended about twenty feet; when the upright bamboo
was becoming thin, another was handed up by his companion, and this was
joined by tying both bamboos to three or four of the pegs. When this
was also nearly ended, a third was added, and shortly after, the lowest
branches of the tree were reached, along which the young Dyak scrambled,
and soon sent the Mias tumbling down headlong. I was exceedingly struck
by the ingenuity of this mode of climbing, and the admirable manner in
which the peculiar properties of the bamboo were made available. The
ladder itself was perfectly safe, since if any one peg were loose or
faulty, and gave way, the strain would be thrown on several others
above and below it. I now understood the use of the line of bamboo pegs
sticking in trees, which I had often seen, and wondered for what purpose
they could have been put there. This animal was almost identical in size
and appearance with the one I had obtained at Semabang, and was the only
other male specimen of the Simia morio which I obtained. It is now in
the Derby Museum.

I afterwards shot two adult females and two young ones of different
ages, all of which I preserved. One of the females, with several young
ones, was feeding on a Durian tree with unripe fruit; and as soon as she
saw us she began breaking off branches and the great spiny fruits
with every appearance of rage, causing such a shower of missiles as
effectually kept us from approaching too near the tree. This habit of
throwing down branches when irritated has been doubted, but I have, as
here narrated, observed it myself on at least three separate occasions.
It was however always the female Mias who behaved in this way, and
it may be that the male, trusting more to his great strength and his
powerful canine teeth, is not afraid of any other animal, and does not
want to drive them away, while the parental instinct of the female leads
her to adopt this mode of defending herself and her young ones.

In preparing the skins and skeletons of these animals, I was much
troubled by the Dyak dogs, which, being always kept in a state of
semi-starvation, are ravenous for animal food. I had a great iron pan,
in which I boiled the bones to make skeletons, and at night I covered
this over with boards, and put heavy stones upon it; but the dogs
managed to remove these and carried away the greater part of one of my
specimens. On another occasion they gnawed away a good deal of the upper
leather of my strong boots, and even ate a piece of my mosquito-curtain,
where some lamp-oil had been spilt over it some weeks before.

On our return down the stream, we had the fortune to fall in with a
very old male Mias, feeding on some low trees growing in the water. The
country was flooded for a long distance, but so full of trees and stumps
that the laden boat could not be got in among them, and if it could have
been we should only have frightened the Mias away. I therefore got into
the water, which was nearly up to my waist, and waded on until I was
near enough for a shot. The difficulty then was to load my gun again,
for I was so deep in the water that I could not hold the gun sloping
enough to pour the powder in. I therefore had to search for a shallow
place, and after several shots under these trying circumstances, I was
delighted to see the monstrous animal roll over into the water. I now
towed him after me to the stream, but the Malays objected to having the
animal put into the boat, and he was so heavy that I could not do it
without their help. I looked about for a place to skin him, but not a
bit of dry ground was to be seen, until at last I found a clump of two
or three old trees and stumps, between which a few feet of soil had
collected just above the water, which was just large enough for us to
drag the animal upon it. I first measured him, and found him to be by
far the largest I had yet seen, for, though the standing height was the
same as the others (4 feet 2 inches), the outstretched arms were 7
feet 9 inches, which was six inches more than the previous one, and
the immense broad face was 13 1/2 inches wide, whereas the widest I had
hitherto seen was only 11 1/2 inches. The girth of the body was 3 feet
7 1/2 inches. I am inclined to believe, therefore, that the length and
strength of the arms, and the width of the face continues increasing to
a very great age, while the standing height, from the sole of the foot
to the crown of the head, rarely if ever exceeds 4 feet 2 inches.

As this was the last Mias I shot, and the last time I saw an adult
living animal, I will give a sketch of its general habits, and any other
facts connected with it. The Orangutan is known to inhabit Sumatra and
Borneo, and there is every reason to believe that it is confined to
these two great islands, in the former of which, however, it seems to be
much more rare. In Borneo it has a wide range, inhabiting many districts
on the southwest, southeast, northeast, and northwest coasts, but
appears to be chiefly confined to the low and swampy forests. It seems,
at first sight, very inexplicable that the Mias should be quite unknown
in the Sarawak valley, while it is abundant in Sambas, on the west, and
Sadong, on the east. But when we know the habits and mode of life of
the animal, we see a sufficient reason for this apparent anomaly in
the physical features of the Sarawak district. In the Sadong, where I
observed it, the Mias is only found when the country is low level and
swampy, and at the same time covered with a lofty virgin forest. From
these swamps rise many isolated mountains, on some of which the Dyaks
have settled and covered with plantations of fruit trees. These are a
great attraction to the Mias, which comes to feed on the unripe fruits,
but always retires to the swamp at night. Where the country becomes
slightly elevated, and the soil dry, the Mias is no longer to be found.
For example, in all the lower part of the Sadong valley it abounds, but
as soon as we ascend above the limits of the tides, where the country,
though still flat, is high enough to be dry, it disappears. Now the
Sarawak valley has this peculiarity--the lower portion though swampy, is
not covered with a continuous lofty forest, but is principally occupied
by the Nipa palm; and near the town of Sarawak where the country becomes
dry, it is greatly undulated in many parts, and covered with small
patches of virgin forest, and much second-growth jungle on the ground,
which has once been cultivated by the Malays or Dyaks.

Now it seems probable to me that a wide extent of unbroken and equally
lofty virgin forest is necessary to the comfortable existence of these
animals. Such forests form their open country, where they can roam in
every direction with as much facility as the Indian on the prairie, or
the Arab on the desert, passing from tree-top to tree-top without ever
being obliged to descend upon the earth. The elevated and the drier
districts are more frequented by man, more cut up by clearings and low
second-growth jungle--not adapted to its peculiar mode of progression,
and where it would therefore be more exposed to danger, and more
frequently obliged to descend upon the earth. There is probably also a
greater variety of fruit in the Mias district, the small mountains which
rise like islands out of it serving as gardens or plantations of a sort,
where the trees of the uplands are to be found in the very midst of the
swampy plains.

It is a singular and very interesting sight to watch a Mias making his
way leisurely through the forest. He walks deliberately along some of
the larger branches in the semi-erect attitude which the great length
of his arms and the shortness of his legs cause him naturally to assume;
and the disproportion between these limbs is increased by his walking
on his knuckles, not on the palm of the hand, as we should do. He seems
always to choose those branches which intermingle with an adjoining
tree, on approaching which he stretches out his long arms, and seizing
the opposing boughs, grasps them together with both hands, seems to try
their strength, and then deliberately swings himself across to the next
branch, on which he walks along as before. He never jumps or springs,
or even appears to hurry himself, and yet manages to get along almost
as quickly as a person can run through the forest beneath. The long
and powerful arms are of the greatest use to the animal, enabling it
to climb easily up the loftiest trees, to seize fruits and young leaves
from slender boughs which will not bear its weight, and to gather leaves
and branches with which to form its nest. I have already described how
it forms a nest when wounded, but it uses a similar one to sleep on
almost every night. This is placed low down, however, on a small tree
not more than from twenty to fifty feet from the ground, probably
because it is warmer and less exposed to wind than higher up. Each Mias
is said to make a fresh one for himself every night; but I should think
that is hardly probable, or their remains would be much more abundant;
for though I saw several about the coal-mines, there must have been many
Orangs about every day, and in a year their deserted nests would become
very numerous. The Dyaks say that, when it is very wet, the Mias covers
himself over with leaves of pandanus, or large ferns, which has perhaps
led to the story of his making a hut in the trees.

The Orang does not leave his bed until the sun has well risen and has
dried up the dew upon the leaves. He feeds all through the middle of the
day, but seldom returns to the same tree two days running. They do not
seem much alarmed at man, as they often stared down upon me for several
minutes, and then only moved away slowly to an adjacent tree. After
seeing one, I have often had to go half a mile or more to fetch my gun,
and in nearly every case have found it on the same tree, or within
a hundred yards, when I returned. I never saw two full-grown animals
together, but both males and females are sometimes accompanied by
half-grown young ones, while, at other times, three or four young ones
were seen in company. Their food consists almost exclusively of fruit,
with occasionally leaves, buds, and young shoots. They seem to prefer
unripe fruits, some of which were very sour, others intensely bitter,
particularly the large red, fleshy arillus of one which seemed an
especial favourite. In other cases they eat only the small seed of a
large fruit, and they almost always waste and destroy more than they
eat, so that there is a continual rain of rejected portions below the
tree they are feeding on. The Durian is an especial favourite, and
quantities of this delicious fruit are destroyed wherever it grows
surrounded by forest, but they will not cross clearings to get at them.
It seems wonderful how the animal can tear open this fruit, the outer
covering of which is so thick and tough, and closely covered with strong
conical spines. It probably bites off a few of these first, and then,
making a small hole, tears open the fruit with its powerful fingers.

The Mias rarely descends to the ground, except when pressed by hunger,
it seeks succulent shoots by the riverside; or, in very dry weather,
has to search after water, of which it generally finds sufficient in the
hollows of leaves. Only once I saw two half-grown Orangs on the ground
in a dry hollow at the foot of the Simunjon hill. They were playing
together, standing erect, and grasping each other by the arms. It may
be safely stated, however, that the Orang never walks erect, unless when
using its hands to support itself by branches overhead or when attacked.
Representations of its walking with a stick are entirely imaginary.

The Dyaks all declare that the Mias is never attacked by any animal in
the forest, with two rare exceptions; and the accounts I received
of these are so curious that I give them nearly in the words of my
informants, old Dyak chiefs, who had lived all their lives in the places
where the animal is most abundant. The first of whom I inquired said:
"No animal is strong enough to hurt the Mias, and the only creature he
ever fights with is the crocodile. When there is no fruit in the jungle,
he goes to seek food on the banks of the river where there are plenty
of young shoots that he likes, and fruits that grow close to the water.
Then the crocodile sometimes tries to seize him, but the Mias gets upon
him, and beats him with his hands and feet, and tears him and kills
him." He added that he had once seen such a fight, and that he believes
that the Mias is always the victor.

My next informant was the Orang Kaya, or chief of the Balow Dyaks, on
the Simunjon River. He said: "The Mias has no enemies; no animals
dare attack it but the crocodile and the python. He always kills the
crocodile by main strength, standing upon it, pulling open its jaws, and
ripping up its throat. If a python attacks a Mias, he seizes it with his
hands, and then bites it, and soon kills it. The Mias is very strong;
there is no animal in the jungle so strong as he."

It is very remarkable that an animal so large, so peculiar, and of such
a high type of form as the Orangutan, should be confined to so limited
a district--to two islands, and those almost the last inhabited by
the higher Mammalia; for, east of Borneo and Java, the Quadrumania,
Ruminants, Carnivora, and many other groups of Mammalia diminish
rapidly, and soon entirely disappear. When we consider, further, that
almost all other animals have in earlier ages been represented by allied
yet distinct forms--that, in the latter part of the tertiary period,
Europe was inhabited by bears, deer, wolves, and cats; Australia by
kangaroos and other marsupials; South America by gigantic sloths and
ant-eaters; all different from any now existing, though intimately
allied to them--we have every reason to believe that the Orangutan, the
Chimpanzee, and the Gorilla have also had their forerunners. With what
interest must every naturalist look forward to the time when the caves
and tertiary deposits of the tropics may be thoroughly examined, and the
past history and earliest appearance of the great man-like apes be made
known at length.

I will now say a few words as to the supposed existence of a Bornean
Orang as large as the Gorilla. I have myself examined the bodies of
seventeen freshly-killed Orangs, all of which were carefully measured;
and of seven of them, I preserved the skeleton. I also obtained two
skeletons killed by other persons. Of this extensive series, sixteen
were fully adult, nine being males, and seven females. The adult males
of the large Orangs only varied from 4 feet 1 inch to 4 feet 2 inches
in height, measured fairly to the heel, so as to give the height of the
animal if it stood perfectly erect; the extent of the outstretched arms,
from 7 feet 2 inches to 7 feet 8 inches; and the width of the face, from
10 inches to 13 1/2 inches. The dimensions given by other naturalists
closely agree with mine. The largest Orang measured by Temminck was 4
feet high. Of twenty-five specimens collected by Schlegel and Muller,
the largest old male was 4 feet 1 inch; and the largest skeleton in
the Calcutta Museum was, according to Mr. Blyth, 4 feet 1 1/2 inch.
My specimens were all from the northwest coast of Borneo; those of the
Dutch from the west and south coasts; and no specimen has yet reached
Europe exceeding these dimensions, although the total number of skins
and skeletons must amount to over a hundred.

Strange to say, however, several persons declare that they have measured
Orangs of a much larger size. Temminck, in his Monograph of the Orang,
says that he has just received news of the capture of a specimen 5 feet
3 inches high. Unfortunately, it never seems to have a reached Holland,
for nothing has since been heard of any such animal. Mr. St. John, in
his "Life in the Forests of the Far East," vol. ii. p. 237, tells us
of an Orang shot by a friend of his, which was 5 feet 2 inches from the
heel to the top of the head, the arm 17 inches in girth, and the wrist
12 inches! The head alone was brought to Sarawak, and Mr. St. John tells
us that he assisted to measure this, and that it was 15 inches broad
by 14 long. Unfortunately, even this skull appears not to have been
preserved, for no specimen corresponding to these dimensions has yet
reached England.

In a letter from Sir James Brooke, dated October 1857 in which he
acknowledges the receipt of my Papers on the Orang, published in the
"Annals and Magazine of Natural History," he sends me the measurements
of a specimen killed by his nephew, which I will give exactly as I
received it: "September 3rd, 1867, killed female Orangutan. Height, from
head to heel, 4 feet 6 inches. Stretch from fingers to fingers across
body, 6 feet 1 inch. Breadth of face, including callosities, 11 inches."
Now, in these dimensions, there is palpably one error; for in every
Orang yet measured by any naturalist, an expanse of arms of 6 feet 1
inch corresponds to a height of about 3 feet 6 inches, while the largest
specimens of 4 feet to 4 feet 2 inches high, always have the extended
arms as much as 7 feet 3 inches to 7 feet 8 inches. It is, in fact, one
of the characters of the genus to have the arms so long that an animal
standing nearly erect can rest its fingers on the ground. A height of
4 feet 6 inches would therefore require a stretch of arms of at least 8
feet! If it were only 6 feet to that height, as given in the dimensions
quoted, the animal would not be an Orang at all, but a new genus of
apes, differing materially in habits and mode of progression. But Mr.
Johnson, who shot this animal, and who knows Orangs well, evidently
considered it to be one; and we have therefore to judge whether it is
more probable that he made a mistake of two feet in the stretch of the
arms, or of one foot in the height. The latter error is certainly the
easiest to make, and it will bring his animal into agreement, as to
proportions and size, with all those which exist in Europe. How easy it
is to be deceived as to the height of these animals is well shown in
the case of the Sumatran Orang, the skin of which was described by Dr.
Clarke Abel. The captain and crew who killed this animal declared that
when alive he exceeded the tallest man, and looked so gigantic that they
thought he was 7 feet high; but that, when he was killed and lay upon
the ground, they found he was only about 6 feet. Now it will hardly be
credited that the skin of this identical animal exists in the Calcutta
Museum, and Mr. Blyth, the late curator, states "that it is by no means
one of the largest size"; which means that it is about 4 feet high!

Having these undoubted examples of error in the dimensions of Orangs,
it is not too much to conclude that Mr. St. John's friend made a similar
error of measurement, or rather, perhaps, of memory; for we are not told
that the dimensions were noted down at the time they were made. The only
figures given by Mr. St. John on his own authority are that "the head
was 15 inches broad by 14 inches long." As my largest male was 13 1/2
broad across the face, measured as soon as the animal was killed, I
can quite understand that when the head arrived at Sarawak from the
Batang-Lupar, after two or three days' voyage, it was so swollen by
decomposition as to measure an inch more than when it was fresh. On the
whole, therefore, I think it will be allowed, that up to this time
we have not the least reliable evidence of the existence of Orangs in
Borneo more than 4 feet 2 inches high.



CHAPTER V. BORNEO--JOURNEY INTO THE INTERIOR.

 (NOVEMBER 1855 TO JANUARY 1856.)

As the wet season was approaching, I determined to return to Sarawak,
sending all my collections with Charles Allen around by sea, while I
myself proposed to go up to the sources of the Sadong River and descend
by the Sarawak valley. As the route was somewhat difficult, I took the
smallest quantity of baggage, and only one servant, a Malay lad named
Bujon, who knew the language of the Sadong Dyaks, with whom he had
traded. We left the mines on the 27th of November, and the next day
reached the Malay village of Gúdong, where I stayed a short time to buy
fruit and eggs, and called upon the Datu Bandar, or Malay governor of
the place. He lived in a large, and well-built house, very dirty outside
and in, and was very inquisitive about my business, and particularly
about the coal-mines. These puzzle the natives exceedingly, as they
cannot understand the extensive and costly preparations for working
coal, and cannot believe it is to be used only as fuel when wood is so
abundant and so easily obtained. It was evident that Europeans seldom
came here, for numbers of women skeltered away as I walked through the
village and one girl about ten or twelve years old, who had just brought
a bamboo full of water from the river, threw it down with a cry of
horror and alarm the moment she caught sight of me, turned around and
jumped into the stream. She swam beautifully, and kept looking back as
if expecting I would follow her, screaming violently all the time; while
a number of men and boys were laughing at her ignorant terror.

At Jahi, the next village, the stream became so swift in consequence of
a flood, that my heavy boat could make no way, and I was obliged to send
it back and go on in a very small open one. So far the river had been
very monotonous, the banks being cultivated as rice-fields, and little
thatched huts alone breaking the unpicturesque line of muddy bank
crowned with tall grasses, and backed by the top of the forest behind
the cultivated ground. A few hours beyond Jahi we passed the limits
of cultivation, and had the beautiful virgin forest coming down to the
water's edge, with its palms and creepers, its noble trees, its ferns,
and epiphytes. The banks of the river were, however, still generally
flooded, and we had some difficulty in finding a dry spot to sleep
on. Early in the morning we reached Empugnan, a small Malay village,
situated at the foot of an isolated mountain which had been visible from
the mouth of the Simunjon River. Beyond here the tides are not felt,
and we now entered upon a district of elevated forest, with a finer
vegetation. Large trees stretch out their arms across the stream,
and the steep, earthy banks are clothed with ferns and zingiberaceous
plants.

Early in the afternoon we arrived at Tabókan, the first village of the
Hill Dyaks. On an open space near the river, about twenty boys were
playing at a game something like what we call "prisoner's base;" their
ornaments of beads and brass wire and their gay-coloured kerchiefs and
waist-cloths showing to much advantage, and forming a very pleasing
sight. On being called by Bujon, they immediately left their game to
carry my things up to the "headhouse,"--a circular building attached to
most Dyak villages, and serving as a lodging for strangers, the place
for trade, the sleeping-room of the unmarried youths, and the general
council-chamber. It is elevated on lofty posts, has a large fireplace in
the middle and windows in the roof all round, and forms a very pleasant
and comfortable abode. In the evening it was crowded with young men and
boys, who came to look at me. They were mostly fine young fellows, and
I could not help admiring the simplicity and elegance of their costume.
Their only dress is the long "chawat," or waist-cloth, which hangs down
before and behind. It is generally of blue cotton, ending in three
broad bands of red, blue, and white. Those who can afford it wear a
handkerchief on the head, which is either red, with a narrow border
of gold lace, or of three colours, like the "chawat." The large flat
moon-shaped brass earrings, the heavy necklace of white or black beads,
rows of brass rings on the arms and legs, and armlets of white shell,
all serve to relieve and set off the pure reddish brown skin and
jet-black hair. Add to this the little pouch containing materials for
betel-chewing, and a long slender knife, both invariably worn at the
side, and you have the everyday dress of the young Dyak gentleman.

The "Orang Kaya," or rich man, as the chief of the tribe is called,
now came in with several of the older men; and the "bitchara" or talk
commenced, about getting a boat and men to take me on the next morning.
As I could not understand a word of their language, which is very
different from Malay, I took no part in the proceedings, but was
represented by my boy Bujon, who translated to me most of what was said.
A Chinese trader was in the house, and he, too, wanted men the next day;
but on his hinting this to the Orang Kaya, he was sternly told that a
white man's business was now being discussed, and he must wait another
day before his could be thought about.

After the "bitchara" was over and the old chiefs gone, I asked the young
men to play or dance, or amuse themselves in their accustomed way; and
after some little hesitation they agreed to do so. They first had a
trial of strength, two boys sitting opposite each other, foot being
placed against foot, and a stout stick grasped by both their hands. Each
then tried to throw himself back, so as to raise his adversary up from
the ground, either by main strength or by a sudden effort. Then one of
the men would try his strength against two or three of the boys; and
afterwards they each grasped their own ankle with a hand, and while one
stood as firm as he could, the other swung himself around on one leg, so
as to strike the other's free leg, and try to overthrow him. When these
games had been played all around with varying success, we had a novel
kind of concert. Some placed a leg across the knee, and struck the
fingers sharply on the ankle, others beat their arms against their sides
like a cock when he is going to crow, this making a great variety of
clapping sounds, while another with his hand under his armpit produced a
deep trumpet note; and, as they all kept time very well, the effect was
by no means unpleasing. This seemed quite a favourite amusement with
them, and they kept it up with much spirit.

The next morning we started in a boat about thirty feet long, and
only twenty-eight inches wide. The stream here suddenly changes its
character. Hitherto, though swift, it had been deep and smooth, and
confined by steep banks. Now it rushed and rippled over a pebbly, sandy,
or rocky bed, occasionally forming miniature cascades and rapids, and
throwing up on one side or the other broad banks of finely coloured
pebbles. No paddling could make way here, but the Dyaks with bamboo
poles propelled us along with great dexterity and swiftness, never
losing their balance in such a narrow and unsteady vessel, though
standing up and exerting all their force. It was a brilliant day, and
the cheerful exertions of the men, the rushing of the sparkling waters,
with the bright and varied foliage, which from either bank stretched
over our heads, produced an exhilarating sensation which recalled my
canoe voyages on the grander waters of South America.

Early in the afternoon we reached the village of Borotói, and, though it
would have been easy to reach the next one before night, I was obliged
to stay, as my men wanted to return and others could not possibly go on
with me without the preliminary talking. Besides, a white man was too
great a rarity to be allowed to escape them, and their wives would never
have forgiven them if, when they returned from the fields, they found
that such a curiosity had not been kept for them to see. On entering the
house to which I was invited, a crowd of sixty or seventy men, women,
and children gathered around me, and I sat for half an hour like some
strange animal submitted for the first time to the gaze of an inquiring
public. Brass rings were here in the greatest profusion, many of the
women having their arms completely covered with them, as well as their
legs from the ankle to the knee. Round the waist they wear a dozen
or more coils of fine rattan stained red, to which the petticoat is
attached. Below this are generally a number of coils of brass wire, a
girdle of small silver coins, and sometimes a broad belt of brass ring
armour. On their heads they wear a conical hat without a crown, formed
of variously coloured beads, kept in shape by rings of rattan, and
forming a fantastic but not unpicturesque headdress.

Walking out to a small hill near the village, cultivated as a
rice-field, I had a fine view of the country, which was becoming quite
hilly, and towards the south, mountainous. I took bearings and sketches
of all that was visible, an operation which caused much astonishment
to the Dyaks who accompanied me, and produced a request to exhibit the
compass when I returned. I was then surrounded by a larger crowd than
before, and when I took my evening meal in the midst of a circle of
about a hundred spectators anxiously observing every movement and
criticising every mouthful, my thoughts involuntarily recurred to the
lion at feeding time. Like those noble animals, I too was used to it,
and it did not affect my appetite. The children here were more shy than
at Tabókan, and I could not persuade them to play. I therefore turned
showman myself, and exhibited the shadow of a dog's head eating, which
pleased them so much that all the village in succession came out to
see it. The "rabbit on the wall" does not do in Borneo, as there is
no animal it resembles. The boys had tops shaped something like
whipping-tops, but spun with a string.

The next morning we proceeded as before, but the river had become so
rapid and shallow and the boats were all so small, that though I had
nothing with me but a change of clothes, a gun, and a few cooking
utensils, two were required to take me on. The rock which appeared
here and there on the riverbank was an indurated clay-slate, sometimes
crystalline, and thrown up almost vertically. Right and left of us rose
isolated limestone mountains, their white precipices glistening in
the sun and contrasting beautifully with the luxuriant vegetation that
elsewhere clothed them. The river bed was a mass of pebbles, mostly
pure white quartz, but with abundance of jasper and agate, presenting a
beautifully variegated appearance. It was only ten in the morning when
we arrived at Budw, and, though there were plenty of people about, I
could not induce them to allow me to go on to the next village. The
Orang Kaya said that if I insisted on having men, of course he would get
them, but when I took him at his word and said I must have them, there
came a fresh remonstrance; and the idea of my going on that day seemed
so painful that I was obliged to submit. I therefore walked out over
the rice-fields, which are here very extensive, covering a number of the
little hills and valleys into which the whole country seems broken up,
and obtained a fine view of hills and mountains in every direction.

In the evening the Orang Kaya came in full dress (a spangled velvet
jacket, but no trousers), and invited me over to his house, where he
gave me a seat of honour under a canopy of white calico and coloured
handkerchiefs. The great verandah was crowded with people, and large
plates of rice with cooked and fresh eggs were placed on the ground as
presents for me. A very old man then dressed himself in bright-coloured
cloths and many ornaments, and sitting at the door, murmured a long
prayer or invocation, sprinkling rice from a basin he held in his hand,
while several large gongs were loudly beaten and a salute of muskets
fired off. A large jar of rice wine, very sour but with an agreeable
flavour, was then handed around, and I asked to see some of their
dances. These were, like most savage performances, very dull and
ungraceful affairs; the men dressing themselves absurdly like women, and
the girls making themselves as stiff and ridiculous as possible. All the
time six or eight large Chinese gongs were being beaten by the vigorous
arms of as many young men, producing such a deafening discord that I was
glad to escape to the round house, where I slept very comfortably with
half a dozen smoke-dried human skulls suspended over my head.

The river was now so shallow that boats could hardly get along. I
therefore preferred walking to the next village, expecting to see
something of the country, but was much disappointed, as the path lay
almost entirely through dense bamboo thickets. The Dyaks get two crops
off the ground in succession; one of rice, and the other of sugar-cane,
maize, and vegetables. The ground then lies fallow eight or ten years,
and becomes covered with bamboos and shrubs, which often completely
arch over the path and shut out everything from the view. Three hours'
walking brought us to the village of Senankan, where I was again obliged
to remain the whole day, which I agreed to do on the promise of the
Orang Kaya that his men should next day take me through two other
villages across to Senna, at the head of the Sarawak River. I amused
myself as I best could till evening, by walking about the high ground
near, to get views of the country and bearings of the chief mountains.
There was then another public audience, with gifts of rice and eggs, and
drinking of rice wine. These Dyaks cultivate a great extent of ground,
and supply a good deal of rice to Sarawak. They are rich in gongs, brass
trays, wire, silver coins, and other articles in which a Dyak's wealth
consists; and their women and children are all highly ornamented with
bead necklaces, shells, and brass wire.

In the morning I waited some time, but the men that were to accompany me
did not make their appearance. On sending to the Orang Kaya I found that
both he and another head-man had gone out for the day, and on inquiring
the reason was told that they could not persuade any of their men to
go with me because the journey was a long and fatiguing one. As I was
determined to get on, I told the few men that remained that the chiefs
had behaved very badly, and that I should acquaint the Rajah with their
conduct, and I wanted to start immediately. Every man present made some
excuse, but others were sent for, and by dint of threats and promises,
and the exertion of all Bujon's eloquence, we succeeded in getting off
after two hours' delay.

For the first few miles our path lay over a country cleared for
rice-fields, consisting entirely of small but deep and sharply-cut
ridges and valleys without a yard of level ground. After crossing the
Kayan river, a main branch of the Sadong, we got on to the lower slopes
of the Seboran Mountain, and the path lay along a sharp and moderately
steep ridge, affording an excellent view of the country. Its features
were exactly those of the Himalayas in miniature, as they are described
by Dr. Hooker and other travellers, and looked like a natural model
of some parts of those vast mountains on a scale of about a
tenth--thousands of feet being here represented by hundreds. I now
discovered the source of the beautiful pebbles which had so pleased me
in the riverbed. The slatey rocks had ceased, and these mountains seemed
to consist of a sandstone conglomerate, which was in some places a mere
mass of pebbles cemented together. I might have known that such small
streams could not produce such vast quantities of well-rounded pebbles
of the very hardest materials. They had evidently been formed in past
ages, by the action of some continental stream or seabeach, before the
great island of Borneo had risen from the ocean. The existence of such a
system of hills and valleys reproducing in miniature all the features of
a great mountain region, has an important bearing on the modern theory
that the form of the ground is mainly due to atmospheric rather than
to subterranean action. When we have a number of branching valleys and
ravines running in many different directions within a square mile,
it seems hardly possible to impute their formation, or even their
origination, to rents and fissures produced by earthquakes. On the other
hand, the nature of the rock, so easily decomposed and removed by water,
and the known action of the abundant tropical rains, are in this case,
at least, quite sufficient causes for the production of such valleys.
But the resemblance between their forms and outlines, their mode of
divergence, and the slopes and ridges that divide them, and those of the
grand mountain scenery of the Himalayas, is so remarkable, that we are
forcibly led to the conclusion that the forces at work in the two cases
have been the same, differing only in the time they have been in action,
and the nature of the material they have had to work upon.

About noon we reached the village of Menyerry, beautifully situated on
a spur of the mountain about 600 feet above the valley, and affording
a delightful view of the mountains of this part of Borneo. I here got a
sight of Penrissen Mountain, at the head of the Sarawak River, and one
of the highest in the district, rising to about 6,000 feet above the
sea. To the south the Rowan, and further off the Untowan Mountains in
the Dutch territory appeared equally lofty. Descending from Menyerry we
again crossed the Kayan, which bends round the spur, and ascended to the
pass which divides the Sadong and Sarawak valleys, and which is about
2,000 feet high. The descent from this point was very fine. A stream,
deep in a rocky gorge, rushed on each side of us, to one of which we
gradually descended, passing over many lateral gullys and along the
faces of some precipices by means of native bamboo bridges. Some of
these were several hundred feet long and fifty or sixty high, a single
smooth bamboo four inches diameter forming the only pathway, while a
slender handrail of the same material was often so shaky that it could
only be used as a guide rather than a support.

Late in the afternoon we reached Sodos, situated on a spur between two
streams, but so surrounded by fruit trees that little could be seen
of the country. The house was spacious, clean and comfortable, and the
people very obliging. Many of the women and children had never seen a
white man before, and were very sceptical as to my being the same colour
all over, as my face. They begged me to show them my arms and body, and
they were so kind and good-tempered that I felt bound to give them some
satisfaction, so I turned up my trousers and let them see the colour of
my leg, which they examined with great interest.

In the morning early we continued our descent along a fine valley, with
mountains rising 2,000 or 3,000 feet in every direction. The little
river rapidly increased in size until we reached Senna, when it had
become a fine pebbly stream navigable for small canoes. Here again the
upheaved slatey rock appeared, with the same dip and direction as in the
Sadong River. On inquiring for a boat to take me down the stream, I was
told that the Senna Dyaks, although living on the river-banks, never
made or used boats. They were mountaineers who had only come down into
the valley about twenty years before, and had not yet got into new
habits. They are of the same tribe as the people of Menyerry and Sodos.
They make good paths and bridges, and cultivate much mountain land, and
thus give a more pleasing and civilized aspect to the country than where
the people move about only in boats, and confine their cultivation to
the banks of the streams.

After some trouble I hired a boat from a Malay trader, and found three
Dyaks who had been several times with Malays to Sarawak, and thought
they could manage it very well. They turned out very awkward, constantly
running aground, striking against rocks, and losing their balance so as
almost to upset themselves and the boat--offering a striking contrast
to the skill of the Sea Dyaks. At length we came to a really dangerous
rapid where boats were often swamped, and my men were afraid to pass it.
Some Malays with a boatload of rice here overtook us, and after safely
passing down kindly sent back one of their men to assist me. As it was,
my Dyaks lost their balance in the critical part of the passage, and
had they been alone would certainly have upset the boat. The river now
became exceedingly picturesque, the ground on each side being partially
cleared for ricefields, affording a good view of the country. Numerous
little granaries were built high up in trees overhanging the river, and
having a bamboo bridge sloping up to them from the bank; and here and
there bamboo suspension bridge crossed the stream, where overhanging
trees favoured their construction.

I slept that night in the village of the Sebungow Dyaks, and the next
day reached Sarawak, passing through a most beautiful country where
limestone mountains with their fantastic forms and white precipices shot
up on every side, draped and festooned with a luxuriant vegetation.
The banks of the Sarawak River are everywhere covered with fruit trees,
which supply the Dyaks with a great deal of their food. The Mangosteen,
Lansat, Rambutan, Jack, Jambou, and Blimbing, are all abundant; but
most abundant and most esteemed is the Durian, a fruit about which very
little is known in England, but which both by natives and Europeans
in the Malay Archipelago is reckoned superior to all others. The old
traveller Linschott, writing in 1599, says: "It is of such an excellent
taste that it surpasses in flavour all the other fruits of the world,
according to those who have tasted it." And Doctor Paludanus adds: "This
fruit is of a hot and humid nature. To those not used to it, it seems at
first to smell like rotten onions, but immediately when they have tasted
it, they prefer it to all other food. The natives give it honourable
titles, exalt it, and make verses on it." When brought into a house the
smell is often so offensive that some persons can never bear to taste
it. This was my own case when I first tried it in Malacca, but in Borneo
I found a ripe fruit on the ground, and, eating it out of doors, I at
once became a confirmed Durian eater.

The Durian grows on a large and lofty forest tree, somewhat resembling
an elm in its general character, but with a more smooth and scaly bark.
The fruit is round or slightly oval, about the size of a large cocoanut,
of a green colour, and covered all over with short stout spines
the bases of which touch each other, and are consequently somewhat
hexagonal, while the points are very strong and sharp. It is so
completely armed, that if the stalk is broken off it is a difficult
matter to lift one from the ground. The outer rind is so thick and
tough, that from whatever height it may fall it is never broken. From
the base to the apex five very faint lines may be traced, over which
the spines arch a little; these are the sutures of the carpels, and show
where the fruit may be divided with a heavy knife and a strong hand.
The five cells are satiny white within, and are each filled with an oval
mass of cream-coloured pulp, imbedded in which are two or three seeds
about the size of chestnuts. This pulp is the eatable part, and its
consistency and flavour are indescribable. A rich butter-like custard
highly flavoured with almonds gives the best general idea of it,
but intermingled with it come wafts of flavour that call to mind
cream-cheese, onion-sauce, brown sherry, and other incongruities. Then
there is a rich glutinous smoothness in the pulp which nothing else
possesses, but which adds to its delicacy. It is neither acid, nor
sweet, nor juicy; yet one feels the want of none of these qualities, for
it is perfect as it is. It produces no nausea or other bad effect, and
the more you eat of it the less you feel inclined to stop. In fact
to eat Durians is a new sensation, worth a voyage to the East to
experience.

When the fruit is ripe it falls of itself, and the only way to eat
Durians in perfection is to get them as they fall; and the smell is
then less overpowering. When unripe, it makes a very good vegetable if
cooked, and it is also eaten by the Dyaks raw. In a good fruit season
large quantities are preserved salted, in jars and bamboos, and kept the
year round, when it acquires a most disgusting odour to Europeans, but
the Dyaks appreciate it highly as a relish with their rice. There are in
the forest two varieties of wild Durians with much smaller fruits, one
of them orange-coloured inside; and these are probably the origin of
the large and fine Durians, which are never found wild. It would not,
perhaps, be correct to say that the Durian is the best of all fruits,
because it cannot supply the place of the subacid juicy kinds, such as
the orange, grape, mango, and mangosteen, whose refreshing and cooling
qualities are so wholesome and grateful; but as producing a food of the
most exquisite flavour, it is unsurpassed. If I had to fix on two only,
as representing the perfection of the two classes, I should certainly
choose the Durian and the Orange as the king and queen of fruits.

The Durian is, however, sometimes dangerous. When the fruit begins to
ripen it falls daily and almost hourly, and accidents not unfrequently
happen to persons walking or working under the trees. When a Durian
strikes a man in its fall, it produces a dreadful wound, the strong
spines tearing open the flesh, while the blow itself is very heavy; but
from this very circumstance death rarely ensues, the copious effusion
of blood preventing the inflammation which might otherwise take place. A
Dyak chief informed me that he had been struck down by a Durian falling
on his head, which he thought would certainly have caused his death, yet
he recovered in a very short time.

Poets and moralists, judging from our English trees and fruits, have
thought that small fruits always grew on lofty trees, so that their fall
should be harmless to man, while the large ones trailed on the ground.
Two of the largest and heaviest fruits known, however, the Brazil-nut
fruit (Bertholletia) and Durian, grow on lofty forest trees, from which
they fall as soon as they are ripe, and often wound or kill the native
inhabitants. From this we may learn two things: first, not to draw
general conclusions from a very partial view of nature; and secondly,
that trees and fruits, no less than the varied productions of the animal
kingdom, do not appear to be organized with exclusive reference to the
use and convenience of man.

During my many journeys in Borneo, and especially during my various
residences among the Dyaks, I first came to appreciate the admirable
qualities of the Bamboo. In those parts of South America which I had
previously visited, these gigantic grasses were comparatively scarce;
and where found but little used, their place being taken as to one class
of uses by the great variety of Palms, and as to another by calabashes
and gourds. Almost all tropical countries produce Bamboos, and wherever
they are found in abundance the natives apply them to a variety of
uses. Their strength, lightness, smoothness, straightness, roundness and
hollowness, the facility and regularity with which they can be split,
their many different sizes, the varying length of their joints, the
ease with which they can be cut and with which holes can be made through
them, their hardness outside, their freedom from any pronounced taste
or smell, their great abundance, and the rapidity of their growth and
increase, are all qualities which render them useful for a hundred
different purposes, to serve which other materials would require much
more labour and preparation. The Bamboo is one of the most wonderful
and most beautiful productions of the tropics, and one of nature's most
valuable gifts to uncivilized man.

The Dyak houses are all raised on posts, and are often two or three
hundred feet long and forty or fifty wide. The floor is always formed
of strips split from large Bamboos, so that each may be nearly flat and
about three inches wide, and these are firmly tied down with rattan to
the joists beneath. When well made, this is a delightful floor to walk
upon barefooted, the rounded surfaces of the bamboo being very smooth
and agreeable to the feet, while at the same time affording a firm hold.
But, what is more important, they form with a mat over them an excellent
bed, the elasticity of the Bamboo and its rounded surface being far
superior to a more rigid and a flatter floor. Here we at once find a use
for Bamboo which cannot be supplied so well by another material without
a vast amount of labour--palms and other substitutes requiring much
cutting and smoothing, and not being equally good when finished. When,
however, a flat, close floor is required, excellent boards are made by
splitting open large Bamboos on one side only, and flattening them out
so as to form slabs eighteen inches wide and six feet long, with which
some Dyaks floor their houses. These with constant rubbing of the feet
and the smoke of years become dark and polished, like walnut or old oak,
so that their real material can hardly be recognised. What labour is
here saved to a savage whose only tools are an axe and a knife, and who,
if he wants boards, must hew them out of the solid trunk of a tree, and
must give days and weeks of labour to obtain a surface as smooth and
beautiful as the Bamboo thus treated affords him. Again, if a temporary
house is wanted, either by the native in his plantation or by the
traveller in the forest, nothing is so convenient as the Bamboo, with
which a house can be constructed with a quarter of the labour and time
than if other materials are used.

As I have already mentioned, the Hill Dyaks in the interior of Sarawak
make paths for long distances from village to village and to their
cultivated grounds, in the course of which they have to cross many
gullies and ravines, and even rivers; or sometimes, to avoid a long
circuit, to carry the path along the face of a precipice. In all these
cases the bridges they construct are of Bamboo, and so admirably adapted
is the material for this purpose, that it seems doubtful whether they
ever would have attempted such works if they had not possessed it. The
Dyak bridge is simple but well designed. It consists merely of stout
Bamboos crossing each other at the road-way like the letter X, and
rising a few feet above it. At the crossing they are firmly bound
together, and to a large Bamboo which lays upon them and forms the only
pathway, with a slender and often very shaky one to serve as a handrail.
When a river is to be crossed, an overhanging tree is chosen from which
the bridge is partly suspended and partly supported by diagonal struts
from the banks, so as to avoid placing posts in the stream itself, which
would be liable to be carried away by floods. In carrying a path along
the face of a precipice, trees and roots are made use of for suspension;
struts arise from suitable notches or crevices in the rocks, and if
these are not sufficient, immense Bamboos fifty or sixty feet long are
fixed on the banks or on the branch of a tree below. These bridges
are traversed daily by men and women carrying heavy loads, so that any
insecurity is soon discovered, and, as the materials are close at hand,
immediately repaired. When a path goes over very steep ground, and
becomes slippery in very wet or very dry weather, the Bamboo is used
in another way. Pieces are cut about a yard long, and opposite notches
being made at each end, holes are formed through which pegs are driven,
and firm and convenient steps are thus formed with the greatest ease and
celerity. It is true that much of this will decay in one or two seasons,
but it can be so quickly replaced as to make it more economical than
using a harder and more durable wood.

One of the most striking uses to which Bamboo is applied by the Dyaks,
is to assist them in climbing lofty trees by driving in pegs in the way
I have already described at page 85. This method is constantly used in
order to obtain wax, which is one of the most valuable products of the
country. The honey-bee of Borneo very generally hangs its combs under
the branches of the Tappan, a tree which towers above all others in the
forest, and whose smooth cylindrical trunk often rises a hundred feet
without a branch. The Dyaks climb these lofty trees at night,
building up their Bamboo ladder as they go, and bringing down gigantic
honeycombs. These furnish them with a delicious feast of honey and young
bees, besides the wax, which they sell to traders, and with the proceeds
buy the much-coveted brass wire, earrings, and bold-edged handkerchiefs
with which they love to decorate themselves. In ascending Durian and
other fruit trees which branch at from thirty to fifty feet from the
ground, I have seen them use the Bamboo pegs only, without the upright
Bamboo which renders them so much more secure.

The outer rind of the Bamboo, split and shaved thin, is the strongest
material for baskets; hen-coops, bird-cages, and conical fish-traps
are very quickly made from a single joint, by splitting off the skin in
narrow strips left attached to one end, while rings of the same material
or of rattan are twisted in at regular distances. Water is brought to
the houses by little aqueducts formed of large Bamboos split in half
and supported on crossed sticks of various heights so as to give it
a regular fall. Thin long-jointed Bamboos form the Dyaks' only
water-vessels, and a dozen of them stand in the corner of every house.
They are clean, light, and easily carried, and are in many ways superior
to earthen vessels for the same purpose. They also make excellent
cooking utensils; vegetables and rice can be boiled in them to
perfection, and they are often used when travelling. Salted fruit or
fish, sugar, vinegar, and honey are preserved in them instead of in jars
or bottles. In a small Bamboo case, prettily carved and ornamented,
the Dyak carries his sirih and lime for betel chewing, and his little
long-bladed knife has a Bamboo sheath. His favourite pipe is a huge
hubble-bubble, which he will construct in a few minutes by inserting a
small piece of Bamboo for a bowl obliquely into a large cylinder about
six inches from the bottom containing water, through which the smoke
passes to a long slender Bamboo tube. There are many other small matters
for which Bamboo is daily used, but enough has now been mentioned to
show its value. In other parts of the Archipelago I have myself seen it
applied to many new uses, and it is probable that my limited means of
observation did not make me acquainted with one-half the ways in which
it is serviceable to the Dyaks of Sarawak.

While upon the subject of plants I may here mention a few of the more
striking vegetable productions of Borneo. The wonderful Pitcher-plants,
forming the genus Nepenthes of botanists, here reach their greatest
development. Every mountain-top abounds with them, running along
the ground, or climbing over shrubs and stunted trees; their elegant
pitchers hanging in every direction. Some of these are long and slender,
resembling in form the beautiful Philippine lace-sponge (Euplectella),
which has now become so common; others are broad and short. Their
colours are green, variously tinted and mottled with red or purple.
The finest yet known were obtained on the summit of Kini-balou, in
North-west Borneo. One of the broad sort, Nepenthes rajah, will hold two
quarts of water in its pitcher. Another, Nepenthes Edwardsiania, has
a narrow pitcher twenty inches long; while the plant itself grows to a
length of twenty feet.

Ferns are abundant, but are not so varied as on the volcanic mountains
of Java; and Tree-ferns are neither so plentiful nor so large as on that
island. They grow, however, quite down to the level of the sea, and are
generally slender and graceful plants from eight to fifteen feet high.
Without devoting much time to the search I collected fifty species of
Ferns in Borneo, and I have no doubt a good botanist would have obtained
twice the number. The interesting group of Orchids is very abundant,
but, as is generally the case, nine-tenths of the species have small
and inconspicuous flowers. Among the exceptions are the fine Coelogynes,
whose large clusters of yellow flowers ornament the gloomiest
forests, and that most extraordinary plant, Vanda Lowii, which last
is particularly abundant near some hot springs at the foot of the
Penin-jauh Mountain. It grows on the lower branches of trees, and its
strange pendant flower-spires often hang down so as almost to reach the
ground. These are generally six or eight feet long, bearing large and
handsome flowers three inches across, and varying in colour from orange
to red, with deep purple-red spots. I measured one spike, which reached
the extraordinary length of nine feet eight inches, and bore thirty-six
flowers, spirally arranged upon a slender thread-like stalk. Specimens
grown in our English hot-houses have produced flower-spires of equal
length, and with a much larger number of blossoms.

Flowers were scarce, as is usual in equatorial forests, and it was only
at rare intervals that I met with anything striking. A few fine
climbers were sometimes seen, especially a handsome crimson and yellow
Aeschynanthus, and a fine leguminous plant with clusters of large
Cassia-like flowers of a rich purple colour. Once I found a number
of small Anonaceous trees of the genus Polyalthea, producing a most
striking effect in the gloomy forest shades. They were about thirty feet
high, and their slender trunks were covered with large star-like crimson
flowers, which clustered over them like garlands, and resembled some
artificial decoration more than a natural product.

The forests abound with gigantic trees with cylindrical, buttressed, or
furrowed stems, while occasionally the traveller comes upon a wonderful
fig-tree, whose trunk is itself a forest of stems and aerial roots.
Still more rarely are found trees which appear to have begun growing in
mid-air, and from the same point send out wide-spreading branches above
and a complicated pyramid of roots descending for seventy or eighty feet
to the ground below, and so spreading on every side, that one can stand
in the very centre with the trunk of the tree immediately overhead.
Trees of this character are found all over the Archipelago, and the
accompanying illustration (taken from one which I often visited in the
Aru Islands) will convey some idea of their general character. I believe
that they originate as parasites, from seeds carried by birds and
dropped in the fork of some lofty tree. Hence descend aerial roots,
clasping and ultimately destroying the supporting tree, which is in time
entirely replaced by the humble plant which was at first dependent upon
it. Thus we have an actual struggle for life in the vegetable kingdom,
not less fatal to the vanquished than the struggles among animals which
we can so much more easily observe and understand. The advantage of
quicker access to light and warmth and air, which is gained in one way
by climbing plants, is here obtained by a forest tree, which has the
means of starting in life at an elevation which others can only attain
after many years of growth, and then only when the fall of some other
tree has made room for then. Thus it is that in the warm and moist and
equable climate of the tropics, each available station is seized upon
and becomes the means of developing new forms of life especially adapted
to occupy it.

On reaching Sarawak early in December, I found there would not be an
opportunity of returning to Singapore until the latter end of January.
I therefore accepted Sir James Brooke's invitation to spend a week with
him and Mr. St. John at his cottage on Peninjauh. This is a very steep
pyramidal mountain of crystalline basaltic rock, about a thousand feet
high, and covered with luxuriant forest. There are three Dyak villages
upon it, and on a little platform near the summit is the rude wooden
lodge where the English Rajah was accustomed to go for relaxation and
cool fresh air. It is only twenty miles up the river, but the road
up the mountain is a succession of ladders on the face of precipices,
bamboo bridges over gullies and chasms, and slippery paths over rocks
and tree-trunks and huge boulders as big as houses. A cool spring under
an overhanging rock just below the cottage furnished us with refreshing
baths and delicious drinking water, and the Dyaks brought us daily
heaped-up baskets of Mangosteens and Lansats, two of the most delicious
of the subacid tropical fruits. We returned to Sarawak for Christmas
(the second I had spent with Sir James Brooke), when all the Europeans
both in the town and from the out-stations enjoyed the hospitality of
the Rajah, who possessed in a pre-eminent degree the art of making every
one around him comfortable and happy.

A few days afterwards I returned to the mountain with Charles and a
Malay boy named Ali and stayed there three weeks for the purpose of
making a collection of land-shells, butterflies and moths, ferns and
orchids. On the hill itself ferns were tolerably plentiful, and I made
a collection of about forty species. But what occupied me most was
the great abundance of moths which on certain occasions I was able to
capture. As during the whole of my eight years' wanderings in the East
I never found another spot where these insects were at all plentiful,
it will be interesting to state the exact conditions under which I here
obtained them.

On one side of the cottage there was a verandah, looking down the whole
side of the mountain and to its summit on the right, all densely clothed
with forest. The boarded sides of the cottage were whitewashed, and the
roof of the verandah was low, and also boarded and whitewashed. As soon
as it got dark I placed my lamp on a table against the wall, and with
pins, insect-forceps, net, and collecting-boxes by my side, sat down
with a book. Sometimes during the whole evening only one solitary moth
would visit me, while on other nights they would pour in, in a continual
stream, keeping me hard at work catching and pinning till past midnight.
They came literally by the thousands. These good nights were very few.
During the four weeks that I spent altogether on the hill I only had
four really good nights, and these were always rainy, and the best
of them soaking wet. But wet nights were not always good, for a rainy
moonlight night produced next to nothing. All the chief tribes of moths
were represented, and the beauty and variety of the species was very
great. On good nights I was able to capture from a hundred to two
hundred and fifty moths, and these comprised on each occasion from half
to two-thirds that number of distinct species. Some of them would settle
on the wall, some on the table, while many would fly up to the roof and
give me a chase all over the verandah before I could secure them. In
order to show the curious connection between the state of weather and
the degree in which moths were attracted to light, I add a list of my
captures each night of my stay on the hill:


     Date (1855)    No. of Moths     Remarks

     Dec. 13th             1     Fine; starlight.
          14th            75     Drizzly and fog.
          15th            41     Showery; cloudy.
          16th           158     (120 species.) Steady rain.
          17th            82     Wet; rather moonlight.
          18th             9     Fine; moonlight.
          19th             2     Fine; clear moonlight.
          31st           200     (130 species.) Dark and windy;
                                 heavy rain.

     Date (1856)
     Jan. 1st            185      Very wet.
          2d              68      Cloudy and showers.
          3d              50      Cloudy.
          4th             12      Fine.
          5th             10      Fine.
          6th              8      Very fine.
          7th              8      Very fine.
          8th             10      Fine.
          9th             36      Showery.
         10th             30      Showery.
         11th            260      Heavy rain all night, and dark.
         12th             56      Showery.
         13th             44      Showery; some moonlight.
         14th              4      Fine; moonlight.
         15th             24      Rain; moonlight.
         16th              6      Showers; moonlight.
         17th              6      Showers; moonlight.
         18th              1      Showers; moonlight.
     Total             1,386

It thus appears that on twenty-six nights I collected 1,386 moths, but
that more than 800 of them were collected on four very wet and dark
nights. My success here led me to hope that, by similar arrangements, I
might on every island be able to obtain an abundance of these insects;
but, strange to say, during the six succeeding years, I was never once
able to make any collections at all approaching those at Sarawak. The
reason for this I can pretty well understand to be owing to the absence
of some one or other essential condition that were here all combined.
Sometimes the dry season was the hindrance; more frequently residence
in a town or village not close to virgin forest, and surrounded by other
houses whose lights were a counter-attraction; still more frequently
residence in a dark palm-thatched house, with a lofty roof, in whose
recesses every moth was lost the instant it entered. This last was the
greatest drawback, and the real reason why I never again was able to
make a collection of moths; for I never afterwards lived in a solitary
jungle-house with a low boarded and whitewashed verandah, so constructed
as to prevent insects at once escaping into the upper part of the house,
quite out of reach.

After my long experience, my numerous failures, and my one success, I
feel sure that if any party of naturalists ever make a yacht-voyage to
explore the Malayan Archipelago, or any other tropical region, making
entomology one of their chief pursuits, it would well repay them to
carry a small framed verandah, or a verandah-shaped tent of white
canvas, to set up in every favourable situation, as a means of making
a collection of nocturnal Lepidoptera, and also of obtaining rare
specimens of Coleoptera and other insects. I make the suggestion here,
because no one would suspect the enormous difference in results that
such an apparatus would produce; and because I consider it one of the
curiosities of a collector's experience, to have found out that some
such apparatus is required.

When I returned to Singapore I took with me the Malay lad named Ali,
who subsequently accompanied me all over the Archipelago. Charles
Allen preferred staying at the Mission-house, and afterwards obtained
employment in Sarawak and in Singapore, until he again joined me four
years later at Amboyna in the Moluccas.



CHAPTER VI. BORNEO--THE DYAKS.

THE manners and customs of the aborigines of Borneo have been described
in great detail, and with much fuller information than I possess, in the
writings of Sir James Brooke, Messrs. Low, St. John, Johnson Brooke,
and many others. I do not propose to go over the ground again, but shall
confine myself to a sketch, from personal observation, of the general
character of the Dyaks, and of such physical, moral, and social
characteristics as have been less frequently noticed.

The Dyak is closely allied to the Malay, and more remotely to the
Siamese, Chinese, and other Mongol races. All these are characterised by
a reddish-brown or yellowish-brown skin of various shades, by jet-black
straight hair, by the scanty or deficient beard, by the rather small and
broad nose, and high cheekbones; but none of the Malayan races have the
oblique eyes which are characteristic of the more typical Mongols. The
average stature of the Dyaks is rather more than that of the Malays,
while it is considerably under that of most Europeans. Their forms are
well proportioned, their feet and hands small, and they rarely or never
attain the bulk of body so often seen in Malays and Chinese.

I am inclined to rank the Dyaks above the Malays in mental capacity,
while in moral character they are undoubtedly superior to them. They
are simple and honest, and become the prey of the Malay and Chinese
traiders, who cheat and plunder them continually. They are more lively,
more talkative, less secretive, and less suspicious than the Malay,
and are therefore pleasanter companions. The Malay boys have little
inclination for active sports and games, which form quite a feature in
the life of the Dyak youths, who, besides outdoor games of skill and
strength, possess a variety of indoor amusements. One wet day, in a Dyak
house, when a number of boys and young men were about me, I thought
to amuse them with something new, and showed them how to make "cat's
cradle" with a piece of string. Greatly to my surprise, they knew all
about it, and more than I did; for, after Charles and I had gone through
all the changes we could make, one of the boys took it off my hand, and
made several new figures which quite puzzled me. They then showed me a
number of other tricks with pieces of string, which seemed a favourite
amusement with them.

Even these apparently trifling matters may assist us to form a truer
estimate of the Dyaks' character and social condition. We learn thereby,
that these people have passed beyond that first stage of savage life in
which the struggle for existence absorbs all of the faculties, and in
which every thought and idea is connected with war or hunting, or the
provision for their immediate necessities. These amusements indicate a
capability of civilization, an aptitude to enjoy other than mere sensual
pleasures, which might be taken advantage of to elevate their whole
intellectual and social life.

The moral character of the Dyaks is undoubtedly high--a statement which
will seem strange to those who have heard of them only as head-hunters
and pirates. The Hill Dyaks of whom I am speaking, however, have never
been pirates, since they never go near the sea; and head-hunting is a
custom originating in the petty wars of village with village, and tribe
with tribe, which no more implies a bad moral character than did the
custom of the slave-trade a hundred years ago imply want of general
morality in all who participated in it. Against this one stain on their
character (which in the case of the Sarawak Dyaks no longer exists)
we have to set many good points. They are truthful and honest to a
remarkable degree. From this cause it is very often impossible to get
from them any definite information, or even an opinion. They say, "If
I were to tell you what I don't know, I might tell a lie;" and whenever
they voluntarily relate any matter of fact, you may be sure they are
speaking the truth. In a Dyak village the fruit trees have each their
owner, and it has often happened to me, on asking an inhabitant to
gather me some fruit, to be answered, "I can't do that, for the owner of
the tree is not here;" never seeming to contemplate the possibility of
acting otherwise. Neither will they take the smallest thing belonging to
an European. When living at Simunjon, they continually came to my house,
and would pick up scraps of torn newspaper or crooked pins that I had
thrown away, and ask as a great favour whether they might have them.
Crimes of violence (other than head-hunting) are almost unknown; for
in twelve years, under Sir James Brooke's rule, there had been only one
case of murder in a Dyak tribe, and that one was committed by a stranger
who had been adopted into the tribe. In several other matters of
morality they rank above most uncivilized, and even above many civilized
nations. They are temperate in food and drink, and the gross sensuality
of the Chinese and Malays is unknown among them. They have the usual
fault of all people in a half-savage state--apathy and dilatoriness,
but, however annoying this may be to Europeans who come in contact
with them, it cannot be considered a very grave offence, or be held to
outweigh their many excellent qualities.

During my residence among the Hill Dyaks, I was much struck by the
apparent absence of those causes which are generally supposed to check
the increase of population, although there were plain indications
of stationary or but slowly increasing numbers. The conditions most
favourable to a rapid increase of population are: an abundance of food,
a healthy climate, and early marriages. Here these conditions all exist.
The people produce far more food than they consume, and exchange the
surplus for gongs and brass cannon, ancient jars, and gold and silver
ornaments, which constitute their wealth. On the whole, they appear very
free from disease, marriages take place early (but not too early),
and old bachelors and old maids are alike unknown. Why, then, we must
inquire, has not a greater population been produced? Why are the Dyak
villages so small and so widely scattered, while nine-tenths of the
country is still covered with forest?

Of all the checks to population among savage nations mentioned by
Malthus--starvation, disease, war, infanticide, immorality, and
infertility of the women--the last is that which he seems to think least
important, and of doubtful efficacy; and yet it is the only one that
seems to me capable of accounting for the state of the population among
the Sarawak Dyaks. The population of Great Britain increases so as to
double itself in about fifty years. To do this it is evident that each
married couple must average three children who live to be married at the
age of about twenty-five. Add to these those who die in infancy, those
who never marry, or those who marry late in life and have no offspring,
the number of children born to each marriage must average four or five,
and we know that families of seven or eight are very common, and of ten
and twelve by no means rare. But from inquiries at almost every Dyak
tribe I visited, I ascertained that the women rarely had more than three
or four children, and an old chief assured me that he had never known a
woman to have more than seven.

In a village consisting of a hundred and fifty families, only one
consisted of six children living, and only six of five children, the
majority of families appearing to be two, three, or four. Comparing this
with the known proportions in European countries, it is evident that the
number of children to each marriage can hardly average more than three
or four; and as even in civilized countries half the population die
before the age of twenty-five, we should have only two left to replace
their parents; and so long as this state of things continued,
the population must remain stationary. Of course this is a mere
illustration; but the facts I have stated seem to indicate that
something of the kind really takes place; and if so, there is no
difficulty in understanding the smallness and almost stationary
population of the Dyak tribes.

We have next to inquire what is the cause of the small number of births
and of living children in a family. Climate and race may have something
to do with this, but a more real and efficient cause seems to me to
be the hard labour of the women, and the heavy weights they constantly
carry. A Dyak woman generally spends the whole day in the field, and
carries home every night a heavy load of vegetables and firewood, often
for several miles, over rough and hilly paths; and not unfrequently
has to climb up a rocky mountain by ladders, and over slippery
stepping-stones, to an elevation of a thousand feet. Besides this, she
has an hour's work every evening to pound the rice with a heavy wooden
stamper, which violently strains every part of the body. She begins this
kind of labour when nine or ten years old, and it never ceases but with
the extreme decrepitude of age. Surely we need not wonder at the limited
number of her progeny, but rather be surprised at the successful efforts
of nature to prevent the extermination of the race.

One of the surest and most beneficial effects of advancing civilization,
will be the amelioration of the condition of these women. The
precept and example of higher races will make the Dyak ashamed of his
comparatively idle life, while his weaker partner labours like a beast
of burthen. As his wants become increased and his tastes refined, the
women will have more household duties to attend to, and will then cease
to labour in the field--a change which has already to a great extent
taken place in the allied Malay, Javanese, and Bugis tribes. Population
will then certainly increase more rapidly, improved systems of
agriculture and some division of labour will become necessary in order
to provide the means of existence, and a more complicated social state
will take the place of the simple conditions of society which now occur
among them. But, with the sharper struggle for existence that will
then arise, will the happiness of the people as a whole be increased
or diminished? Will not evil passions be aroused by the spirit of
competition, and crimes and vices, now unknown or dormant, be called
into active existence? These are problems that time alone can solve; but
it is to be hoped that education and a high-class European example may
obviate much of the evil that too often arises in analogous cases, and
that we may at length be able to point to one instance of an uncivilized
people who have not become demoralized, and finally exterminated, by
contact with European civilization.

A few words in conclusion, about the government of Sarawak. Sir James
Brooke found the Dyaks oppressed and ground down by the most cruel
tyranny. They were cheated by the Malay traders and robbed by the Malay
chiefs. Their wives and children were often captured and sold into
slavery, and hostile tribes purchased permission from their cruel rulers
to plunder, enslave, and murder them. Anything like justice or redress
for these injuries was utterly unattainable. From the time Sir James
obtained possession of the country, all this was stopped. Equal justice
was awarded to Malay, Chinaman, and Dyak. The remorseless pirates from
the rivers farther east were punished, and finally shut up within their
own territories, and the Dyak, for the first time, could sleep in peace.
His wife and children were now safe from slavery; his house was no
longer burned over his head; his crops and his fruits were now his own
to sell or consume as he pleased. And the unknown stranger who had done
all this for them, and asked for nothing in return, what could he be?
How was it possible for them to realize his motives? Was it not natural
that they should refuse to believe he was a man? For of pure benevolence
combined with great power, they had had no experience among men. They
naturally concluded that he was a superior being, come down upon earth
to confer blessings on the afflicted. In many villages where he had not
been seen, I was asked strange questions about him. Was he not as old
as the mountains? Could he not bring the dead to life? And they firmly
believe that he can give them good harvests, and make their fruit-trees
bear an abundant crop.

In forming a proper estimate of Sir James Brooke's government it must
ever be remembered that he held Sarawak solely by the goodwill of the
native inhabitant. He had to deal with two races, one of whom, the
Mahometan Malays, looked upon the other race, the Dyaks, as savages
and slaves, only fit to be robbed and plundered. He has effectually
protected the Dyaks, and has invariably treated them as, in his sight,
equal to the Malays; and yet he has secured the affection and goodwill
of both. Notwithstanding the religious prejudice, of Mahometans, he
has induced them to modify many of their worst laws and customs, and to
assimilate their criminal code to that of the civilized world. That his
government still continues, after twenty-seven years--notwithstanding
his frequent absences from ill-health, notwithstanding conspiracies of
Malay chiefs, and insurrections of Chinese gold-diggers, all of
which have been overcome by the support of the native population, and
notwithstanding financial, political, and domestic troubles is due, I
believe, solely to the many admirable qualities which Sir James Brooke
possessed, and especially to his having convinced the native population,
by every action of his life, that he ruled them, not for his own
advantage, but for their good.

Since these lines were written, his noble spirit has passed away.
But though, by those who knew him not, he may be sneered at as an
enthusiastic adventurer, abused as a hard-hearted despot, the universal
testimony of everyone who came in contact with him in his adopted
country, whether European, Malay, or Dyak, will be, that Rajah Brooke
was a great, a wise, and a good ruler; a true and faithful friend--a man
to be admired for his talents, respected for his honesty and courage,
and loved for his genuine hospitality, his kindness of disposition, and
his tenderness of heart.



CHAPTER VII. JAVA.

I SPENT three months and a half in Java, from July 18th to October 31st,
1861, and shall briefly describe my own movements, and my observations
of the people and the natural history of the country. To all those who
wish to understand how the Dutch now govern Java, and how it is that
they are enabled to derive a large annual revenue from it, while the
population increases, and the inhabitants are contented, I recommend the
study of Mr. Money's excellent and interesting work, "How to Manage a
Colony." The main facts and conclusions of that work I most heartily
concur in, and I believe that the Dutch system is the very best that
can be adopted, when a European nation conquers or otherwise acquires
possession of a country inhabited by an industrious but semi-barbarous
people. In my account of Northern Celebes, I shall show how successfully
the same system has been applied to a people in a very different state
of civilization from the Javanese; and in the meanwhile will state in
the fewest words possible what that system is.

The mode of government now adopted in Java is to retain the whole series
of native rulers, from the village chief up to princes, who, under the
name of Regents, are the heads of districts about the size of a
small English county. With each Regent is placed a Dutch Resident, or
Assistant Resident, who is considered to be his "elder brother," and
whose "orders" take the form of "recommendations," which are, however,
implicitly obeyed. Along with each Assistant Resident is a Controller,
a kind of inspector of all the lower native rulers, who periodically
visits every village in the district, examines the proceedings of the
native courts, hears complaints against the head-men or other native
chiefs, and superintends the Government plantations. This brings us to
the "culture system," which is the source of all the wealth the Dutch
derive from Java, and is the subject of much abuse in this country
because it is the reverse of "free trade." To understand its uses and
beneficial effects, it is necessary first to sketch the common results
of free European trade with uncivilized peoples.

Natives of tropical climates have few wants, and, when these are
supplied, are disinclined to work for superfluities without some strong
incitement. With such a people the introduction of any new or systematic
cultivation is almost impossible, except by the despotic orders of
chiefs whom they have been accustomed to obey, as children obey their
parents. The free competition of European traders, however introduces
two powerful inducements to exertion. Spirits or opium is a temptation
too strong for most savages to resist, and to obtain these he will sell
whatever he has, and will work to get more. Another temptation he cannot
resist, is goods on credit. The trader offers him gay cloths, knives,
gongs, guns, and gunpowder, to be paid for by some crop perhaps not
yet planted, or some product yet in the forest. He has not sufficient
forethought to take only a moderate quantity, and not enough energy to
work early and late in order to get out of debt; and the consequence is
that he accumulates debt upon debt, and often remains for years, or
for life, a debtor and almost a slave. This is a state of things
which occurs very largely in every part of the world in which men of a
superior race freely trade with men of a lower race. It extends trade
no doubt for a time, but it demoralizes the native, checks true
civilization--and does not lead to any permanent increase in the wealth
of the country; so that the European government of such a country must
be carried on at a loss.

The system introduced by the Dutch was to induce the people, through
their chiefs, to give a portion of their time, to the cultivation of
coffee, sugar, and other valuable products. A fixed rate of wages--low
indeed, but, about equal to that of all places where European
competition has not artificially raised it--was paid to the labourers
engaged in clearing the ground and forming the plantations under
Government superintendence. The produce is sold to the Government at a
low, fixed price. Out of the net profit a percentage goes to the chiefs,
and the remainder is divided among the workmen. This surplus in good
years is something considerable. On the whole, the people are well fed
and decently clothed, and have acquired habits of steady industry and
the art of scientific cultivation, which must be of service to them in
the future. It must be remembered, that the Government expended capital
for years before any return was obtained; and if they now derive a large
revenue, it is in a way which is far less burthensome, and far more
beneficial to the people, than any tax that could be levied.

But although the system may be a good one, and as well adapted to the
development of arts and industry in a half civilized people as it is
to the material advantage of the governing country, it is not pretended
that in practice it is perfectly carried out. The oppressive and servile
relations between chiefs and people, which have continued for perhaps a
thousand years, cannot be at once abolished; and some evil must result
from those relations, until the spread of education and the gradual
infusion of European blood causes it naturally and insensibly to
disappear. It is said that the Residents, desirous of showing a large
increase in the products of their districts, have sometimes pressed the
people to such continued labour on the plantations that their rice crops
have been materially diminished, and famine has been the result. If this
has happened, it is certainly not a common thing, and is to be set down
to the abuse of the system, by the want of judgment, or want of humanity
in the Resident.

A tale has lately been written in Holland, and translated into English,
entitled "Max Havelaar;" or, the "Coffee Auctions of the Dutch Trading
Company," and with our usual one-sidedness in all relating to the Dutch
Colonial System, this work has been excessively praised, both for its
own merits, and for its supposed crushing exposure of the iniquities of
the Dutch government of Java. Greatly to my surprise, I found it a very
tedious and long-winded story, full of rambling digressions; and whose
only point is to show that the Dutch Residents and Assistant Residents
wink at the extortions of the native princes; and that in some districts
the natives have to do work without payment, and have their goods taken
away from them without compensation. Every statement of this kind is
thickly interspersed with italics and capital letters; but as the names
are all fictitious, and neither dates, figures, nor details are
ever given, it is impossible to verify or answer them. Even if not
exaggerated, the facts stated are not nearly so bad as those of the
oppression by free-trade indigo-planters, and torturing by native
tax-gatherers under British rule in India, with which the readers of
English newspapers were familiar a few years ago. Such oppression,
however, is not fairly to be imputed in either case to the particular
form of government, but is rather due to the infirmity of human nature,
and to the impossibility of at once destroying all trace of ages of
despotism on the one side, and of slavish obedience to their chiefs on
the other.

It must be remembered, that the complete establishment of the Dutch
power in Java is much more recent than that of our rule in India, and
that there have been several changes of government, and in the mode of
raising revenue. The inhabitants have been so recently under the rule
of their native princes, that it is not easy at once to destroy the
excessive reverence they feel for their old masters, or to diminish the
oppressive exactions which the latter have always been accustomed to
make. There is, however, one grand test of the prosperity, and even
of the happiness, of a community, which we can apply here--the rate of
increase of the population.

It is universally admitted that when a country increases rapidly in
population, the people cannot be very greatly oppressed or very badly
governed. The present system of raising a revenue by the cultivation of
coffee and sugar, sold to Government at a fixed price, began in 1832.
Just before this, in 1826, the population by census was 5,500,000, while
at the beginning of the century it was estimated at 3,500,000. In 1850,
when the cultivation system had been in operation eighteen years, the
population by census was over 9,500,000, or an increase of 73 per
cent in twenty-four years. At the last census, in 1865, it amounted to
14,168,416, an increase of very nearly 50 per cent in fifteen years--a
rate which would double the population in about twenty-six years. As
Java (with Madura) contains about 38,500 geographical square miles, this
will give an average of 368 persons to the square mile, just double that
of the populous and fertile Bengal Presidency as given in Thornton's
Gazetteer of India, and fully one-third more than that of Great Britain
and Ireland at the last Census. If, as I believe, this vast population
is on the whole contented and happy, the Dutch Government should
consider well before abruptly changing a system which has led to such
great results.

Taking it as a whole, and surveying it from every point of view, Java
is probably the very finest and most interesting tropical island in the
world. It is not first in size, but it is more than 600 miles long, and
from 60 to 120 miles wide, and in area is nearly equal to England; and
it is undoubtedly the most fertile, the most productive, and the most
populous island within the tropics. Its whole surface is magnificently
varied with mountain and forest scenery. It possesses thirty-eight
volcanic mountains, several of which rise to ten or twelve thousand feet
high. Some of these are in constant activity, and one or other of them
displays almost every phenomenon produced by the action of subterranean
fires, except regular lava streams, which never occur in Java. The
abundant moisture and tropical heat of the climate causes these
mountains to be clothed with luxuriant vegetation, often to their very
summits, while forests and plantations cover their lower slopes. The
animal productions, especially the birds and insects, are beautiful
and varied, and present many peculiar forms found nowhere else upon the
globe.

The soil throughout the island is exceedingly fertile, and all the
productions of the tropics, together with many of the temperate zones,
can be easily cultivated. Java too possesses a civilization, a history
and antiquities of its own, of great interest. The Brahminical religion
flourished in it from an epoch of unknown antiquity until about the
year 1478, when that of Mahomet superseded it. The former religion
was accompanied by a civilization which has not been equalled by the
conquerors; for, scattered through the country, especially in the
eastern part of it, are found buried in lofty forests, temples, tombs,
and statues of great beauty and grandeur; and the remains of extensive
cities, where the tiger, the rhinoceros, and the wild bull now roam
undisturbed. A modern civilization of another type is now spreading over
the land. Good roads run through the country from end to end; European
and native rulers work harmoniously together; and life and property are
as well secured as in the best governed states of Europe. I believe,
therefore, that Java may fairly claim to be the finest tropical island
in the world, and equally interesting to the tourist seeking after
new and beautiful scenes; to the naturalist who desires to examine
the variety and beauty of tropical nature; or to the moralist and the
politician who want to solve the problem of how man may be best governed
under new and varied conditions.

The Dutch mail steamer brought me from Ternate to Sourabaya, the chief
town and port in the eastern part of Java, and after a fortnight spent
in packing up and sending off my last collections, I started on a short
journey into the interior. Travelling in Java is very luxurious but very
expensive, the only way being to hire or borrow a carriage, and then pay
half a crown a mile for post-horses, which are changed at regular posts
every six miles, and will carry you at the rate of ten miles an hour
from one end of the island to the other. Bullock carts or coolies are
required to carry all extra baggage. As this kind of travelling would
not suit my means, I determined on making only a short journey to
the district at the foot of Mount Arjuna, where I was told there were
extensive forests, and where I hoped to be able to make some good
collections. The country for many miles behind Sourabaya is perfectly
flat and everywhere cultivated; being a delta or alluvial plain, watered
by many branching streams. Immediately around the town the evident signs
of wealth and of an industrious population were very pleasing; but as
we went on, the constant succession of open fields skirted by rows of
bamboos, with here and there the white buildings and a tall chimney of
a sugar-mill, became monotonous. The roads run in straight lines
for several miles at a stretch, and are bordered by rows of dusty
tamarind-trees. At each mile there are little guardhouses, where a
policeman is stationed; and there is a wooden gong, which by means of
concerted signals may be made to convey information over the country
with great rapidity. About every six or seven miles is the post-house,
where the horses are changed as quickly as were those of the mail in the
old coaching days in England.

I stopped at Modjo-kerto, a small town about forty miles south of
Sourabaya, and the nearest point on the high road to the district
I wished to visit. I had a letter of introduction to Mr. Ball, an
Englishman, long resident in Java and married to a Dutch lady; and he
kindly invited me to stay with him until I could fix on a place to suit
me. A Dutch Assistant Resident as well as a Regent or native Javanese
prince lived here. The town was neat, and had a nice open grassy space
like a village green, on which stood a magnificent fig-tree (allied to
the Banyan of India, but more lofty), under whose shade a kind of market
is continually held, and where the inhabitants meet together to lounge
and chat. The day after my arrival, Mr. Ball drove me over to the
village of Modjo-agong, where he was building a house and premises
for the tobacco trade, which is carried on here by a system of native
cultivation and advance purchase, somewhat similar to the indigo trade
in British India. On our way we stayed to look at a fragment of the
ruins of the ancient city of Modjo-pahit, consisting of two lofty brick
masses, apparently the sides of a gateway. The extreme perfection and
beauty of the brickwork astonished me. The bricks are exceedingly fine
and hard, with sharp angles and true surfaces. They are laid with
great exactness, without visible mortar or cement, yet somehow fastened
together so that the joints are hardly perceptible, and sometimes the
two surfaces coalesce in a most incomprehensible manner.

Such admirable brickwork I have never seen before or since. There was no
sculpture here, but an abundance of bold projections and finely-worked
mouldings. Traces of buildings exist for many miles in every direction,
and almost every road and pathway shows a foundation of brickwork
beneath it--the paved roads of the old city. In the house of the Waidono
or district chief at Modjo-agong, I saw a beautiful figure carved in
high relief out of a block of lava, and which had been found buried in
the ground near the village. On my expressing a wish to obtain some
such specimen, Mr. B. asked the chief for it, and much to my surprise he
immediately gave it me. It represented the Hindu goddess Durga, called
in Java, Lora Jong-grang (the exalted virgin). She has eight arms, and
stands on the back of a kneeling bull. Her lower right hand holds the
tail of the bull, while the corresponding left hand grasps the hair of a
captive, Dewth Mahikusor, the personification of vice, who has attempted
to slay her bull. He has a cord round his waist, and crouches at her
feet in an attitude of supplication. The other hands of the goddess
hold, on her right side, a double hook or small anchor, a broad straight
sword, and a noose of thick cord; on her left, a girdle or armlet of
large beads or shells, an unstrung bow, and a standard or war flag. This
deity was a special favourite among the old Javanese, and her image is
often found in the ruined temples which abound in the eastern part of
the island.

The specimen I had obtained was a small one, about two feet high,
weighing perhaps a hundredweight; and the next day we had it conveyed to
Modjo-Kerto to await my return to Sourabaya. Having decided to stay some
time at Wonosalem, on the lower slopes of the Arjuna Mountain, where
I was informed I should find forest and plenty of game, I had first to
obtain a recommendation from the Assistant Resident to the Regent, and
then an order from the Regent to the Waidono; and when after a week's
delay I arrived with my baggage and men at Modjo-agong, I found them all
in the midst of a five days' feast, to celebrate the circumcision of
the Waidono's younger brother and cousin, and had a small room in an
on outhouse given me to stay in. The courtyard and the great open
reception-shed were full of natives coming and going and making
preparations for a feast which was to take place at midnight, to which I
was invited, but preferred going to bed. A native band, or Gamelang, was
playing almost all the evening, and I had a good opportunity of seeing
the instruments and musicians. The former are chiefly gongs of various
sizes, arranged in sets of from eight to twelve, on low wooden frames.
Each set is played by one performer with one or two drumsticks. There
are also some very large gongs, played singly or in pairs, and taking
the place of our drums and kettledrums. Other instruments are formed by
broad metallic bars, supported on strings stretched across frames; and
others again of strips of bamboo similarly placed and producing
the highest notes. Besides these there were a flute and a curious
two-stringed violin, requiring in all twenty-four performers. There was
a conductor, who led off and regulated the time, and each performer
took his part, coming in occasionally with a few bars so as to form a
harmonious combination. The pieces played were long and complicated,
and some of the players were mere boys, who took their parts with great
precision. The general effect was very pleasing, but, owing to the
similarity of most of the instruments, more like a gigantic musical
box than one of our bands; and in order to enjoy it thoroughly it is
necessary to watch the large number of performers who are engaged in it.
The next morning, while I was waiting for the men and horses who were to
take me and my baggage to my destination, the two lads, who were about
fourteen years old, were brought out, clothed in a sarong from the waist
downwards, and having the whole body covered with yellow powder, and
profusely decked with white blossom in wreaths, necklaces, and armlets,
looking at first sight very like savage brides. They were conducted by
two priests to a bench placed in front of the house in the open air,
and the ceremony of circumcision was then performed before the assembled
crowd.

The road to Wonosalem led through a magnificent forest in the depths of
which we passed a fine ruin of what appeared to have been a royal tomb
or mausoleum. It is formed entirely of stone, and elaborately carved.
Near the base is a course of boldly projecting blocks, sculptured in
high relief, with a series of scenes which are probably incidents in
the life of the defunct. These are all beautifully executed, some of
the figures of animals in particular, being easily recognisable and very
accurate. The general design, as far as the ruined state of the upper
part will permit of its being seen, is very good, effect being given
by an immense number and variety of projecting or retreating courses
of squared stones in place of mouldings. The size of this structure
is about thirty feet square by twenty high, and as the traveller comes
suddenly upon it on a small elevation by the roadside, overshadowed by
gigantic trees, overrun with plants and creepers, and closely backed by
the gloomy forest, he is struck by the solemnity and picturesque beauty
of the scene, and is led to ponder on the strange law of progress, which
looks so like retrogression, and which in so many distant parts of the
world has exterminated or driven out a highly artistic and constructive
race, to make room for one which, as far as we can judge, is very far
its inferior.

Few Englishmen are aware of the number and beauty of the architectural
remains in Java. They have never been popularly illustrated or
described, and it will therefore take most persons by surprise to learn
that they far surpass those of Central America, perhaps even those of
India. To give some idea of these ruins, and perchance to excite
wealthy amateurs to explore them thoroughly and obtain by photography an
accurate record of their beautiful sculptures before it is too late, I
will enumerate the most important, as briefly described in Sir Stamford
Raffles' "History of Java."

BRAMBANAM.--Near the centre of Java, between the native capitals of
Djoko-kerta and Surakerta, is the village of Brambanam, near which are
abundance of ruins, the most important being the temples of Loro-Jongran
and Chandi Sewa. At Loro-Jongran there were twenty separate buildings,
six large and fourteen small temples. They are now a mass of ruins, but
the largest temples are supposed to have been ninety feet high. They
were all constructed of solid stone, everywhere decorated with carvings
and bas-reliefs, and adorned with numbers of statues, many of which
still remain entire. At Chandi Sewa, or the "Thousand Temples," are many
fine colossal figures. Captain Baker, who surveyed these ruins, said he
had never in his life seen "such stupendous and finished specimens of
human labour, and of the science and taste of ages long since forgot,
crowded together in so small a compass as in this spot." They cover a
space of nearly six hundred feet square, and consist of an outer row
of eighty-four small temples, a second row of seventy-six, a third
of sixty-four, a fourth of forty-four, and the fifth forming an inner
parallelogram of twenty-eight, in all two hundred and ninety-six small
temples; disposed in five regular parallelograms. In the centre is
a large cruciform temple surrounded by lofty flights of steps richly
ornamented with sculpture, and containing many apartments. The tropical
vegetation has ruined most of the smaller temples, but some remain
tolerably perfect, from which the effect of the whole may be imagined.

About half a mile off is another temple, called Chandi Kali Bening,
seventy-two feet square and sixty feet high, in very fine preservation,
and covered with sculptures of Hindu mythology surpassing any that exist
in India, other ruins of palaces, halls, and temples, with abundance of
sculptured deities, are found in the same neighbourhood.

BOROBODO.--About eighty miles westward, in the province of Kedu, is the
great temple of Borobodo. It is built upon a small hill, and consists of
a central dome and seven ranges of terraced walls covering the slope
of the hill and forming open galleries each below the other, and
communicating by steps and gateways. The central dome is fifty feet in
diameter; around it is a triple circle of seventy-two towers, and the
whole building is six hundred and twenty feet square, and about
one hundred feet high. In the terrace walls are niches containing
cross-legged figures larger than life to the number of about four
hundred, and both sides of all the terrace walls are covered with
bas-reliefs crowded with figures, and carved in hard stone and which
must therefore occupy an extent of nearly three miles in length! The
amount of human labour and skill expended on the Great Pyramid of Egypt
sinks into insignificance when compared with that required to complete
this sculptured hill-temple in the interior of Java.

GUNONG PRAU.--About forty miles southwest of Samarang, on a mountain
called Gunong Prau, an extensive plateau is covered with ruins. To reach
these temples, four flights of stone steps were made up the mountain
from opposite directions, each flight consisting of more than a thousand
steps. Traces of nearly four hundred temples have been found here, and
many (perhaps all) were decorated with rich and delicate sculptures.
The whole country between this and Brambanam, a distance of sixty miles,
abounds with ruins, so that fine sculptured images may be seen lying in
the ditches, or built into the walls of enclosures.

In the eastern part of Java, at Kediri and in Malang, there are equally
abundant traces of antiquity, but the buildings themselves have been
mostly destroyed. Sculptured figures, however, abound; and the ruins of
forts, palaces, baths, aqueducts, and temples, can be everywhere traced.
It is altogether contrary to the plan of this book to describe what I
have not myself seen; but, having been led to mention them, I felt bound
to do something to call attention to these marvellous works of art. One
is overwhelmed by the contemplation of these innumerable sculptures,
worked with delicacy and artistic feeling in a hard, intractable,
trachytic rock, and all found in one tropical island. What could have
been the state of society, what the amount of population, what the
means of subsistence which rendered such gigantic works possible, will,
perhaps, ever remain a mystery; and it is a wonderful example of the
power of religious ideas in social life, that in the very country where,
five hundred years ago, these grand works were being yearly executed,
the inhabitants now only build rude houses of bamboo and thatch, and
look upon these relics of their forefathers with ignorant amazement,
as the undoubted productions of giants or of demons. It is much to be
regretted that the Dutch Government does not take vigorous steps for
the preservation of these ruins from the destroying agency of tropical
vegetation; and for the collection of the fine sculptures which are
everywhere scattered over the land.

Wonosalem is situated about a thousand feet above the sea, but
unfortunately it is at a distance from the forest, and is surrounded by
coffee plantations, thickets of bamboo, and coarse grasses. It was too
far to walk back daily to the forest, and in other directions I could
find no collecting ground for insects. The place was, however, famous
for peacocks, and my boy soon shot several of these magnificent birds,
whose flesh we found to be tender, white, and delicate, and similar to
that of a turkey. The Java peacock is a different species from that of
India, the neck being covered with scale-like green feathers, and the
crest of a different form; but the eyed train is equally large and
equally beautiful. It is a singular fact in geographical distribution
that the peacock should not be found in Sumatra or Borneo, while the
superb Argus, Fire-backed and Ocellated pheasants of those islands are
equally unknown in Java. Exactly parallel is the fact that in Ceylon
and Southern India, where the peacock abounds, there are none of the
splendid Lophophori and other gorgeous pheasants which inhabit Northern
India. It would seem as if the peacock can admit of no rivals in its
domain. Were these birds rare in their native country, and unknown alive
in Europe, they would assuredly be considered as the true princes of the
feathered tribes, and altogether unrivalled for stateliness and beauty.
As it is, I suppose scarcely anyone if asked to fix upon the most
beautiful bird in the world would name the peacock, any more than the
Papuan savage or the Bugis trader would fix upon the bird of paradise
for the same honour.

Three days after my arrival at Wonosalem, my friend Mr. Ball came to pay
me a visit. He told me that two evenings before, a boy had been killed
and eaten by a tiger close to Modjo-agong. He was riding on a cart drawn
by bullocks, and was coming home about dusk on the main road; and when
not half a mile from the village a tiger sprang upon him, carried him
off into the jungle close by, and devoured him. Next morning his remains
were discovered, consisting only of a few mangled bones. The Waidono had
got together about seven hundred men, and were in chase of the animal,
which, I afterwards heard, they found and killed. They only use spears
when in pursuit of a tiger in this way. They surround a large tract of
country, and draw gradually together until the animal is enclosed in a
compact ring of armed men. When he sees there is no escape he generally
makes a spring, and is received on a dozen spears, and almost instantly
stabbed to death. The skin of an animal thus killed is, of course,
worthless, and in this case the skull, which I had begged Mr. Ball to
secure for me, was hacked to pieces to divide the teeth, which are worn
as charms.

After a week at Wonosalem, I returned to the foot of the mountain, to
a village named Djapannan, which was surrounded by several patches of
forest, and seemed altogether pretty well suited to my pursuits. The
chief of the village had prepared two small bamboo rooms on one side of
his own courtyard to accommodate me, and seemed inclined to assist me
as much as he could. The weather was exceedingly hot and dry, no rain
having fallen for several months, and there was, in consequence, a great
scarcity of insects, and especially of beetles. I therefore devoted
myself chiefly to obtaining a good set of the birds, and succeeded in
making a tolerable collection. All the peacocks we had hitherto shot
had had short or imperfect tails, but I now obtained two magnificent
specimens more than seven feet long, one of which I preserved entire,
while I kept the train only attached to the tail of two or three others.
When this bird is seen feeding on the ground, it appears wonderful
how it can rise into the air with such a long and cumbersome train of
feathers. It does so however with great ease, by running quickly for a
short distance, and then rising obliquely; and will fly over trees of a
considerable height. I also obtained here a specimen of the rare green
jungle-fowl (Gallus furcatus), whose back and neck are beautifully
scaled with bronzy feathers, and whose smooth-edged oval comb is of
a violet purple colour, changing to green at the base. It is also
remarkable in possessing a single large wattle beneath its throat,
brightly coloured in three patches of red, yellow, and blue. The common
jungle-cock (Gallus bankiva) was also obtained here. It is almost
exactly like a common game-cock, but the voice is different, being much
shorter and more abrupt; hence its native name is Bekeko. Six different
kinds of woodpeckers and four kingfishers were found here, the fine
hornbill, Buceros lunatus, more than four feet long, and the pretty
little lorikeet, Loriculus pusillus, scarcely more than as many inches.

One morning, as I was preparing and arranging specimens, I was told
there was to be a trial; and presently four or five men came in and
squatted down on a mat under the audience-shed in the court. The chief
then came in with his clerk, and sat down opposite them. Each spoke
in turn, telling his own tale, and then I found that those who first
entered were the prisoner, accuser, policemen, and witness, and that
the prisoner was indicated solely by having a loose piece of cord twined
around his wrists, but not tied. It was a case of robbery, and after the
evidence was given, and a few questions had been asked by the chief, the
accused said a few words, and then sentence was pronounced, which was
a fine. The parties then got up and walked away together, seeming quite
friendly; and throughout there was nothing in the manner of any one
present indicating passion or ill-feeling--a very good illustration of
the Malayan type of character.

In a month's collecting at Wonosalem and Djapannan I accumulated
ninety-eight species of birds, but a most miserable lot of insects. I
then determined to leave East Java and try the more moist and luxuriant
districts at the western extremity of the island. I returned to
Sourabaya by water, in a roomy boat which brought myself, servants, and
baggage at one-fifth the expense it had cost me to come to Modjo-kerto.
The river has been rendered navigable by being carefully banked up,
but with the usual effect of rendering the adjacent country liable
occasionally to severe floods. An immense traffic passes down this
river; and at a lock we passed through, a mile of laden boats were
waiting two or three deep, which pass through in their turn six at a
time.

A few days afterwards I went by steamer to Batavia, where I stayed about
a week at the chief hotel, while I made arrangements for a trip into
the interior. The business part of the city is near the harbour, but the
hotels and all the residences of the officials and European merchants
are in a suburb two miles off, laid out in wide streets and squares
so as to cover a great extent of ground. This is very inconvenient
for visitors, as the only public conveyances are handsome two-horse
carriages, whose lowest charge is five guilders (8s. 4d.) for half
a day, so that an hour's business in the morning and a visit in the
evening costs 16s. 8d. a day for carriage hire alone.

Batavia agrees very well with Mr. Money's graphic account of it, except
that his "clear canals" were all muddy, and his "smooth gravel drives"
up to the houses were one and all formed of coarse pebbles, very painful
to walk upon, and hardly explained by the fact that in Batavia everybody
drives, as it can hardly be supposed that people never walk in their
gardens. The Hôtel des Indes was very comfortable, each visitor having
a sitting-room and bedroom opening on a verandah, where he can take his
morning coffee and afternoon tea. In the centre of the quadrangle is a
building containing a number of marble baths always ready for use; and
there is an excellent table d'hôte breakfast at ten, and dinner at six,
for all which there is a moderate charge per day.

I went by coach to Buitenzorg, forty miles inland and about a thousand
feet above the sea, celebrated for its delicious climate and its
Botanical Gardens. With the latter I was somewhat disappointed. The
walks were all of loose pebbles, making any lengthened wanderings about
them very tiring and painful under a tropical sun. The gardens are no
doubt wonderfully rich in tropical and especially in Malayan plants, but
there is a great absence of skillful laying-out; there are not enough
men to keep the place thoroughly in order, and the plants themselves
are seldom to be compared for luxuriance and beauty to the same species
grown in our hothouses. This can easily be explained. The plants can
rarely be placed in natural or very favourable conditions. The climate
is either too hot or too cool, too moist or too dry, for a large
proportion of them, and they seldom get the exact quantity of shade
or the right quality of soil to suit them. In our stoves these varied
conditions can be supplied to each individual plant far better than in a
large garden, where the fact that the plants are most of them growing in
or near their native country is supposed to preclude, the necessity of
giving them much individual attention. Still, however, there is much to
admire here. There are avenues of stately palms, and clumps of bamboos
of perhaps fifty different kinds; and an endless variety of tropical
shrubs and trees with strange and beautiful foliage. As a change from
the excessive heat of Batavia, Buitenzorg is a delightful abode. It is
just elevated enough to have deliciously cool evenings and nights, but
not so much as to require any change of clothing; and to a person long
resident in the hotter climate of the plains, the air is always fresh
and pleasant, and admits of walking at almost any hour of the day. The
vicinity is most picturesque and luxuriant, and the great volcano
of Gunung Salak, with its truncated and jagged summit, forms a
characteristic background to many of the landscapes. A great mud
eruption took place in 1699, since which date the mountain has been
entirely inactive.

On leaving Buitenzorg, I had coolies to carry my baggage and a horse
for myself, both to be changed every six or seven miles. The road rose
gradually, and after the first stage the hills closed in a little on
each side, forming a broad valley; and the temperature was so cool and
agreeable, and the country so interesting, that I preferred walking.
Native villages imbedded in fruit trees, and pretty villas inhabited by
planters or retired Dutch officials, gave this district a very pleasing
and civilized aspect; but what most attracted my attention was the
system of terrace-cultivation, which is here universally adopted, and
which is, I should think, hardly equalled in the world. The slopes of
the main valley, and of its branches, were everywhere cut in terraces up
to a considerable height, and when they wound round the recesses of the
hills produced all the effect of magnificent amphitheatres. Hundreds of
square miles of country are thus terraced, and convey a striking idea
of the industry of the people and the antiquity of their civilization.
These terraces are extended year by year as the population increases, by
the inhabitants of each village working in concert under the direction
of their chiefs; and it is perhaps by this system of village culture
alone, that such extensive terracing and irrigation has been rendered
possible. It was probably introduced by the Brahmins from India,
since in those Malay countries where there is no trace of a previous
occupation by a civilized people, the terrace system is unknown. I first
saw this mode of cultivation in Bali and Lombock, and, as I shall have
to describe it in some detail there (see CHAPTER X.), I need say no more
about it in this place, except that, owing to the finer outlines and
greater luxuriance of the country in West Java, it produces there the
most striking and picturesque effect. The lower slopes of the mountains
in Java possess such a delightful climate and luxuriant soil; living is
so cheap and life and property are so secure, that a considerable
number of Europeans who have been engaged in Government service, settle
permanently in the country instead of returning to Europe. They are
scattered everywhere throughout the more accessible parts of the island,
and tend greatly to the gradual improvement of the native population,
and to the continued peace and prosperity of the whole country.

Twenty miles beyond Buitenzorg the post road passes over the Megamendong
Mountain, at an elevation of about 4,500 feet. The country is finely
mountainous, and there is much virgin forest still left upon the hills,
together with some of the oldest coffee-plantations in Java, where the
plants have attained almost the dimensions of forest trees. About 500
feet below the summit level of the pass there is a road-keeper's hut,
half of which I hired for a fortnight, as the country looked promising
for making collections. I almost immediately found that the productions
of West Java were remarkably different from those of the eastern part of
the island; and that all the more remarkable and characteristic Javanese
birds and insects were to be found here. On the very first day, my
hunters obtained for me the elegant yellow and green trogon (Harpactes
Reinwardti), the gorgeous little minivet flycatcher (Pericrocotus
miniatus), which looks like a flame of fire as it flutters among the
bushes, and the rare and curious black and crimson oriole (Analcipus
sanguinolentus), all of these species which are found only in Java, and
even seem to be confined to its western portion.

In a week I obtained no less than twenty-four species of birds, which I
had not found in the east of the island, and in a fortnight this number
increased to forty species, almost all of which are peculiar to the
Javanese fauna. Large and handsome butterflies were also tolerably
abundant. In dark ravines, and occasionally on the roadside, I captured
the superb Papilio arjuna, whose wings seem powdered with grains of
golden green, condensed into bands and moon-shaped spots; while the
elegantly-formed Papilio coön was sometimes to be found fluttering
slowly along the shady pathways (see figure at page 201). One day a boy
brought me a butterfly between his fingers, perfectly unhurt. He had
caught it as it was sitting with wings erect, sucking up the liquid from
a muddy spot by the roadside. Many of the finest tropical butterflies
have this habit, and they are generally so intent upon their meal that
they can be easily be reached and captured. It proved to be the rare and
curious Charaxes kadenii, remarkable for having on each hind wing two
curved tails like a pair of callipers. It was the only specimen I
ever saw, and is still the only representative of its kind in English
collections.

In the east of Java I had suffered from the intense heat and drought of
the dry season, which had been very inimical to insect life. Here I had
got into the other extreme of damp, wet, and cloudy weather, which was
equally unfavourable. During the month which I spent in the interior
of West Java, I never had a really hot fine day throughout. It rained
almost every afternoon, or dense mists came down from the mountains,
which equally stopped collecting, and rendered it most difficult to dry
my specimens, so that I really had no chance of getting a fair sample of
Javanese entomology.

By far the most interesting incident in my visit to Java was a trip to
the summit of the Pangerango and Gedeh mountains; the former an extinct
volcanic cone about 10,000 feet high, the latter an active crater on a
lower portion of the same mountain range. Tchipanas, about four miles
over the Megamendong Pass, is at the foot of the mountain. A small
country house for the Governor-General and a branch of the Botanic
Gardens are situated here, the keeper of which accommodated me with a
bed for a night. There are many beautiful trees and shrubs planted
here, and large quantities of European vegetables are grown for the
Governor-General's table. By the side of a little torrent that bordered
the garden, quantities of orchids were cultivated, attached to the
trunks of trees, or suspended from the branches, forming an interesting
open air orchid-house. As I intended to stay two or three nights on the
mountain, I engaged two coolies to carry my baggage, and with my two
hunters we started early the next morning.

The first mile was over open country, which brought us to the forest
that covers the whole mountain from a height of about 5,000 feet. The
next mile or two was a tolerably steep ascent through a grand virgin
forest, the trees being of great size, and the undergrowth consisting of
fine herbaceous plants, tree-ferns, and shrubby vegetation. I was struck
by the immense number of ferns that grew by the side of the road. Their
variety seemed endless, and I was continually stopping to admire some
new and interesting forms. I could now well understand what I had
been told by the gardener, that 300 species had been found on this
one mountain. A little before noon we reached the small plateau of
Tjiburong, at the foot of the steeper part of the mountain, where there
is a plank-house for the accommodation of travellers. Close by is a
picturesque waterfall and a curious cavern, which I had not time to
explore. Continuing our ascent the road became narrow, rugged and steep,
winding zigzag up the cone, which is covered with irregular masses of
rock, and overgrown with a dense luxuriant but less lofty vegetation.
We passed a torrent of water which is not much lower than the boiling
point, and has a most singular appearance as it foams over its rugged
bed, sending up clouds of steam, and often concealed by the overhanging
herbage of ferns and lycopodia, which here thrive with more luxuriance
than elsewhere.

At about 7,500 feet we came to another hut of open bamboos, at a place
called Kandang Badak, or "Rhinoceros-field," which we were going to
make our temporary abode. Here was a small clearing, with abundance of
tree-ferns and some young plantations of Cinchona. As there was now a
thick mist and drizzling rain, I did not attempt to go on to the summit
that evening, but made two visits to it during my stay, as well as
one to the active crater of Gedeh. This is a vast semicircular chasm,
bounded by black perpendicular walls of rock, and surrounded by miles
of rugged scoria-covered slopes. The crater itself is not very deep. It
exhibits patches of sulphur and variously-coloured volcanic products,
and emits from several vents continual streams of smoke and vapour. The
extinct cone of Pangerango was to me more interesting. The summit is
an irregular undulating plain with a low bordering ridge, and one deep
lateral chasm. Unfortunately, there was perpetual mist and rain either
above or below us all the time I was on the mountain; so that I never
once saw the plain below, or had a glimpse of the magnificent view which
in fine weather is to be obtained from its summit. Notwithstanding this
drawback I enjoyed the excursion exceedingly, for it was the first
time I had been high enough on a mountain near the Equator to watch the
change from a tropical to a temperate flora. I will now briefly sketch
these changes as I observed them in Java.

On ascending the mountain, we first meet with temperate forms of
herbaceous plants, so low as 3,000 feet, where strawberries and violets
begin to grow, but the former are tasteless, and the latter have very
small and pale flowers. Weedy composites also begin to give a European
aspect to the wayside herbage. It is between 2,000 and 5,000 feet that
the forests and ravines exhibit the utmost development of tropical
luxuriance and beauty. The abundance of noble Tree-ferns, sometimes
fifty feet high, contributes greatly to the general effect, since of all
the forms of tropical vegetation they are certainly the most striking
and beautiful. Some of the deep ravines which have been cleared of large
timber are full of them from top to bottom; and where the road crosses
one of these valleys, the view of their feathery crowns, in varied
positions above and below the eye, offers a spectacle of picturesque
beauty never to be forgotten. The splendid foliage of the broad-leaved
Musaceae and Zingiberaceae, with their curious and brilliant flowers;
and the elegant and varied forms of plants allied to Begonia and
Melastoma, continually attract the attention in this region. Filling in
the spaces between the trees and larger plants, on every trunk and stump
and branch, are hosts of Orchids, Ferns and Lycopods, which wave and
hang and intertwine in ever-varying complexity. At about 5,000 feet I
first saw horsetails (Equisetum), very like our own species. At 6,000
feet, raspberries abound, and thence to the summit of the mountain there
are three species of eatable Rubus. At 7,000 feet Cypresses appear, and
the forest trees become reduced in size, and more covered with mosses
and lichens. From this point upward these rapidly increase, so that the
blocks of rock and scoria that form the mountain slope are completely
hidden in a mossy vegetation. At about 5,000 feet European forms of
plants become abundant. Several species of Honeysuckle, St. John's-wort,
and Guelder-rose abound, and at about 9,000 feet we first meet with the
rare and beautiful Royal Cowslip (Primula imperialis), which is said to
be found nowhere else in the world but on this solitary mountain summit.
It has a tall, stout stem, sometimes more than three feet high, the
root leaves are eighteen inches long, and it bears several whorls of
cowslip-like flowers, instead of a terminal cluster only. The forest
trees, gnarled and dwarfed to the dimensions of bushes, reach up to the
very rim of the old crater, but do not extend over the hollow on its
summit. Here we find a good deal of open ground, with thickets of
shrubby Artemisias and Gnaphaliums, like our southernwood and cudweed,
but six or eight feet high; while Buttercups, Violets, Whortleberries,
Sow-thistles, Chickweed, white and yellow Cruciferae, Plantain, and
annual grasses everywhere abound. Where there are bushes and shrubs,
the St. John's-wort and Honeysuckle grow abundantly, while the Imperial
Cowslip only exhibits its elegant blossoms under the damp shade of the
thickets.

Mr. Motley, who visited the mountain in the dry season, and paid much
attention to botany, gives the following list of genera of European
plants found on or near the summit:-- Two species of Violet, three of
Ranunculus, three of Impatiens, eight or ten of Rubus, and species of
Primula, Hypericum, Swertia, Convallaria (Lily of the Valley), Vaccinium
(Cranberry), Rhododendron, Gnaphalium, Polygonum, Digitalis (Foxglove),
Lonicera (Honeysuckle), Plantago (Rib-grass), Artemisia (Wormwood),
Lobelia, Oxalis (Wood-sorrel), Quercus (Oak), and Taxus (Yew). A few of
the smaller plants (Plantago major and lanceolata, Sonchus oleraceus,
and Artemisia vulgaris) are identical with European species.

The fact of a vegetation so closely allied to that of Europe occurring
on isolated mountain peaks, in an island south of the Equator, while all
the lowlands for thousands of miles around are occupied by a flora of
a totally different character, is very extraordinary; and has only
recently received an intelligible explanation. The Peak of Teneriffe,
which rises to a greater height and is much nearer to Europe, contains
no such Alpine flora; neither do the mountains of Bourbon and
Mauritius. The case of the volcanic peaks of Java is therefore somewhat
exceptional, but there are several analogous, if not exactly parallel
cases, that will enable us better to understand in what way the
phenomena may possibly have been brought about.

The higher peaks of the Alps, and even of the Pyrenees, contain a number
of plants absolutely identical with those of Lapland, but nowhere found
in the intervening plains. On the summit of the White Mountains, in
the United States, every plant is identical with species growing in
Labrador. In these cases all ordinary means of transport fail. Most of
the plants have heavy seeds, which could not possibly be carried such
immense distances by the wind; and the agency of birds in so effectually
stocking these Alpine heights is equally out of the question. The
difficulty was so great, that some naturalists were driven to believe
that these species were all separately created twice over on these
distant peaks. The determination of a recent glacial epoch, however,
soon offered a much more satisfactory solution, and one that is now
universally accepted by men of science. At this period, when the
mountains of Wales were full of glaciers, and the mountainous parts
of Central Europe, and much of America north of the great lakes, were
covered with snow and ice, and had a climate resembling that of Labrador
and Greenland at the present day, an Arctic flora covered all these
regions. As this epoch of cold passed away, and the snowy mantle of the
country, with the glaciers that descended from every mountain summit,
receded up their slopes and towards the north pole, the plants receded
also, always clinging as now to the margins of the perpetual snow line.
Thus it is that the same species are now found on the summits of the
mountains of temperate Europe and America, and in the barren north-polar
regions.

But there is another set of facts, which help us on another step towards
the case of the Javanese mountain flora. On the higher slopes of
the Himalayas, on the tops of the mountains of Central India and of
Abyssinia, a number of plants occur which, though not identical with
those of European mountains, belong to the same genera, and are said by
botanists to represent them; and most of these could not exist in the
warm intervening plains. Mr. Darwin believes that this class of facts
can be explained in the same way; for, during the greatest severity of
the glacial epoch, temperate forms of plants will have extended to the
confines of the tropics, and on its departure, will have retreated up
these southern mountains, as well as northward to the plains and hills
of Europe. But in this case, the time elapsed, and the great change of
conditions, have allowed many of these plants to become so modified that
we now consider them to be distinct species. A variety of other facts
of a similar nature have led him to believe that the depression of
temperature was at one time sufficient to allow a few north-temperate
plants to cross the Equator (by the most elevated routes) and to reach
the Antarctic regions, where they are now found. The evidence on which
this belief rests will be found in the latter part of CHAPTER II. of the
"Origin of Species"; and, accepting it for the present as an hypothesis,
it enables us to account for the presence of a flora of European type on
the volcanoes of Java.

It will, however, naturally be objected that there is a wide expanse
of sea between Java and the continent, which would have effectually
prevented the immigration of temperate forms of plants during the
glacial epoch. This would undoubtedly be a fatal objection, were there
not abundant evidence to show that Java has been formerly connected with
Asia, and that the union must have occurred at about the epoch required.
The most striking proof of such a junction is, that the great Mammalia
of Java, the rhinoceros, the tiger, and the Banteng or wild ox, occur
also in Siam and Burmah, and these would certainly not have been
introduced by man. The Javanese peacock and several other birds are
also common to these two countries; but, in the majority of cases,
the species are distinct, though closely allied, indicating that a
considerable time (required for such modification) has elapsed since the
separation, while it has not been so long as to cause an entire change.
Now this exactly corresponds with the time we should require since the
temperate forms of plants entered Java. These are now almost distinct
species, but the changed conditions under which they are now forced to
exist, and the probability of some of them having since died out on the
continent of India, sufficiently accounts for the Javanese species being
different.

In my more special pursuits, I had very little success upon the
mountain--owing, perhaps, to the excessively unpropitious weather and
the shortness of my stay. At from 7,000 to 8,000 feet elevation, I
obtained one of the most lovely of the small Fruit pigeons (Ptilonopus
roseicollis), whose entire head and neck are of an exquisite rosy pink
colour, contrasting finely with its otherwise green plumage; and on the
very summit, feeding on the ground among the strawberries that have
been planted there, I obtained a dull-coloured thrush, with the form
and habits of a starling (Turdus fumidus). Insects were almost entirely
absent, owing no doubt to the extreme dampness, and I did not get a
single butterfly the whole trip; yet I feel sure that, during the
dry season, a week's residence on this mountain would well repay the
collector in every department of natural history.

After my return to Toego, I endeavoured to find another locality to
collect in, and removed to a coffee-plantation some miles to the north,
and tried in succession higher and lower stations on the mountain; but,
I never succeeded in obtaining insects in any abundance and birds were
far less plentiful than on the Megamendong Mountain. The weather now
became more rainy than ever, and as the wet season seemed to have set
in in earnest, I returned to Batavia, packed up and sent off my
collections, and left by steamer on November 1st for Banca and Sumatra.



CHAPTER VIII. SUMATRA.

 (NOVEMBER 1861 to JANUARY 1862.)

The mail steamer from Batavia to Singapore took me to Muntok (or as on
English maps, "Minto"), the chief town and port of Banca. Here I stayed
a day or two, until I could obtain a boat to take me across the straits,
and up the river to Palembang. A few walks into the country showed me
that it was very hilly, and full of granitic and laterite rocks, with a
dry and stunted forest vegetation; and I could find very few insects.
A good-sized open sailing-boat took me across to the mouth of the
Palembang river where, at a fishing village, a rowing-boat was hired to
take me up to Palembang--a distance of nearly a hundred miles by water.
Except when the wind was strong and favourable we could only proceed
with the tide, and the banks of the river were generally flooded
Nipa-swamps, so that the hours we were obliged to lay at anchor passed
very heavily. Reaching Palembang on the 8th of November, I was lodged
by the Doctor, to whom I had brought a letter of introduction, and
endeavoured to ascertain where I could find a good locality for
collecting. Everyone assured me that I should have to go a very long way
further to find any dry forest, for at this season the whole country
for many miles inland was flooded. I therefore had to stay a week at
Palembang before I could determine my future movements.

The city is a large one, extending for three or four miles along a fine
curve of the river, which is as wide as the Thames at Greenwich. The
stream is, however, much narrowed by the houses which project into it
upon piles, and within these, again, there is a row of houses built upon
great bamboo rafts, which are moored by rattan cables to the shore or to
piles, and rise and fall with the tide.

The whole riverfront on both sides is chiefly formed of such houses, and
they are mostly shops open to the water, and only raised a foot above
it, so that by taking a small boat it is easy to go to market and
purchase anything that is to be had in Palembang. The natives are true
Malays, never building a house on dry land if they can find water to set
it in, and never going anywhere on foot if they can reach the place in
a boat. A considerable portion of the population are Chinese and Arabs,
who carry on all the trade; while the only Europeans are the civil and
military officials of the Dutch Government. The town is situated at the
head of the delta of the river, and between it and the sea there is
very little ground elevated above highwater mark; while for many
miles further inland, the banks of the main stream and its numerous
tributaries are swampy, and in the wet season flooded for a considerable
distance. Palembang is built on a patch of elevated ground, a few miles
in extent, on the north bank of the river. At a spot about three miles
from the town this turns into a little hill, the top of which is held
sacred by the natives, shaded by some fine trees, and inhabited by a
colony of squirrels which have become half-tame. On holding out a few
crumbs of bread or any fruit, they come running down the trunk, take
the morsel out of your fingers, and dart away instantly. Their tails
are carried erect, and the hair, which is ringed with grey, yellow, and
brown, radiates uniformly around them, and looks exceedingly pretty.
They have somewhat of the motions of mice, coming on with little starts,
and gazing intently with their large black eyes before venturing to
advance further. The manner in which Malays often obtain the confidence
of wild animals is a very pleasing trait in their character, and is due
in some degree to the quiet deliberation of their manners, and their
love of repose rather than of action. The young are obedient to the
wishes of their elders, and seem to feel none of that propensity to
mischief which European boys exhibit. How long would tame squirrels
continue to inhabit trees in the vicinity of an English village, even
if close to the church? They would soon be pelted and driven away, or
snared and confined in a whirling cage. I have never heard of these
pretty animals being tamed in this way in England, but I should think it
might be easily done in any gentleman's park, and they would certainly
be as pleasing and attractive as they would be uncommon.

After many inquiries, I found that a day's journey by water above
Palembang there commenced a military road which extended up to the
mountains and even across to Bencoolen, and I determined to take this
route and travel on until I found some tolerable collecting ground.
By this means I should secure dry land and a good road, and avoid the
rivers, which at this season are very tedious to ascend owing to the
powerful currents, and very unproductive to the collector owing to most
of the lands in their vicinity being underwater. Leaving early in the
morning we did not reach Lorok, the village where the road begins, until
late at night. I stayed there a few days, but found that almost all the
ground in the vicinity not underwater was cultivated, and that the only
forest was in swamps which were now inaccessible. The only bird new
to me which I obtained at Lorok was the fine long-tailed parroquet
(Palaeornis longicauda). The people here assured me that the country was
just the same as this for a very long way--more than a week's journey,
and they seemed hardly to have any conception of an elevated forest-clad
country, so that I began to think it would be useless going on, as the
time at my disposal was too short to make it worth my while to spend
much more of it in moving about. At length, however, I found a man who
knew the country, and was more intelligent; and he at once told me that
if I wanted forest I must go to the district of Rembang, which I found
on inquiry was about twenty-five or thirty miles off.

The road is divided into regular stages of ten or twelve miles each,
and, without sending on in advance to have coolies ready, only this
distance can be travelled in a day. At each station there are houses for
the accommodation of passengers, with cooking-house and stables, and six
or eight men always on guard. There is an established system for coolies
at fixed rates, the inhabitants of the surrounding villages all taking
their turn to be subject to coolie service, as well as that of guards at
the station for five days at a time. This arrangement makes travelling
very easy, and was a great convenience for me. I had a pleasant walk of
ten or twelve miles in the morning, and the rest of the day could stroll
about and explore the village and neighbourhood, having a house ready
to occupy without any formalities whatever. In three days I reached
Moera-dua, the first village in Rembang, and finding the country dry and
undulating, with a good sprinkling of forest, I determined to remain a
short time and try the neighbourhood. Just opposite the station was a
small but deep river, and a good bathing-place; and beyond the village
was a fine patch of forest, through which the road passed, overshadowed
by magnificent trees, which partly tempted me to stay; but after a
fortnight I could find no good place for insects, and very few birds
different from the common species of Malacca. I therefore moved on
another stage to Lobo Raman, where the guard-house is situated quite by
itself in the forest, nearly a mile from each of three villages. This
was very agreeable to me, as I could move about without having every
motion watched by crowds of men, women and children, and I had also
a much greater variety of walks to each of the villages and the
plantations around them.

The villages of the Sumatran Malays are somewhat peculiar and very
picturesque. A space of some acres is surrounded with a high fence, and
over this area the houses are thickly strewn without the least attempt
at regularity. Tall cocoa-nut trees grow abundantly between them, and
the ground is bare and smooth with the trampling of many feet. The
houses are raised about six feet on posts, the best being entirely
built of planks, others of bamboo. The former are always more or less
ornamented with carving and have high-pitched roofs and overhanging
eaves. The gable ends and all the chief posts and beams are sometimes
covered with exceedingly tasteful carved work, and this is still more
the case in the district of Menangkabo, further west. The floor is made
of split bamboo, and is rather shaky, and there is no sign of anything
we should call furniture. There are no benches or chairs or stools, but
merely the level floor covered with mats, on which the inmates sit or
lie. The aspect of the village itself is very neat, the ground being
often swept before the chief houses; but very bad odours abound, owing
to there being under every house a stinking mud-hole, formed by all
waste liquids and refuse matter, poured down through the floor above. In
most other things Malays are tolerably clean--in some scrupulously so;
and this peculiar and nasty custom, which is almost universal, arises,
I have little doubt, from their having been originally a maritime and
water-loving people, who built their houses on posts in the water, and
only migrated gradually inland, first up the rivers and streams, and
then into the dry interior. Habits which were at once so convenient and
so cleanly, and which had been so long practised as to become a portion
of the domestic life of the nation, were of course continued when the
first settlers built their houses inland; and without a regular system
of drainage, the arrangement of the villages is such that any other
system would be very inconvenient.

In all these Sumatran villages I found considerable difficulty in
getting anything to eat. It was not the season for vegetables, and when,
after much trouble, I managed to procure some yams of a curious variety,
I found them hard and scarcely eatable. Fowls were very scarce; and
fruit was reduced to one of the poorest kinds of banana. The natives
(during the wet season at least) live exclusively on rice, as the poorer
Irish do on potatoes. A pot of rice cooked very dry and eaten with salt
and red peppers, twice a day, forms their entire food during a large
part of the year. This is no sign of poverty, but is simply custom; for
their wives and children are loaded with silver armlets from wrist to
elbow, and carry dozens of silver coins strung round their necks or
suspended from their ears.

As I had moved away from Palembang, I had found the Malay spoken by
the common people less and less pure, until at length it became quite
unintelligible, although the continual recurrence of many well-known
words assured me it was a form of Malay, and enabled me to guess at the
main subject of conversation. This district had a very bad reputation
a few years ago, and travellers were frequently robbed and murdered.
Fights between village and village were also of frequent occurrence, and
many lives were lost, owing to disputes about boundaries or intrigues
with women. Now, however, since the country has been divided into
districts under "Controlleurs," who visit every village in turn to hear
complaints and settle disputes, such things are heard of no more. This
is one of the numerous examples I have met with of the good effects of
the Dutch Government. It exercises a strict surveillance over its most
distant possessions, establishes a form of government well adapted to
the character of the people, reforms abuses, punishes crimes, and makes
itself everywhere respected by the native population.

Lobo Raman is a central point of the east end of Sumatra, being about a
hundred and twenty miles from the sea to the east, north, and west. The
surface is undulating, with no mountains or even hills, and there is
no rock, the soil being generally a red friable clay. Numbers of small
streams and rivers intersect the country, and it is pretty equally
divided between open clearings and patches of forest, both virgin and
second growth, with abundance of fruit trees; and there is no lack of
paths to get about in any direction. Altogether it is the very country
that would promise most for a naturalist, and I feel sure that at a more
favourable time of year it would prove exceedingly rich; but it was
now the rainy season, when, in the very best of localities, insects are
always scarce, and there being no fruit on the trees, there was also a
scarcity of birds. During a month's collecting, I added only three or
four new species to my list of birds, although I obtained very fine
specimens of many which were rare and interesting. In butterflies I was
rather more successful, obtaining several fine species quite new to me,
and a considerable number of very rare and beautiful insects. I will
give here some account of two species of butterflies, which, though
very common in collections, present us with peculiarities of the highest
interest.

The first is the handsome Papilio memnon, a splendid butterfly of a deep
black colour, dotted over with lines and groups of scales of a clear
ashy blue. Its wings are five inches in expanse, and the hind wings
are rounded, with scalloped edges. This applies to the males; but
the females are very different, and vary so much that they were once
supposed to form several distinct species. They may be divided into two
groups--those which resemble the male in shape, and, those which differ
entirely from him in the outline of the wings. The first vary much in
colour, being often nearly white with dusky yellow and red markings, but
such differences often occur in butterflies. The second group are much
more extraordinary, and would never be supposed to be the same insect,
since the hind wings are lengthened out into large spoon-shaped tails,
no rudiment of which is ever to be perceived in the males or in the
ordinary form of females. These tailed females are never of the dark
and blue-glossed tints which prevail in the male and often occur in the
females of the same form, but are invariably ornamented with stripes and
patches of white or buff, occupying the larger part of the surface of
the hind wings. This peculiarity of colouring led me to discover that
this extraordinary female closely resembles (when flying) another
butterfly of the same genus but of a different group (Papilio coön), and
that we have here a case of mimicry similar to those so well illustrated
and explained by Mr. Bates.[ Trans. Linn. Soc. vol. xviii. p. 495;
"Naturalist on the Amazons," vol. i. p. 290.]

That the resemblance is not accidental is sufficiently proved by the
fact, that in the North of India, where Papilio coön is replaced by an
allied form, (Papilio Doubledayi) having red spots in place of yellow,
a closely-allied species or variety of Papilio memnon (P. androgeus)
has the tailed female also red spotted. The use and reason of this
resemblance appears to be that the butterflies imitated belong to a
section of the genus Papilio which from some cause or other are not
attacked by birds, and by so closely resembling these in form and colour
the female of Memnon and its ally, also escape persecution. Two other
species of this same section (Papilio antiphus and Papilio polyphontes)
are so closely imitated by two female forms of Papilio theseus (which
comes in the same section with Memnon), that they completely deceived
the Dutch entomologist De Haan, and he accordingly classed them as the
same species!

But the most curious fact connected with these distinct forms is that
they are both the offspring of either form. A single brood of larva
were bred in Java by a Dutch entomologist, and produced males as well as
tailed and tailless females, and there is every reason to believe that
this is always the case, and that forms intermediate in character
never occur. To illustrate these phenomena, let us suppose a roaming
Englishman in some remote island to have two wives--one a black-haired,
red-skinned Indian, the other a woolly-headed, sooty-skinned negress;
and that instead of the children being mulattoes of brown or dusky
tints, mingling the characteristics of each parent in varying degrees,
all the boys should be as fair-skinned and blue-eyed as their father,
while the girls should altogether resemble their mothers. This would be
thought strange enough, but the case of these butterflies is yet more
extraordinary, for each mother is capable not only of producing male
offspring like the father, and female like herself, but also other
females like her fellow wife, and altogether differing from herself!

The other species to which I have to direct attention is the Kallima
paralekta, a butterfly of the same family group as our Purple Emperor,
and of about the same size or larger. Its upper surface is of a rich
purple, variously tinged with ash colour, and across the forewings
there is a broad bar of deep orange, so that when on the wing it is very
conspicuous. This species was not uncommon in dry woods and thickets,
and I often endeavoured to capture it without success, for after flying
a short distance it would enter a bush among dry or dead leaves, and
however carefully I crept up to the spot I could never discover it until
it would suddenly start out again and then disappear in a similar place.
If at length I was fortunate enough to see the exact spot where the
butterfly settled, and though I lost sight of it for some time, I would
discover that it was close before my eyes, but that in its position of
repose it so closely resembled a dead leaf attached to a twig as almost
certainly to deceive the eye even when gazing full upon it. I captured
several specimens on the wing, and was able fully to understand the way
in which this wonderful resemblance is produced.

The end of the upper wings terminates in a fine point, just as the
leaves of many tropical shrubs and trees are pointed, while the lower
wings are somewhat more obtuse, and are lengthened out into a short
thick tail. Between these two points there runs a dark curved line
exactly representing the midrib of a leaf, and from this radiate on each
side a few oblique marks which well imitate the lateral veins. These
marks are more clearly seen on the outer portion of the base of the
wings, and on the innerside towards the middle and apex, and they are
produced by striae and markings which are very common in allied species,
but which are here modified and strengthened so as to imitate more
exactly the venation of a leaf. The tint of the undersurface varies
much, but it is always some ashy brown or reddish colour, which matches
with those of dead leaves. The habit of the species is always to rest on
a twig and among dead or dry leaves, and in this position with the
wings closely pressed together, their outline is exactly that of a
moderately-sized leaf, slightly curved or shrivelled. The tail of the
hind wings forms a perfect stalk, and touches the stick while the insect
is supported by the middle pair of legs, which are not noticed among the
twigs and fibres that surround it. The head and antennae are drawn back
between the wings so as to be quite concealed, and there is a little
notch hollowed out at the very base of the wings, which allows the
head to be retracted sufficiently. All these varied details combine to
produce a disguise that is so complete and marvellous as to astonish
everyone who observes it; and the habits of the insects are such as to
utilize all these peculiarities, and render them available in such a
manner as to remove all doubt of the purpose of this singular case of
mimicry, which is undoubtedly a protection to the insect.

Its strong and swift flight is sufficient to save it from its enemies
when on the wing, but if it were equally conspicuous when at rest
it could not long escape extinction, owing to the attacks of the
insectivorous birds and reptiles that abound in the tropical forests. A
very closely allied species, Kallima inachis, inhabits India, where
it is very common, and specimens are sent in every collection from the
Himalayas. On examining a number of these, it will be seen that no two
are alike, but all the variations correspond to those of dead leaves.
Every tint of yellow, ash, brown, and red is found here, and in many
specimens there occur patches and spots formed of small black dots, so
closely resembling the way in which minute fungi grow on leaves that it
is almost impossible at first not to believe that fungi have grown on
the butterflies themselves!

If such an extraordinary adaptation as this stood alone, it would
be very difficult to offer any explanation of it; but although it is
perhaps the most perfect case of protective imitation known, there
are hundreds of similar resemblances in nature, and from these it is
possible to deduce a general theory of the manner in which they have
been slowly brought about. The principle of variation and that of
"natural selection," or survival of the fittest, as elaborated by Mr.
Darwin in his celebrated "Origin of Species," offers the foundation
for such a theory; and I have myself endeavoured to apply it to all the
chief cases of imitation in an article published in the "Westminster
Review" for 1867, entitled, "Mimicry, and other Protective Resemblances
Among Animals," to which any reader is referred who wishes to know more
about this subject.

In Sumatra, monkeys are very abundant, and at Lobo Kaman they used to
frequent the trees which overhang the guard-house, and give me a fine
opportunity of observing their gambols. Two species of Semnopithecus
were most plentiful--monkeys of a slender form, with very long
tails. Not being much shot at they are rather bold, and remain quite
unconcerned when natives alone are present; but when I came out to look
at them, they would stare for a minute or two and then make off. They
take tremendous leaps from the branches of one tree to those of another
a little lower, and it is very amusing when one strong leader takes a
bold jump, to see the others following with more or less trepidation;
and it often happens that one or two of the last seem quite unable to
make up their minds to leap until the rest are disappearing, when, as
if in desperation at being left alone, they throw themselves frantically
into the air, and often go crashing through the slender branches and
fall to the ground.

A very curious ape, the Siamang, was also rather abundant, but it is
much less bold than the monkeys, keeping to the virgin forests and
avoiding villages. This species is allied to the little long-armed apes
of the genus Hylobates, but is considerably larger, and differs from
them by having the two first fingers of the feet united together, nearly
to the end as does its Latin name, Siamanga syndactyla. It moves much
more slowly than the active Hylobates, keeping lower down in trees, and
not indulging in such tremendous leaps; but it is still very active,
and by means of its immense long arms, five feet six inches across in an
adult about three feet high, can swing itself along among the trees at
a great rate. I purchased a small one, which had been caught by the
natives and tied up so tightly as to hurt it. It was rather savage at
first, and tried to bite; but when we had released it and given it two
poles under the verandah to hang upon, securing it by a short cord,
running along the pole with a ring so that it could move easily, it
became more contented, and would swing itself about with great rapidity.
It ate almost any kind of fruit and rice, and I was in hopes to have
brought it to England, but it died just before I started. It took
a dislike to me at first, which I tried to get over by feeding it
constantly myself. One day, however, it bit me so sharply while giving
it food, that I lost patience and gave it rather a severe beating, which
I regretted afterwards, as from that time it disliked me more than ever.
It would allow my Malay boys to play with it, and for hours together
would swing by its arms from pole to pole and on to the rafters of the
verandah, with so much ease and rapidity, that it was a constant source
of amusement to us. When I returned to Singapore it attracted great
attention, as no one had seen a Siamang alive before, although it is not
uncommon in some parts of the Malay peninsula.

As the Orangutan is known to inhabit Sumatra, and was in fact first
discovered there, I made many inquiries about it; but none of the
natives had ever heard of such an animal, nor could I find any of the
Dutch officials who knew anything about it. We may conclude, therefore,
that it does not inhabit the great forest plains in the east of Sumatra
where one would naturally expect to find it, but is probably confined
to a limited region in the northwest part of the island entirely in
the hands of native rulers. The other great Mammalia of Sumatra, the
elephant and the rhinoceros, are more widely distributed; but the former
is much more scarce than it was a few years ago, and seems to retire
rapidly before the spread of cultivation. Lobo Kaman tusks and bones
are occasionally found about in the forest, but the living animal is now
never seen. The rhinoceros (Rhinoceros sumatranus) still abounds, and I
continually saw its tracks and its dung, and once disturbed one feeding,
which went crashing away through the jungle, only permitting me a
momentary glimpse of it through the dense underwood. I obtained a
tolerably perfect cranium, and a number of teeth, which were picked up
by the natives.

Another curious animal, which I had met with in Singapore and in Borneo,
but which was more abundant here, is the Galeopithecus, or flying lemur.
This creature has a broad membrane extending all around its body to the
extremities of the toes, and to the point of the rather long tail. This
enables it to pass obliquely through the air from one tree to another.
It is sluggish in its motions, at least by day, going up a tree by short
runs of a few feet, and then stopping a moment as if the action was
difficult. It rests during the day clinging to the trunks of trees,
where its olive or brown fur, mottled with irregular whitish spots and
blotches, resembles closely the colour of mottled bark, and no doubt
helps to protect it. Once, in a bright twilight, I saw one of these
animals run up a trunk in a rather open place, and then glide obliquely
through the air to another tree, on which it alighted near its base, and
immediately began to ascend. I paced the distance from the one tree to
the other, and found it to be seventy yards; and the amount of descent
I estimated at not more than thirty-five or forty feet, or less than
one in five. This I think proves that the animal must have some power of
guiding itself through the air, otherwise in so long a distance it would
have little chance of alighting exactly upon the trunk. Like the
Cuscus of the Moluccas, the Galeopithecus feeds chiefly on leaves, and
possesses a very voluminous stomach and long convoluted intestines. The
brain is very small, and the animal possesses such remarkable tenacity
of life, that it is exceedingly difficult to kill it by any ordinary
means. The tail is prehensile; and is probably made use of as an
additional support while feeding. It is said to have only a single young
one at a time, and my own observation confirms this statement, for I
once shot a female with a very small blind and naked little creature
clinging closely to its breast, which was quite bare and much wrinkled,
reminding me of the young of Marsupials, to which it seemed to form a
transition. On the back, and extending over the limbs and membrane, the
fur of these animals is short, but exquisitely soft, resembling in its
texture that of the Chinchilla.

I returned to Palembang by water, and while staying a day at a village
while a boat was being made watertight, I had the good fortune to obtain
a male, female, and young bird of one of the large hornbills. I had
sent my hunters to shoot, and while I was at breakfast they returned,
bringing me a fine large male of the Buceros bicornis, which one of them
assured me he had shot while feeding the female, which was shut up in a
hole in a tree. I had often read of this curious habit, and immediately
returned to the place, accompanied by several of the natives. After
crossing a stream and a bog, we found a large tree leaning over some
water, and on its lower side, at a height of about twenty feet, appeared
a small hole, and what looked like a quantity of mud, which I was
assured had been used in stopping up the large hole. After a while we
heard the harsh cry of a bird inside, and could see the white extremity
of its beak put out. I offered a rupee to anyone who would go up and get
the bird out, with the egg or young one; but they all declared it was
too difficult, and they were afraid to try. I therefore very reluctantly
came away. About an hour afterwards, much to my surprise, a tremendous
loud, hoarse screaming was heard, and the bird was brought me, together
with a young one which had been found in the hole. This was a most
curious object, as large as a pigeon, but without a particle of plumage
on any part of it. It was exceedingly plump and soft, and with a
semi-transparent skin, so that it looked more like a bag of jelly, with
head and feet stuck on, than like a real bird.

The extraordinary habit of the male, in plastering up the female with
her egg, and feeding her during the whole time of incubation, and until
the young one is fledged, is common to several of the large hornbills,
and is one of those strange facts in natural history which are "stranger
than fiction."



CHAPTER IX. NATURAL HISTORY OF THE INDO-MALAY ISLANDS.

IN the first CHAPTER of this work I have stated generally the reasons
which lead us to conclude that the large islands in the western portion
of the Archipelago--Java, Sumatra, and Borneo--as well as the Malay
peninsula and the Philippine islands, have been recently separated from
the continent of Asia. I now propose to give a sketch of the Natural
History of these, which I term the Indo-Malay islands, and to show how
far it supports this view, and how much information it is able to give
us of the antiquity and origin of the separate islands.

The flora of the Archipelago is at present so imperfectly known, and I
have myself paid so little attention to it, that I cannot draw from it
many facts of importance. The Malayan type of vegetation is however a
very important one; and Dr. Hooker informs us, in his "Flora Indica,"
that it spreads over all the moister and more equable parts of India,
and that many plants found in Ceylon, the Himalayas, the Nilghiri,
and Khasia mountains are identical with those of Java and the Malay
peninsula. Among the more characteristic forms of this flora are the
rattans--climbing palms of the genus Calamus, and a great variety of
tall, as well as stemless palms. Orchids, Araceae, Zingiberaceae
and ferns, are especially abundant, and the genus Grammatophyllum--a
gigantic epiphytal orchid, whose clusters of leaves and flower-stems are
ten or twelve feet long--is peculiar to it. Here, too, is the domain of
the wonderful pitcher plants (Nepenthaceae), which are only represented
elsewhere by solitary species in Ceylon, Madagascar, the Seychelles,
Celebes, and the Moluccas. Those celebrated fruits, the Mangosteen and
the Durian, are natives of this region, and will hardly grow out of the
Archipelago. The mountain plants of Java have already been alluded to as
showing a former connexion with the continent of Asia; and a still
more extraordinary and more ancient connection with Australia has been
indicated by Mr. Low's collections from the summit of Kini-balou, the
loftiest mountain in Borneo.

Plants have much greater facilities for passing across arms of the sea
than animals. The lighter seeds are easily carried by the winds, and
many of them are specially adapted to be so carried. Others can float a
long time unhurt in the water, and are drifted by winds and currents
to distant shores. Pigeons, and other fruit-eating birds, are also the
means of distributing plants, since the seeds readily germinate after
passing through their bodies. It thus happens that plants which grow
on shores and lowlands have a wide distribution, and it requires an
extensive knowledge of the species of each island to determine the
relations of their floras with any approach to accuracy. At present we
have no such complete knowledge of the botany of the several islands
of the Archipelago; and it is only by such striking phenomena as the
occurrence of northern and even European genera on the summits of the
Javanese mountains that we can prove the former connection of that
island with the Asiatic continent. With land animals, however, the case
is very different. Their means of passing a wide expanse of sea are far
more restricted. Their distribution has been more accurately studied,
and we possess a much more complete knowledge of such groups as mammals
and birds in most of the islands, than we do of the plants. It is
these two classes which will supply us with most of our facts as to the
geographical distribution of organized beings in this region.

The number of Mammalia known to inhabit the Indo-Malay region is very
considerable, exceeding 170 species. With the exception of the bats,
none of these have any regular means of passing arms of the sea
many miles in extent, and a consideration of their distribution must
therefore greatly assist us in determining whether these islands have
ever been connected with each other or with the continent since the
epoch of existing species.

The Quadrumana or monkey tribe form one of the most characteristic
features of this region. Twenty-four distinct species are known to
inhabit it, and these are distributed with tolerable uniformity over the
islands, nine being found in Java, ten in the Malay peninsula, eleven in
Sumatra, and thirteen in Borneo. The great man-like Orangutans are found
only in Sumatra and Borneo; the curious Siamang (next to them in size)
in Sumatra and Malacca; the long-nosed monkey only in Borneo; while
every island has representatives of the Gibbons or long-armed apes,
and of monkeys. The lemur-like animals, Nycticebus, Tarsius, and
Galeopithecus, are found on all the islands.

Seven species found on the Malay peninsula extend also into Sumatra,
four into Borneo, and three into Java; while two range into Siam and
Burma, and one into North India. With the exception of the Orangutan,
the Siamang, the Tarsius spectrum, and the Galeopithecus, all the
Malayan genera of Quadrumana are represented in India by closely allied
species, although, owing to the limited range of most of these animals,
so few are absolutely identical.

Of Carnivora, thirty-three species are known from the Indo-Malay region,
of which about eight are found also in Burma and India. Among these
are the tiger, leopard, a tiger-cat, civet, and otter; while out of the
twenty genera of Malayan Carnivora, thirteen are represented in India by
more or less closely allied species. As an example, the Malayan bear
is represented in North India by the Tibetan bear, both of which may be
seen alive at the Zoological Society's Gardens.

The hoofed animals are twenty-two in number, of which about seven extend
into Burmah and India. All the deer are of peculiar species, except two,
which range from Malacca into India. Of the cattle, one Indian species
reaches Malacca, while the Bos sondiacus of Java and Borneo is also
found in Siam and Burma. A goat-like animal is found in Sumatra which
has its representative in India; while the two-horned rhinoceros of
Sumatra and the single-horned species of Java, long supposed to be
peculiar to these islands, are now both ascertained to exist in Burma,
Pegu, and Moulmein. The elephant of Sumatra, Borneo, and Malacca is now
considered to be identical with that of Ceylon and India.

In all other groups of Mammalia the same general phenomena recur. A
few species are identical with those of India. A much larger number are
closely allied or representative forms, while there are always a small
number of peculiar genera, consisting of animals unlike those found in
any other part of the world. There are about fifty bats, of which less
than one-fourth are Indian species; thirty-four Rodents (squirrels,
rats, &c.), of which six or eight only are Indian; and ten Insectivora,
with one exception peculiar to the Malay region. The squirrels are
very abundant and characteristic, only two species out of twenty-five
extending into Siam and Burma. The Tupaias are curious insect-eaters,
which closely resemble squirrels, and are almost confined to the Malay
islands, as are the small feather-tailed Ptilocerus lowii of Borneo, and
the curious long-snouted and naked-tailed Gymnurus rafllesii.

As the Malay peninsula is a part of the continent of Asia, the question
of the former union of the islands to the mainland will be best
elucidated by studying the species which are found in the former
district, and also in some of the islands. Now, if we entirely leave
out of consideration the bats, which have the power of flight, there are
still forty-eight species of mammals common to the Malay peninsula
and the three large islands. Among these are seven Quadrumana (apes,
monkeys, and lemurs), animals who pass their whole existence in forests,
who never swim, and who would be quite unable to traverse a single
mile of sea; nineteen Carnivora, some of which no doubt might cross by
swimming, but we cannot suppose so large a number to have passed in this
way across a strait which, except at one point, is from thirty to fifty
miles wide; and five hoofed animals, including the Tapir, two species
of rhinoceros, and an elephant. Besides these there are thirteen Rodents
and four Insectivora, including a shrew-mouse and six squirrels, whose
unaided passage over twenty miles of sea is even more inconceivable than
that of the larger animals.

But when we come to the cases of the same species inhabiting two of the
more widely separated islands, the difficulty is much increased. Borneo
is distant nearly 150 miles from Biliton, which is about fifty miles
from Banca, and this fifteen from Sumatra, yet there are no less than
thirty-six species of mammals common to Borneo and Sumatra. Java
again is more than 250 miles from Borneo, yet these two islands have
twenty-two species in common, including monkeys, lemurs, wild oxen,
squirrels and shrews. These facts seem to render it absolutely certain
that there has been at some former period a connection between all these
islands and the mainland, and the fact that most of the animals common
to two or more of then, show little or no variation, but are often
absolutely identical, indicates that the separation must have been
recent in a geological sense; that is, not earlier than the Newer
Pliocene epoch, at which time land animals began to assimilate closely
with those now existing.

Even the bats furnish an additional argument, if one were needed, to
show that the islands could not have been peopled from each other and
from the continent without some former connection. For if such had
been the mode of stocking them with animals, it is quite certain that
creatures which can fly long distances would be the first to spread
from island to island, and thus produce an almost perfect uniformity of
species over the whole region. But no such uniformity exists, and the
bats of each island are almost, if not quite, as distinct as the other
mammals. For example, sixteen species are known in Borneo, and of these
ten are found in Java and five in Sumatra, a proportion about the same
as that of the Rodents, which have no direct means of migration. We
learn from this fact, that the seas which separate the islands from each
other are wide enough to prevent the passage even of flying animals,
and that we must look to the same causes as having led to the present
distribution of both groups. The only sufficient cause we can imagine is
the former connection of all the islands with the continent, and such
a change is in perfect harmony with what we know of the earth's past
history, and is rendered probable by the remarkable fact that a rise of
only three hundred feet would convert the wide seas that separate them
into an immense winding valley or plain about three hundred miles wide
and twelve hundred long. It may, perhaps, be thought that birds which
possess the power of flight in so pre-eminent a degree, would not be
limited in their range by arms of the sea, and would thus afford few
indications of the former union or separation of the islands they
inhabit. This, however, is not the case. A very large number of birds
appear to be as strictly limited by watery barriers as are quadrupeds;
and as they have been so much more attentively collected, we have more
complete materials to work upon, and are able to deduce from them still
more definite and satisfactory results. Some groups, however, such
as the aquatic birds, the waders, and the birds of prey, are great
wanderers; other groups are little known except to ornithologists.
I shall therefore refer chiefly to a few of the best known and most
remarkable families of birds as a sample of the conclusions furnished by
the entire class.

The birds of the Indo-Malay region have a close resemblance to those
of India; for though a very large proportion of the species are quite
distinct, there are only about fifteen peculiar genera, and not a single
family group confined to the former district. If, however, we compare
the islands with the Burmese, Siamese, and Malayan countries, we shall
find still less difference, and shall be convinced that all are closely
united by the bond of a former union. In such well-known families as
the woodpeckers, parrots, trogons, barbets, kingfishers, pigeons, and
pheasants, we find some identical species spreading over all India, and
as far as Java and Borneo, while a very large proportion are common to
Sumatra and the Malay peninsula.

The force of these facts can only be appreciated when we come to treat
the islands of the Austro-Malay region, and show how similar barriers
have entirely prevented the passage of birds from one island to another,
so that out of at least three hundred and fifty land birds inhabiting
Java and Borneo, not more than ten have passed eastward into Celebes.
Yet the Straits of Macassar are not nearly so wide as the Java sea, and
at least a hundred species are common to Borneo and Java.

I will now give two examples to show how a knowledge of the distribution
of animals may reveal unsuspected facts in the past history of the
earth. At the eastern extremity of Sumatra, and separated from it by
a strait about fifteen miles wide, is the small rocky island of Banca,
celebrated for its tin mines. One of the Dutch residents there sent some
collections of birds and animals to Leyden, and among them were found
several species distinct from those of the adjacent coast of Sumatra.
One of these was a squirrel (Sciurus bangkanus), closely allied to three
other species inhabiting respectively the Malay peninsula, Sumatra, and
Borneo, but quite as distinct from them all as they are from each other.
There were also two new ground thrushes of the genus Pitta, closely
allied to, but quite distinct from, two other species inhabiting both
Sumatra and Borneo, and which did not perceptibly differ in these
large and widely separated islands. This is just as if the Isle of Man
possessed a peculiar species of thrush and blackbird, distinct from the
birds which are common to England and Ireland.

These curious facts would indicate that Banca may have existed as a
distinct island even longer than Sumatra and Borneo, and there are some
geological and geographical facts which render this not so improbable as
it would at first seem to be. Although on the map Banca appears so close
to Sumatra, this does not arise from its having been recently separated
from it; for the adjacent district of Palembang is new land, being a
great alluvial swamp formed by torrents from the mountains a hundred
miles distant.

Banca, on the other hand, agrees with Malacca, Singapore, and the
intervening island of Lingen, in being formed of granite and laterite;
and these have all most likely once formed an extension of the Malay
peninsula. As the rivers of Borneo and Sumatra have been for ages
filling up the intervening sea, we may be sure that its depth has
recently been greater, and it is very probable that those large islands
were never directly connected with each other except through the Malay
peninsula. At that period the same species of squirrel and Pitta
may have inhabited all these countries; but when the subterranean
disturbances occurred which led to the elevation of the volcanoes of
Sumatra, the small island of Banca may have been separated first, and
its productions being thus isolated might be gradually modified before
the separation of the larger islands had been completed.

As the southern part of Sumatra extended eastward and formed the narrow
straits of Banca, many birds and insects and some Mammalia would
cross from one to the other, and thus produce a general similarity of
productions, while a few of the older inhabitants remained, to reveal
by their distinct forms, their different origin. Unless we suppose some
such changes in physical geography to have occurred, the presence of
peculiar species of birds and mammals in such an island as Banca is a
hopeless puzzle; and I think I have shown that the changes required are
by no means so improbable as a mere glance at the map would lead us to
suppose.

For our next example let us take the great islands of Sumatra and Java.
These approach so closely together, and the chain of volcanoes that runs
through them gives such an air of unity to the two, that the idea of
their having been recently dissevered is immediately suggested. The
natives of Java, however, go further than this; for they actually have a
tradition of the catastrophe which broke them asunder, and fix its date
at not much more than a thousand years ago. It becomes interesting,
therefore, to see what support is given to this view by the comparison
of their animal productions.

The Mammalia have not been collected with sufficient completeness in
both islands to make a general comparison of much value, and so many
species have been obtained only as live specimens in captivity, that
their locality has often been erroneously given, the island in which
they were obtained being substituted for that from which they originally
came. Taking into consideration only those whose distribution is more
accurately known, we learn that Sumatra is, in a zoological sense, more
nearly related to Borneo than it is to Java. The great man-like apes,
the elephant, the tapir, and the Malay bear, are all common to the two
former countries, while they are absent from the latter. Of the three
long-tailed monkeys (Semnopithecus) inhabiting Sumatra, one extends into
Borneo, but the two species of Java are both peculiar to it. So also
the great Malay deer (Rusa equina), and the small Tragulus kanchil, are
common to Sumatra and Borneo, but do not extend into Java, where they
are replaced by Tragulas javanicus. The tiger, it is true, is found in
Sumatra and Java, but not in Borneo. But as this animal is known to swim
well, it may have found its way across the Straits of Sunda, or it may
have inhabited Java before it was separated from the mainland, and from
some unknown cause have ceased to exist in Borneo.

In Ornithology there is a little uncertainty owing to the birds of
Java and Sumatra being much better known than those of Borneo; but the
ancient separation of Java as an island is well exhibited by the large
number of its species which are not found in any of the other islands.
It possesses no less than seven pigeons peculiar to itself, while
Sumatra has only one. Of its two parrots one extends into Borneo, but
neither into Sumatra. Of the fifteen species of woodpeckers inhabiting
Sumatra only four reach Java, while eight of them are found in Borneo
and twelve in the Malay peninsula. The two Trogons found in Java are
peculiar to it, while of those inhabiting Sumatra at least two extend to
Malacca and one to Borneo. There are a very large number of birds, such
as the great Argus pheasant, the fire-backed and ocellated pheasants,
the crested partridge (Rollulus coronatus), the small Malacca parrot
(Psittinus incertus), the great helmeted hornbill (Buceroturus
galeatus), the pheasant ground-cuckoo (Carpococcyx radiatus), the
rose-crested bee-eater (Nyctiornis amicta), the great gaper (Corydon
sumatranus), and the green-crested gaper (Calyptomena viridis), and
many others, which are common to Malacca, Sumatra, and Borneo, but are
entirely absent from Java. On the other hand we have the peacock,
the green jungle cock, two blue ground thrushes (Arrenga cyanea
and Myophonus flavirostris), the fine pink-headed dove (Ptilonopus
porphyreus), three broad-tailed ground pigeons (Macropygia), and many
other interesting birds, which are found nowhere in the Archipelago out
of Java.

Insects furnish us with similar facts wherever sufficient data are to be
had, but owing to the abundant collections that have been made in Java,
an unfair preponderance may be given to that island. This does
not, however, seem to be the case with the true Papilionidae or
swallow-tailed butterflies, whose large size and gorgeous colouring
has led to their being collected more frequently than other insects.
Twenty-seven species are known from Java, twenty-nine from Borneo, and
only twenty-one from Sumatra. Four are entirely confined to Java, while
only two are peculiar to Borneo and one to Sumatra. The isolation of
Java will, however, be best shown by grouping the islands in pairs, and
indicating the number of species common to each pair. Thus:--


     Borneo .. . .. 29 species
     Sumatra.. . .. 21  do.    20 species common to both islands.

     Borneo .. . .. 29  do.
     Java. .. . .. 27  do.    20    do.    do.

     Sumatra.. . .. 21  do.
     Java. .. . .. 27  do.    11    do.    do.

Making some allowance for our imperfect knowledge of the Sumatran
species, we see that Java is more isolated from the two larger islands
than they are from each other, thus entirely confirming the results
given by the distribution of birds and Mammalia, and rendering it
almost certain that the last-named island was the first to be completely
separated from the Asiatic continent, and that the native tradition
of its having been recently separated from Sumatra is entirely without
foundation.

We are now able to trace out with some probability the course of events.
Beginning at the time when the whole of the Java sea, the Gulf of Siam,
and the Straits of Malacca were dry land, forming with Borneo, Sumatra,
and Java, a vast southern prolongation of the Asiatic continent, the
first movement would be the sinking down of the Java sea, and the
Straits of Sunda, consequent on the activity of the Javanese volcanoes
along the southern extremity of the land, and leading to the complete
separation of that island. As the volcanic belt of Java and Sumatra
increased in activity, more and more of the land was submerged, until
first Borneo, and afterwards Sumatra, became entirely severed. Since
the epoch of the first disturbance, several distinct elevations and
depressions may have taken place, and the islands may have been more
than once joined with each other or with the main land, and again
separated. Successive waves of immigration may thus have modified their
animal productions, and led to those anomalies in distribution which
are so difficult to account for by any single operation of elevation or
submergence. The form of Borneo, consisting of radiating mountain chains
with intervening broad alluvial valleys, suggests the idea that it has
once been much more submerged than it is at present (when it would have
somewhat resembled Celebes or Gilolo in outline), and has been
increased to its present dimensions by the filling up of its gulfs with
sedimentary matter, assisted by gradual elevation of the land. Sumatra
has also been evidently much increased in size by the formation of
alluvial plains along its northeastern coasts.

There is one peculiarity in the productions of Java that is very
puzzling--the occurrence of several species or groups characteristic of
the Siamese countries or of India, but which do not occur in Borneo or
Sumatra. Among Mammals the Rhinoceros javanicus is the most striking
example, for a distinct species is found in Borneo and Sumatra, while
the Javanese species occurs in Burma and even in Bengal. Among birds,
the small ground-dove, Geopelia striata, and the curious bronze-coloured
magpie, Crypsirhina varians, are common to Java and Siam; while there
are in Java species of Pteruthius, Arrenga, Myiophonus, Zoothera,
Sturnopastor, and Estrelda, the near allies of which are found in
various parts of India, while nothing like them is known to inhabit
Borneo or Sumatra.

Such a curious phenomenon as this can only be understood by supposing
that, subsequent to the separation of Java, Borneo became almost
entirely submerged, and on its re-elevation was for a time connected
with the Malay peninsula and Sumatra, but not with Java or Siam. Any
geologist who knows how strata have been contorted and tilted up, and
how elevations and depressions must often have occurred alternately, not
once or twice only, but scores and even hundreds of times, will have no
difficulty in admitting that such changes as have been here indicated,
are not in themselves improbable. The existence of extensive coal-beds
in Borneo and Sumatra, of such recent origin that the leaves which
abound in their shales are scarcely distinguishable from those of the
forests which now cover the country, proves that such changes of level
actually did take place; and it is a matter of much interest, both to
the geologist and to the philosophic naturalist, to be able to form some
conception of the order of those changes, and to understand how they
may have resulted in the actual distribution of animal life in these
countries; a distribution which often presents phenomena so strange and
contradictory, that without taking such changes into consideration we
are unable even to imagine how they could have been brought about.



CHAPTER X. BALI AND LOMBOCK.

 (JUNE, JULY, 1856.)

THE islands of Bali and Lombock, situated at the eastern end of Java,
are particularly interesting. They are the only islands of the whole
Archipelago in which the Hindu religion still maintains itself--and they
form the extreme points of the two great zoological divisions of the
Eastern hemisphere; for although so similar in external appearance
and in all physical features, they differ greatly in their natural
productions. It was after having spent two years in Borneo, Malacca and
Singapore, that I made a somewhat involuntary visit to these islands on
my way to Macassar. Had I been able to obtain a passage direct to that
place from Singapore, I should probably never have gone near them, and
should have missed some of the most important discoveries of my whole
expedition the East.

It was on the 13th of June, 1856, after a twenty days' passage from
Singapore in the "Kembang Djepoon" (Rose of Japan), a schooner belonging
to a Chinese merchant, manned by a Javanese crew, and commanded by
an English captain, that we cast anchor in the dangerous roadstead of
Bileling on the north side of the island of Bali. Going on shore with
the captain and the Chinese supercargo, I was at once introduced to a
novel and interesting scene. We went first to the house of the Chinese
Bandar, or chief merchant, where we found a number of natives, well
dressed, and all conspicuously armed with krisses, displaying their
large handles of ivory or gold, or beautifully grained and polished
wood.

The Chinamen had given up their national costume and adopted the Malay
dress, and could then hardly be distinguished from the natives of the
island--an indication of the close affinity of the Malayan and Mongolian
races. Under the thick shade of some mango-trees close by the house,
several women-merchants were selling cotton goods; for here the women
trade and work for the benefit of their husbands, a custom which
Mahometan Malays never adopt. Fruit, tea, cakes, and sweetmeats were
brought to us; many questions were asked about our business and the
state of trade in Singapore, and we then took a walk to look at the
village. It was a very dull and dreary place; a collection of narrow
lanes bounded by high mud walls, enclosing bamboo houses, into some of
which we entered and were very kindly received.

During the two days that we remained here, I walked out into the
surrounding country to catch insects, shoot birds, and spy out the
nakedness or fertility of the land. I was both astonished and delighted;
for as my visit to Java was some years later, I had never beheld so
beautiful and well cultivated a district out of Europe. A slightly
undulating plain extends from the seacoast about ten or twelve miles
inland, where it is bounded by a wide range of wooded and cultivated
hills. Houses and villages, marked out by dense clumps of cocoa-nut
palms, tamarind and other fruit trees, are dotted about in every
direction; while between them extend luxuriant rice-grounds, watered by
an elaborate system of irrigation that would be the pride of the best
cultivated parts of Europe. The whole surface of the country is divided
into irregular patches, following the undulations of the ground, from
many acres to a few perches in extent, each of which is itself perfectly
level, but stands a few inches or several feet above or below those
adjacent to it. Every one of these patches can be flooded or drained at
will by means of a system of ditches and small channels, into which are
diverted the whole of the streams that descend from the mountains. Every
patch now bore crops in various stages of growth, some almost ready
for cutting, and all in the most flourishing condition and of the most
exquisite green tints.

The sides of the lanes and bridle roads were often edged with prickly
Cacti and a leafless Euphorbia, but the country being so highly
cultivated there was not much room for indigenous vegetation, except
upon the sea-beach. We saw plenty of the fine race of domestic cattle
descended from the Bos banteng of Java, driven by half naked boys, or
tethered in pasture-grounds. They are large and handsome animals, of a
light brown colour, with white legs, and a conspicuous oval patch behind
of the same colour. Wild cattle of the same race are said to be still
found in the mountains. In so well-cultivated a country it was not to
be expected that I could do much in natural history, and my ignorance
of how important a locality this was for the elucidation of the
geographical distribution of animals, caused me to neglect obtaining
some specimens which I never met with again. One of these was a weaver
bird with a bright yellow head, which built its bottle-shaped nests by
dozens on some trees near the beach. It was the Ploceus hypoxantha, a
native of Java; and here, at the extreme limits of its range westerly,
I shot and preserved specimens of a wagtail-thrush, an oriole, and some
starlings, all species found in Java, and some of them peculiar to that
island. I also obtained some beautiful butterflies, richly marked with
black and orange on a white ground, and which were the most abundant
insects in the country lanes. Among these was a new species, which I
have named Pieris tamar.

Leaving Bileling, a pleasant sail of two days brought us to Ampanam in
the island of Lombock, where I proposed to remain till I could obtain
a passage to Macassar. We enjoyed superb views of the twin volcanoes
of Bali and Lombock, each about eight thousand feet high, which form
magnificent objects at sunrise and sunset, when they rise out of the
mists and clouds that surround their bases, glowing with the rich and
changing tints of these the most charming moments in a tropical day.

The bay or roadstead of Ampanam is extensive, and being at this season
sheltered from the prevalent southeasterly winds, was as smooth as a
lake. The beach of black volcanic sand is very steep, and there is at
all times, a heavy surf upon it, which during spring-tides increases to
such an extent that it is often impossible for boats to land, and many
serious accidents have occurred. Where we lay anchored, about a quarter
of a mile from the shore, not the slightest swell was perceptible, but
on approaching nearer undulations began, which rapidly increased, so as
to form rollers which toppled over onto the beach at regular intervals
with a noise like thunder. Sometimes this surf increases suddenly during
perfect calms to as great a force and fury as when a gale of wind is
blowing, beating to pieces all boats that may not have been hauled
sufficiently high upon the beach, and carrying away uncautious natives.
This violent surf is probably in some way dependent upon the swell of
the great southern ocean and the violent currents that flow through the
Straits of Lombock. These are so uncertain that vessels preparing to
anchor in the bay are sometimes suddenly swept away into the straits,
and are not able to get back again for a fortnight.

What seamen call the "ripples" are also very violent in the straits,
the sea appearing to boil and foam and dance like the rapids below
a cataract; vessels are swept about helplessly, and small ones are
occasionally swamped in the finest weather and under the brightest
skies.

I felt considerably relieved when all my boxes and myself had passed in
safety through the devouring surf, which the natives look upon with some
pride, saying, that "their sea is always hungry, and eats up everything
it can catch." I was kindly received by Mr. Carter, an Englishman, who
is one of the Bandars or licensed traders of the port, who offered me
hospitality and every assistance during my stay. His house, storehouses,
and offices were in a yard surrounded by a tall bamboo fence, and
were entirely constructed of bamboo with a thatch of grass, the only
available building materials. Even these were now very scarce, owing to
the great consumption in rebuilding the place since the great fire some
months before, which in an hour or two had destroyed every building in
the town.

The next day I went to see Mr. S., another merchant to whom I had
brought letters of introduction, and who lived about seven miles off.
Mr. Carter kindly lent me a horse, and I was accompanied by a young
Dutch gentleman residing at Ampanam, who offered to be my guide. We
first passed through the town and suburbs along a straight road bordered
by mud walls and a fine avenue of lofty trees; then through rice-fields,
irrigated in the same manner as I had seen them at Bileling; and
afterwards over sandy pastures near the sea, and occasionally along the
beach itself. Mr. S. received us kindly, and offered me a residence at
his house should I think the neighbourhood favourable for my pursuits.
After an early breakfast we went out to explore, taking guns and
insect nets. We reached some low hills which seemed to offer the most
favourable ground, passing over swamps, sandy flats overgrown with
coarse sedges, and through pastures and cultivated grounds, finding
however very little in the way of either birds or insects. On our way we
passed one or two human skeletons, enclosed within a small bamboo
fence, with the clothes, pillow, mat, and betel-box of the unfortunate
individual, who had been either murdered or executed. Returning to the
house, we found a Balinese chief and his followers on a visit. Those of
higher rank sat on chairs, the others squatted on the floor. The chief
very coolly asked for beer and brandy, and helped himself and his
followers, apparently more out of curiosity than anything else as
regards the beer, for it seemed very distasteful to them, while they
drank the brandy in tumblers with much relish.

Returning to Ampanam, I devoted myself for some days to shooting the
birds of the neighbourhood. The fine fig-trees of the avenues, where a
market was held, were tenanted by superb orioles (Oriolus broderpii) of
a rich orange colour, and peculiar to this island and the adjacent ones
of Sumbawa and Flores. All round the town were abundance of the curious
Tropidorhynchus timoriensis, allied to the Friar bird of Australia. They
are here called "Quaich-quaich," from their strange loud voice, which
seems to repeat these words in various and not unmelodious intonations.

Every day boys were to be seen walking along the roads and by the hedges
and ditches, catching dragonflies with birdlime. They carry a slender
stick, with a few twigs at the end well annointed, so that the least
touch captures the insect, whose wings are pulled off before it is
consigned to a small basket. The dragon-flies are so abundant at the
time of the rice flowering that thousands are soon caught in this
way. The bodies are fried in oil with onions and preserved shrimps,
or sometimes alone, and are considered a great delicacy. In Borneo,
Celebes, and many other islands, the larvae of bees and wasps are eaten,
either alive as pulled out of the cells, or fried like the dragonflies.
In the Moluccas the grubs of the palm-beetles (Calandra) are regularly
brought to market in bamboos and sold for food; and many of the great
horned Lamellicorn beetles are slightly roasted on the embers and eaten
whenever met with. The superabundance of insect life is therefore turned
to some account by these islanders.

Finding that birds were not very numerous, and hearing much of Labuan
Tring at the southern extremity of the bay, where there was said to be
much uncultivated country and plenty of birds as well as deer and wild
pigs, I determined to go there with my two servants, Ali, the Malay
lad from Borneo, and Manuel, a Portuguese of Malacca accustomed to
bird-skinning. I hired a native boat with outriggers to take us with
our small quantity of luggage, and a day's rowing and tracking along the
shore brought us to the place.

I had a note of introduction to an Amboynese Malay, and obtained the use
of part of his house to live and work in. His name was "Inchi Daud" (Mr.
David), and he was very civil; but his accommodations were limited, and
he could only hire me part of his reception-room. This was the front
part of a bamboo house (reached by a ladder of about six rounds very
wide apart), and having a beautiful view over the bay. However, I soon
made what arrangements were possible, and then set to work. The country
around was pretty and novel to me, consisting of abrupt volcanic hills
enclosing flat valleys or open plains. The hills were covered with a
dense scrubby bush of bamboos and prickly trees and shrubs, the plains
were adorned with hundreds of noble palm-trees, and in many places
with a luxuriant shrubby vegetation. Birds were plentiful and very
interesting, and I now saw for the first time many Australian forms that
are quite absent from the islands westward. Small white cockatoos were
abundant, and their loud screams, conspicuous white colour, and pretty
yellow crests, rendered them a very important feature in the landscape.
This is the most westerly point on the globe where any of the family
are to be found. Some small honeysuckers of the genus Ptilotis, and the
strange moundmaker (Megapodius gouldii), are also here first met with
on the traveller's journey eastward. The last mentioned bird requires a
fuller notice.

The Megapodidae are a small family of birds found only in Australia and
the surrounding islands, but extending as far as the Philippines and
Northwest Borneo. They are allied to the gallinaceous birds, but differ
from these and from all others in never sitting upon their eggs, which
they bury in sand, earth, or rubbish, and leave to be hatched by the
heat of the sun or by fermentation. They are all characterised by very
large feet and long curved claws, and most of the species of Megapodius
rake and scratch together all kinds of rubbish, dead leaves, sticks,
stones, earth, rotten wood, etc., until they form a large mound, often
six feet high and twelve feet across, in the middle of which they
bury their eggs. The natives can tell by the condition of these mounds
whether they contain eggs or not; and they rob them whenever they can,
as the brick-red eggs (as large as those of a swan) are considered
a great delicacy. A number of birds are said to join in making these
mounds and lay their eggs together, so that sometimes forty or fifty
may be found. The mounds are to be met with here and there in dense
thickets, and are great puzzles to strangers, who cannot understand
who can possibly have heaped together cartloads of rubbish in such
out-of-the-way places; and when they inquire of the natives they are but
little wiser, for it almost always appears to them the wildest romance
to be told that it is all done by birds. The species found in Lombock
is about the size of a small hen, and entirely of dark olive and
brown tints. It is a miscellaneous feeder, devouring fallen fruits,
earthworms, snails, and centipedes, but the flesh is white and
well-flavoured when properly cooked.

The large green pigeons were still better eating, and were much more
plentiful. These fine birds, exceeding our largest tame pigeons in size,
abounded on the palm-trees, which now bore huge bunches of fruits--mere
hard globular nuts, about an inch in diameter, and covered with a dry
green skin and a very small portion of pulp. Looking at the pigeon's
bill and head, it would seem impossible that it could swallow such large
masses, or that it could obtain any nourishment from them; yet I often
shot these birds with several palm-fruits in the crop, which generally
burst when they fell to the ground. I obtained here eight species of
Kingfishers; among which was a very beautiful new one, named by Mr.
Gould, Halcyon fulgidus. It was found always in thickets, away from
water, and seemed to feed on snails and insects picked up from the
ground after the manner of the great Laughing Jackass of Australia. The
beautiful little violet and orange species (Ceyx rufidorsa) is found in
similar situations, and darts rapidly along like a flame of fire. Here
also I first met with the pretty Australian Bee-eater (Merops ornatus).
This elegant little bird sits on twigs in open places, gazing eagerly
around, and darting off at intervals to seize some insect which it sees
flying near; returning afterwards to the same twig to swallow it. Its
long, sharp, curved bill, the two long narrow feathers in its tail, its
beautiful green plumage varied with rich brown and black and vivid
blue on the throat, render it one of the most graceful and interesting
objects a naturalist can see for the first time.

Of all the birds of Lombock, however, I sought most after the beautiful
ground thrushes (Pitta concinna), and always thought myself lucky if
I obtained one. They were found only in the dry plains densely covered
with thickets, and carpeted at this season with dead leaves. They were
so shy that it was very difficult to get a shot at them, and it was only
after a good deal of practice that I discovered how to do it. The habit
of these birds is to hop about on the ground, picking up insects, and on
the least alarm to run into the densest thicket or take a flight close
to the ground. At intervals they utter a peculiar cry of two notes which
when once heard is easily recognised, and they can also be heard hopping
along among the dry leaves.

My practice was, therefore, to walk cautiously along the narrow pathways
with which the country abounded, and on detecting any sign of a Pitta's
vicinity to stand motionless and give a gentle whistle occasionally,
imitating the notes as near as possible. After half an hour's waiting
I was often rewarded by seeing the pretty bird hopping along in the
thicket. Then I would perhaps lose sight of it again, until having my
gun raised and ready for a shot, a second glimpse would enable me to
secure my prize, and admire its soft puffy plumage and lovely colours.
The upper part is rich soft green, the head jet black with a stripe
of blue and brown over each eye; at the base of the tail and on the
shoulders are bands of bright silvery blue; the under side is delicate
buff with a stripe of rich crimson, bordered with black on the belly.
Beautiful grass-green doves, little crimson and black flower-peckers,
large black cuckoos, metallic king-crows, golden orioles, and the fine
jungle-cocks--the origin of all our domestic breeds of poultry--were
among the birds that chiefly attracted my attention during our stay at
Labuan Tring.

The most characteristic feature of the jungle was its thorniness. The
shrubs were thorny; the creepers were thorny; the bamboos even were
thorny. Everything grew zigzag and jagged, and in an inextricable
tangle, so that to get through the bush with gun or net or even
spectacles, was generally not to be done, and insect-catching in such
localities was out of the question. It was in such places that the
Pittas often lurked, and when shot it became a matter of some difficulty
to secure the bird, and seldom without a heavy payment of pricks and
scratches and torn clothes could the prize be won. The dry volcanic soil
and arid climate seem favourable to the production of such stunted and
thorny vegetation, for the natives assured me that this was nothing
to the thorns and prickles of Sumbawa whose surface still bears the
covering of volcanic ashes thrown out forty years ago by the terrible
eruption of Tomboro.

Among the shrubs and trees that are not prickly the Apocynaceae were
most abundant, their bilobed fruits of varied form and colour and often
of most tempting appearance, hanging everywhere by the waysides as if
to invite to destruction the weary traveller who may be unaware of their
poisonous properties. One in particular with a smooth shining skin of
a golden orange colour rivals in appearance the golden apples of the
Hesperides, and has great attractions for many birds, from the white
cockatoos to the little yellow Zosterops, who feast on the crimson seeds
which are displayed when the fruit bursts open. The great palm called
"Gubbong" by the natives, a species of Corypha, is the most striking
feature of the plains, where it grows by thousands and appears in three
different states--in leaf, in flower and fruit, or dead. It has a lofty
cylindrical stem about a hundred feet high and two to three feet in
diameter; the leaves are large and fan-shaped, and fall off when the
tree flowers, which it does only once in its life in a huge terminal
spike, upon which are produced masses of a smooth round fruit of a green
colour and about an inch in diameter. When these ripen and fall the tree
dies, and remains standing a year or two before it falls. Trees in leaf
only are by far the most numerous, then those in flower and fruit, while
dead trees are scattered here and there among them. The trees in fruit
are the resort of the great green fruit pigeons, which have been already
mentioned. Troops of monkeys (Macacus cynomolgus) may often be
seen occupying a tree, showering down the fruit in great profusion,
chattering when disturbed and making an enormous rustling as they
scamper off among the dead palm leaves; while the pigeons have a loud
booming voice more like the roar of a wild beast than the note of a
bird.

My collecting operations here were carried on under more than usual
difficulties. One small room had to serve for eating, sleeping and
working, and one for storehouse and dissecting-room; in it were no
shelves, cupboards, chairs or tables; ants swarmed in every part of it,
and dogs, cats and fowls entered it at pleasure. Besides this it was the
parlour and reception-room of my host, and I was obliged to consult his
convenience and that of the numerous guests who visited us. My principal
piece of furniture was a box, which served me as a dining table, a seat
while skinning birds, and as the receptacle of the birds when
skinned and dried. To keep them free from ants we borrowed, with
some difficulty, an old bench, the four legs of which being placed in
cocoa-nut shells filled with water kept us tolerably free from these
pests. The box and the bench were, however, literally the only places
where anything could be put away, and they were generally well occupied
by two insect boxes and about a hundred birds' skins in process of
drying. It may therefore be easily conceived that when anything bulky
or out of the common way was collected, the question "Where is it to
be put?" was rather a difficult one to answer. All animal substances
moreover require some time to dry thoroughly, emit a very disagreeable
odour while doing so, and are particularly attractive to ants, flies,
dogs, rats, cats, and other vermin, calling for special cautions and
constant supervision, which under the circumstances above described were
impossible.

My readers may now partially understand why a travelling naturalist of
limited means, like myself, does so much less than is expected or
than he would himself wish to do. It would be interesting to preserve
skeletons of many birds and animals, reptiles and fishes in spirits,
skins of the larger animals, remarkable fruits and woods and the most
curious articles of manufacture and commerce; but it will be seen
that under the circumstances I have just described, it would have
been impossible to add these to the collections which were my own more
especial favourites. When travelling by boat the difficulties are as
great or greater, and they are not diminished when the journey is by
land. It was absolutely necessary therefore to limit my collections to
certain groups to which I could devote constant personal attention, and
thus secure from destruction or decay what had been often obtained by
much labour and pains.

While Manuel sat skinning his birds of an afternoon, generally
surrounded by a little crowd of Malays and Sassaks (as the indigenes
of Lombock are termed), he often held forth to them with the air of a
teacher, and was listened to with profound attention. He was very fond
of discoursing on the "special providences" of which he believed he was
daily the subject. "Allah has been merciful today," he would say--for
although a Christian he adopted the Mahometan mode of speech--"and has
given us some very fine birds; we can do nothing without him." Then one
of the Malays would reply, "To be sure, birds are like mankind; they
have their appointed time to die; when that time comes nothing can save
them, and if it has not come you cannot kill them." A murmur of assent
follow, until sentiments and cries of "Butul! Butul!" (Right, right.)
Then Manuel would tell a long story of one of his unsuccessful
hunts--how he saw some fine bird and followed it a long way, and then
missed it, and again found it, and shot two or three times at it, but
could never hit it, "Ah!" says an old Malay, "its time was not come, and
so it was impossible for you to kill it." A doctrine is this which is
very consoling to the bad marksman, and which quite accounts for the
facts, but which is yet somehow not altogether satisfactory.

It is universally believed in Lombock that some men have the power to
turn themselves into crocodiles, which they do for the sake of devouring
their enemies, and many strange tales are told of such transformations.
I was therefore rather surprised one evening to hear the following
curious fact stated, and as it was not contradicted by any of the
persons present, I am inclined to accept it provisionally as a
contribution to the Natural History of the island. A Bornean Malay who
had been for many years resident here said to Manuel, "One thing is
strange in this country--the scarcity of ghosts." "How so?" asked
Manuel. "Why, you know," said the Malay, "that in our countries to the
westward, if a man dies or is killed, we dare not pass near the place
at night, for all sorts of noises are heard which show that ghosts are
about. But here there are numbers of men killed, and their bodies lie
unburied in the fields and by the roadside, and yet you can walk by them
at night and never hear or see anything at all, which is not the case in
our country, as you know very well." "Certainly I do," said Manuel;
and so it was settled that ghosts were very scarce, if not altogether
unknown in Lombock. I would observe, however, that as the evidence
is purely negative we should be wanting in scientific caution if we
accepted this fact as sufficiently well established.

One evening I heard Manuel, Ali, and a Malay man whispering earnestly
together outside the door, and could distinguish various allusions to
"krisses," throat-cutting, heads, etc. etc. At length Manuel came
in, looking very solemn and frightened, and said to me in English,
"Sir--must take care,--no safe here;--want cut throat." On further
inquiry, I found that the Malay had been telling them that the Rajah had
just sent down an order to the village, that they were to get a certain
number of heads for an offering in the temples to secure a good crop of
rice. Two or three other Malays and Bugis, as well as the Amboyna man in
whose house we lived, confirmed this account, and declared that it was a
regular thing every year, and that it was necessary to keep a good
watch and never go out alone. I laughed at the whole thing, and tried to
persuade them that it was a mere tale, but to no effect. They were all
firmly persuaded that their lives were in danger. Manuel would not go
out shooting alone, and I was obliged to accompany him every morning,
but I soon gave him the slip in the jungle. Ali was afraid to go and
look for firewood without a companion, and would not even fetch water
from the well a few yards behind the house unless armed with an enormous
spear. I was quite sure all the time that no such order had been sent
or received, and that we were in perfect safety. This was well shown
shortly afterwards, when an American sailor ran away from his ship on
the east side of the island, and made his way on foot and unarmed across
to Ampanam, having met with the greatest hospitality on the whole route.
Nowhere would the smallest payment be taken for the food and lodging
which were willingly furbished him. On pointing out this fact to Manuel,
he replied, "He one bad man,--run away from his ship--no one can believe
word he say;" and so I was obliged to leave him in the uncomfortable
persuasion that he might any day have his throat cut.

A circumstance occurred here which appeared to throw some light on the
cause of the tremendous surf at Ampanam. One evening I heard a strange
rumbling noise, and at the same time the house shook slightly. Thinking
it might be thunder, I asked, "What is that?" "It is an earthquake,"
answered Inchi Daud, my host; and he then told me that slight shocks
were occasionally felt there, but he had never known them to be
severe. This happened on the day of the last quarter of the moon, and
consequently when tides were low and the surf usually at its weakest.
On inquiry afterwards at Ampanam, I found that no earthquake had been
noticed, but that on one night there had been a very heavy surf, which
shook the house, and the next day there was a very high tide, the water
having flooded Mr. Carter's premises, higher than he had ever known
it before. These unusual tides occur every now and then, and are not
thought much of; but by careful inquiry I ascertained that the surf had
occurred on the very night I had felt the earthquake at Labuan Tring,
nearly twenty miles off. This would seem to indicate, that although the
ordinary heavy surf may be due to the swell of the great Southern Ocean
confined in a narrow channel, combined with a peculiar form of bottom
near the shore, yet the sudden heavy surfs and high tides that occur
occasionally in perfectly calm weather, may be due to slight upheavals
of the ocean-bed in this eminently volcanic region.



CHAPTER XI. LOMBOCK: MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF THE PEOPLE.

HAVING made a very fine and interesting collection of the birds of
Labuan Tring, I took leave of my kind host, Inchi Daud, and returned
to Ampanam to await an opportunity to reach Macassar. As no vessel had
arrived bound for that port, I determined to make an excursion into the
interior of the island, accompanied by Mr. Ross, an Englishman born in
the Keeling Islands, and now employed by the Dutch Government to settle
the affairs of a missionary who had unfortunately become bankrupt here.
Mr. Carter kindly lent me a horse, and Mr. Ross took his native groom.

Our route for some distance lay along a perfectly level country bearing
ample crops of rice. The road was straight and generally bordered with
lofty trees forming a fine avenue. It was at first sandy, afterwards
grassy, with occasional streams and mudholes. At a distance about four
miles we reached Mataram, the capital of the island and the residence
of the Rajah. It is a large village with wide streets bordered by a
magnificent avenue of trees, and low houses concealed behind mud walls.
Within this royal city no native of the lower orders is allowed to ride,
and our attendant, a Javanese, was obliged to dismount and lead his
horse while we rode slowly through. The abodes of the Rajah and of the
High Priest are distinguished by pillars of red brick constructed with
much taste; but the palace itself seemed to differ but little from
the ordinary houses of the country. Beyond Mataram and close to it is
Karangassam, the ancient residence of the native or Sassak Rajahs before
the conquest of the island by the Balinese.

Soon after passing Mataram the country began gradually to rise in
gentle undulations, swelling occasionally into low hills towards the two
mountainous tracts in the northern and southern parts of the island.
It was now that I first obtained an adequate idea of one of the most
wonderful systems of cultivation in the world, equalling all that is
related of Chinese industry, and as far as I know surpassing in the
labour that has been bestowed upon it any tract of equal extent in the
most civilized countries of Europe. I rode through this strange garden
utterly amazed and hardly able to realize the fact that in this remote
and little known island, from which all Europeans except a few traders
at the port are jealously excluded, many hundreds of square miles of
irregularly undulating country have been so skillfully terraced and
levelled, and so permeated by artificial channels, that every portion of
it can be irrigated and dried at pleasure. According as the slope of the
ground is more or less rapid, each terraced plot consists in some places
of many acres, in others of a few square yards. We saw them in every
state of cultivation; some in stubble, some being ploughed, some with
rice-crops in various stages of growth. Here were luxuriant patches of
tobacco; there, cucumbers, sweet potatoes, yams, beans or Indian-corn
varied the scene. In some places the ditches were dry, in others little
streams crossed our road and were distributed over lands about to be
sown or planted. The banks which bordered every terrace rose regularly
in horizontal lines above each other; sometimes rounding an abrupt knoll
and looking like a fortification, or sweeping around some deep hollow
and forming on a gigantic scale the seats of an amphitheatre. Every
brook and rivulet had been diverted from its bed, and instead of flowing
along the lowest ground, were to be found crossing our road half-way up
an ascent, yet bordered by ancient trees and moss-grown stones so as to
have all the appearance of a natural channel, and bearing testimony
to the remote period at which the work had been done. As we advanced
further into the country, the scene was diversified by abrupt rocky
hills, by steep ravines, and by clumps of bamboos and palm-trees near
houses or villages; while in the distance the fine range of mountains of
which Lombock Peak, eight thousand feet high, is the culminating point,
formed a fit background to a view scarcely to be surpassed either in
human interest or picturesque beauty.

Along the first part of our road we passed hundreds of women carrying
rice, fruit, and vegetables to market; and further on, an almost
uninterrupted line of horses laden with rice in bags or in the ear, on
their way to the port of Ampanam. At every few miles along the road,
seated under shady trees or slight sheds, were sellers of sugar-cane,
palm-wine, cooked rice, salted eggs, and fried plantains, with a few
other native delicacies. At these stalls a hearty meal may be made for a
penny, but we contented ourselves with drinking some sweet palm-wine, a
most delicious beverage in the heat of the day. After having travelled
about twenty miles we reached a higher and drier region, where, water
being scarce, cultivation was confined to the little flats bordering the
streams. Here the country was as beautiful as before, but of a different
character; consisting of undulating downs of short turf interspersed
with fine clumps of trees and bushes, sometimes the woodland, sometimes
the open ground predominating. We only passed through one small patch
of true forest, where we were shaded by lofty trees, and saw around us a
dark and dense vegetation, highly agreeable after the heat and glare of
the open country.

At length, about an hour after noon, we reached our destination--the
village of Coupang, situated nearly in the centre of the island--and
entered the outer court of a house belonging to one of the chiefs
with whom my friend Mr. Ross had a slight acquaintance. Here we were
requested to seat ourselves under an open shed with a raised floor of
bamboo, a place used to receive visitors and hold audiences. Turning our
horses to graze on the luxuriant grass of the courtyard, we waited until
the great man's Malay interpreter appeared, who inquired our business
and informed us that the Pumbuckle (chief) was at the Rajah's house, but
would soon be back. As we had not yet breakfasted, we begged he would
get us something to eat, which he promised to do as soon as possible. It
was however about two hours before anything appeared, when a small tray
was brought containing two saucers of rice, four small fried fish, and a
few vegetables. Having made as good a breakfast as we could, we strolled
about the village, and returning, amused ourselves by conversation
with a number of men and boys who gathered around us; and by exchanging
glances and smiles with a number of women and girls who peeped at us
through half-opened doors and other crevices. Two little boys named
Mousa and Isa (Moses and Jesus) were great friends with us, and an
impudent little rascal called Kachang (a bean) made us all laugh by his
mimicry and antics.

At length, about four o'clock, the Pumbuckle made his appearance, and we
informed him of our desire to stay with him a few days, to shoot birds
and see the country. At this he seemed somewhat disturbed, and asked if
we had brought a letter from the Anak Agong (Son of Heaven) which is the
title of the Rajah of Lombock. This we had not done, thinking it quite
unnecessary; and he then abruptly told us that he must go and speak to
his Rajah, to see if we could stay. Hours passed away, night came,
and he did not return. I began to think we were suspected of some evil
designs, for the Pumbuckle was evidently afraid of getting himself into
trouble. He is a Sassak prince, and, though a supporter of the present
Rajah, is related to some of the heads of a conspiracy which was quelled
a few years since.

About five o'clock a pack-horse bearing my guns and clothes arrived,
with my men Ali and Manuel, who had come on foot. The sun set, and it
soon became dark, and we got rather hungry as we sat wearily under the
shed and no one came. Still hour after hour we waited, until about nine
o'clock, the Pumbuckle, the Rajah, some priests, and a number of their
followers arrived and took their seats around us. We shook hands, and
for some minutes there was a dead silence. Then the Rajah asked what
we wanted; to which Mr. Ross replied by endeavouring to make them
understand who we were, and why we had come, and that we had no sinister
intentions whatever; and that we had not brought a letter from the
"Anak Agong," merely because we had thought it quite unnecessary. A long
conversation in the Bali language then took place, and questions were
asked about my guns, and what powder I had, and whether I used shot or
bullets; also what the birds were for, and how I preserved them, and
what was done with them in England. Each of my answers and explanations
was followed by a low and serious conversation which we could not
understand, but the purport of which we could guess. They were evidently
quite puzzled, and did not believe a word we had told them. They then
inquired if we were really English, and not Dutch; and although we
strongly asserted our nationality, they did not seem to believe us.

After about an hour, however, they brought us some supper (which was
the same as the breakfast, but without the fish), and after it some very
weak coffee and pumpkins boiled with sugar. Having discussed this,
a second conference took place; questions were again asked, and
the answers again commented on. Between whiles lighter topics were
discussed. My spectacles (concave glasses) were tried in succession by
three or four old men, who could not make out why they could not see
through them, and the fact no doubt was another item of suspicion
against me. My beard, too, was the subject of some admiration, and many
questions were asked about personal peculiarities which it is not the
custom to allude to in European society. At length, about one in the
morning, the whole party rose to depart, and, after conversing some time
at the gate, all went away. We now begged the interpreter, who with a
few boys and men remained about us, to show us a place to sleep in, at
which he seemed very much surprised, saying he thought we were very well
accommodated where we were. It was quite chilly, and we were very thinly
clad and had brought no blankets, but all we could get after another
hour's talk was a native mat and pillow, and a few old curtains to hang
round three sides of the open shed and protect us a little from the
cold breeze. We passed the rest of the night very uncomfortably, and
determined to return in the morning and not submit any longer to such
shabby treatment.

We rose at daybreak, but it was near an hour before the interpreter
made his appearance. We then asked to have some coffee and to see the
Pumbuckle, as we wanted a horse for Ali, who was lame, and wished to
bid him adieu. The man looked puzzled at such unheard-of demands and
vanished into the inner court, locking the door behind him and leaving
us again to our meditations. An hour passed and no one came, so I
ordered the horses to be saddled and the pack-horse to be loaded, and
prepared to start. Just then the interpreter came up on horse back, and
looked aghast at our preparations. "Where is the Pumbuckle?" we asked.
"Gone to the Rajah's," said he. "We are going," said I. "Oh! pray
don't," said he; "wait a little; they are having a consultation, and
some priests are coming to see you, and a chief is going off to Mataram
to ask the permission of the Anak Agong for you to stay." This settled
the matter. More talk, more delay, and another eight or ten hours'
consultation were not to be endured; so we started at once, the poor
interpreter almost weeping at our obstinacy and hurry, and assuring us
"the Pumbuckle would be very sorry, and the Rajah would be very sorry,
and if we would but wait all would be right." I gave Ali my horse, and
started on foot, but he afterwards mounted behind Mr. Ross's groom, and
we got home very well, though rather hot and tired.

At Mataram we called at the house of Gusti Gadioca, one of the princes
of Lombock, who was a friend of Mr. Carter's, and who had promised to
show me the guns made by native workmen. Two guns were exhibited, one
six, the other seven feet long, and of a proportionably large bore. The
barrels were twisted and well finished, though not so finely worked as
ours. The stock was well made, and extended to the end of the barrel.
Silver and gold ornament was inlaid over most of the surface, but the
locks were taken from English muskets. The Gusti assured me, however,
that the Rajah had a man who made locks and also rifled barrels. The
workshop where these guns are made and the tools used were next shown
us, and were very remarkable. An open shed with a couple of small mud
forges were the chief objects visible. The bellows consisted of two
bamboo cylinders, with pistons worked by hand. They move very easily,
having a loose stuffing of feathers thickly set round the piston so
as to act as a valve, and produce a regular blast. Both cylinders
communicate with the same nozzle, one piston rising while the other
falls. An oblong piece of iron on the ground was the anvil, and a small
vice was fixed on the projecting root of a tree outside. These, with a
few files and hammers, were literally the only tools with which an old
man makes these fine guns, finishing then himself from the rough iron
and wood.

I was anxious to know how they bored these long barrels, which seemed
perfectly true and are said to shoot admirably; and, on asking the
Gusti, received the enigmatical answer: "We use a basket full of
stones." Being utterly unable to imagine what he could mean, I asked if
I could see how they did it, and one of the dozen little boys around
us was sent to fetch the basket. He soon returned with this most
extraordinary boring-machine, the mode of using which the Gusti then
explained to me. It was simply a strong bamboo basket, through the
bottom of which was stuck upright a pole about three feet long, kept in
its place by a few sticks tied across the top with rattans.

The bottom of the pole has an iron ring, and a hole in which
four-cornered borers of hardened iron can be fitted. The barrel to be
bored is buried upright in the ground, the borer is inserted into it,
the top of the stick or vertical shaft is held by a cross-piece of
bamboo with a hole in it, and the basket is filled with stones to get
the required weight. Two boys turn the bamboo round. The barrels are
made in pieces of about eighteen inches long, which are first bored
small, and then welded together upon a straight iron rod. The whole
barrel is then worked with borers of gradually increasing size, and in
three days the boring is finished. The whole matter was explained in
such a straightforward manner that I have no doubt the process described
to me was that actually used; although, when examining one of the
handsome, well-finished, and serviceable guns, it was very hard to
realize the fact that they had been made from first to last with tools
hardly sufficient for an English blacksmith to make a horseshoe.

The day after we returned from our excursion, the Rajah came to Ampanam
to a feast given by Gusti Gadioca, who resides there; and soon after his
arrival we went to have an audience. We found him in a large courtyard
sitting on a mat under a shady tree; and all his followers, to the
number of three or four hundred, squatting on the ground in a large
circle round him. He wore a sarong or Malay petticoat and a green
jacket. He was a man about thirty-five years of age, and of a pleasing
countenance, with some appearance of intellect combined with indecision.
We bowed, and took our seats on the ground near some chiefs we were
acquainted with, for while the Rajah sits no one can stand or sit
higher. He first inquired who I was, and what I was doing in Lombock,
and then requested to see some of my birds. I accordingly sent for
one of my boxes of bird-skins and one of insects, which he examined
carefully, and seemed much surprised that they could be so well
preserved. We then had a little conversation about Europe and the
Russian war, in which all natives take an interest. Having heard much of
a country-seat of the Rajah's called Gunong Sari, I took the opportunity
to ask permission to visit it and shoot a few birds there which he
immediately granted. I then thanked him, and we took our leave.

An hour after, his son came to visit Mr. Carter accompanied by about a
hundred followers, who all sat on the ground while he came into the open
shed where Manuel was skinning birds. After some time he went into the
house, had a bed arranged to sleep a little, then drank some wine, and
after an hour or two had dinner brought him from the Gusti's house,
which he ate with eight of the principal priests and princes, he
pronounced a blessing over the rice and commenced eating first, after
which the rest fell to. They rolled up balls of rice in their hands,
dipped them in the gravy and swallowed them rapidly, with little pieces
of meat and fowl cooked in a variety of ways. A boy fanned the young
Rajah while eating. He was a youth of about fifteen, and had already
three wives. All wore the kris, or Malay crooked dagger, on the beauty
and value of which they greatly pride themselves. A companion of the
Rajah's had one with a golden handle, in which were set twenty-eight
diamonds and several other jewels. He said it had cost him £700. The
sheaths are of ornamental wood and ivory, often covered on one side with
gold. The blades are beautifully veined with white metal worked into
the iron, and they are kept very carefully. Every man without exception
carries a kris, stuck behind into the large waist-cloth which all wear,
and it is generally the most valuable piece of property he possesses.

A few days afterwards our long-talked-of excursion to Gunong Sari
took place. Our party was increased by the captain and supercargo of
a Hamburg ship loading with rice for China. We were mounted on a very
miscellaneous lot of Lombock ponies, which we had some difficulty in
supplying with the necessary saddles, etc.; and most of us had to patch
up our girths, bridles, or stirrup-leathers as best we could. We passed
through Mataram, where we were joined by our friend Gusti Gadioca,
mounted on a handsome black horse, and riding as all the natives do,
without saddle or stirrups, using only a handsome saddlecloth and very
ornamental bridle.

About three miles further, along pleasant byways, brought us to the
place. We entered through a rather handsome brick gateway supported by
hideous Hindu deities in stone. Within was an enclosure with two square
fish-ponds and some fine trees; then another gateway through which we
entered into a park. On the right was a brick house, built somewhat in
the Hindu style, and placed on a high terrace or platform; on the left
a large fish-pond, supplied by a little rivulet which entered it out of
the mouth of a gigantic crocodile well executed in brick and stone. The
edges of the pond were bricked, and in the centre rose a fantastic and
picturesque pavilion ornamented with grotesque statues. The pond was
well stocked with fine fish, which come every morning to be fed at the
sound of a wooden gong which is hung near for the purpose. On striking
it a number of fish immediately came out of the masses of weed with
which the pond abounds, and followed us along the margin expecting food.
At the same time some deer came out of as adjacent wood, which, from
being seldom shot at and regularly fed, are almost tame. The jungle and
woods which surrounded the park appearing to abound in birds, I went to
shoot a few, and was rewarded by getting several specimens of the fine
new kingfisher, Halcyon fulgidus, and the curious and handsome
ground thrush, Zoothera andromeda. The former belies its name by not
frequenting water or feeding on fish. It lives constantly in low damp
thickets picking up ground insects, centipedes, and small mollusca.
Altogether I was much pleased with my visit to this place, and it gave
me a higher opinion than I had before entertained of the taste of these
people, although the style of the buildings and of the sculpture is very
much inferior to those of the magnificent ruins in Java.

I must now say a few words about the character, manners, and customs of
these interesting people.

The aborigines of Lombock are termed Sassaks. They are a Malay race
hardly differing in appearance from the people of Malacca or Borneo.
They are Mahometans and form the bulk of the population. The ruling
classes, on the other hand, are natives of the adjacent island of Bali,
and are of the Brahminical religion. The government is an absolute
monarchy, but it seems to be conducted with more wisdom and moderation
than is usual in Malay countries. The father of the present Rajah
conquered the island, and the people seem now quite reconciled to their
new rulers, who do not interfere with their religion, and probably
do not tax them any heavier than did the native chiefs they have
supplanted. The laws now in force in Lombock are very severe. Theft is
punished by death. Mr. Carter informed me that a man once stole a metal
coffee-pot from his house. He was caught, the pot restored, and the
man brought to Mr. Carter to punish as he thought fit. All the natives
recommended Mr. Carter to have him "krissed" on the spot; "for if you
don't," said they, "he will rob you again." Mr. Carter, however, let him
off with a warning, that if he ever came inside his premises again he
would certainly be shot. A few months afterwards the same man stole a
horse from Mr. Carter. The horse was recovered, but the thief was not
caught. It is an established rule, that anyone found in a house after
dark, unless with the owner's knowledge, may be stabbed, his body thrown
out into the street or upon the beach, and no questions will be asked.

The men are exceedingly jealous and very strict with their wives. A
married woman may not accept a cigar or a sirih leaf from a stranger
under pain of death. I was informed that some years ago one of the
English traders had a Balinese woman of good family living with him--the
connection being considered quite honourable by the natives. During some
festival this girl offended against the law by accepting a flower or
some such trifle from another man. This was reported to the Rajah (to
some of whose wives the girl was related), and he immediately sent to
the Englishman's house ordering him to give the woman up as she must be
"krissed." In vain he begged and prayed, and offered to pay any fine
the Rajah might impose, and finally refused to give her up unless he
was forced to do so. This the Rajah did not wish to resort to, as he no
doubt thought he was acting as much for the Englishman's honour as for
his own; so he appeared to let the matter drop. But some time afterwards
he sent one of his followers to the house, who beckoned the girl to the
door, and then saying, "The Rajah sends you this," stabbed her to the
heart. More serious infidelity is punished still more cruelly, the woman
and her paramour being tied back to back and thrown into the sea, where
some large crocodiles are always on the watch to devour the bodies. One
such execution took place while I was at Ampanam, but I took a long
walk into the country to be out of the way until it was all over, thus
missing the opportunity of having a horrible narrative to enliven my
somewhat tedious story.

One morning, as we were sitting at breakfast, Mr. Carter's servant
informed us that there was an "Amok" in the village--in other words,
that a man was "running a muck." Orders were immediately given to shut
and fasten the gates of our enclosure; but hearing nothing for some
time, we went out, and found there had been a false alarm, owing to a
slave having run away, declaring he would "amok," because his master
wanted to sell him. A short time before, a man had been killed at a
gaming-table because, having lost half-a-dollar more than he possessed,
he was going to "amok." Another had killed or wounded seventeen people
before he could be destroyed. In their wars a whole regiment of these
people will sometimes agree to "amok," and then rush on with such
energetic desperation as to be very formidable to men not so excited
as themselves. Among the ancients these would have been looked upon as
heroes or demigods who sacrificed themselves for their country. Here it
is simply said--they made "amok."

Macassar is the most celebrated place in the East for "running a muck."
There are said to be one or two a month on the average, and five, ten,
or twenty persons are sometimes killed or wounded at one of them. It is
the national, and therefore the honourable, mode of committing suicide
among the natives of Celebes, and is the fashionable way of escaping
from their difficulties. A Roman fell upon his sword, a Japanese rips up
his stomach, and an Englishman blows out his brains with a pistol.
The Bugis mode has many advantages to one suicidically inclined. A man
thinks himself wronged by society--he is in debt and cannot pay--he is
taken for a slave or has gambled away his wife or child into slavery--he
sees no way of recovering what he has lost, and becomes desperate. He
will not put up with such cruel wrongs, but will be revenged on mankind
and die like a hero. He grasps his kris-handle, and the next moment
draws out the weapon and stabs a man to the heart. He runs on, with
bloody kris in his hand, stabbing at everyone he meets. "Amok! Amok!"
then resounds through the streets. Spears, krisses, knives and guns are
brought out against him. He rushes madly forward, kills all he can--men,
women, and children--and dies overwhelmed by numbers amid all the
excitement of a battle. And what that excitement is those who have been
in one best know, but all who have ever given way to violent passions,
or even indulged in violent and exciting exercises, may form a very good
idea. It is a delirious intoxication, a temporary madness that absorbs
every thought and every energy. And can we wonder at the kris-bearing,
untaught, brooding Malay preferring such a death, looked upon as almost
honourable to the cold-blooded details of suicide, if he wishes to
escape from overwhelming troubles, or the merciless clutches of the
hangman and the disgrace of a public execution, when he has taken the
law into his own hands and too hastily revenged himself upon his enemy?
In either case he chooses rather to "amok."

The great staples of the trade of Lombock as well as of Bali are rice
and coffee; the former grown on the plains, the latter on the hills. The
rice is exported very largely to other islands of the Archipelago,
to Singapore, and even to China, and there are generally one or more
vessels loading in the port. It is brought into Ampanam on pack-horses,
and almost every day a string of these would come into Mr. Carter's
yard. The only money the natives will take for their rice is Chinese
copper cash, twelve hundred of which go to a dollar. Every morning two
large sacks of this money had to be counted out into convenient sums for
payment. From Bali quantities of dried beef and ox-tongues are exported,
and from Lombock a good many ducks and ponies. The ducks are a peculiar
breed, which have very long flat bodies, and walk erect almost like
penguins. They are generally of a pale reddish ash colour, and are kept
in large flocks. They are very cheap and are largely consumed by the
crews of the rice ships, by whom they are called Baly-soldiers, but are
more generally known elsewhere as penguin-ducks.

My Portuguese bird-stuffer Fernandez now insisted on breaking his
agreement and returning to Singapore; partly from homesickness, but
more I believe from the idea that his life was not worth many months'
purchase among such bloodthirsty and uncivilized peoples. It was a
considerable loss to me, as I had paid him full three times the usual
wages for three months in advance, half of which was occupied in the
voyage and the rest in a place where I could have done without him,
owing to there being so few insects that I could devote my own time
to shooting and skinning. A few days after Fernandez had left, a small
schooner came in bound for Macassar, to which place I took a passage. As
a fitting conclusion to my sketch of these interesting islands, I will
narrate an anecdote which I heard of the present Rajah; and which,
whether altogether true or not, well illustrates native character, and
will serve as a means of introducing some details of the manners and
customs of the country to which I have not yet alluded.



CHAPTER XII. LOMBOCK: HOW THE RAJAH TOOK THE CENSUS.

The Rajah of Lombock was a very wise man and he showed his wisdom
greatly in the way he took the census. For my readers must know that
the chief revenues of the Rajah were derived from a head-tax of rice, a
small measure being paid annually by every man, woman, and child in the
island, There was no doubt that every one paid this tax, for it was a
very light one, and the land was fertile and the people well off; but
it had to pass through many hands before it reached the Government
storehouses. When the harvest was over the villagers brought their rice
to the Kapala kampong, or head of the village; and no doubt he sometimes
had compassion for the poor or sick and passed over their short measure,
and sometimes was obliged to grant a favour to those who had complaints
against him; and then he must keep up his own dignity by having his
granaries better filled than his neighbours, and so the rice that he
took to the "Waidono" that was over his district was generally good deal
less than it should have been. And all the "Waidonos" had of course to
take care of themselves, for they were all in debt and it was so easy
to take a little of the Government rice, and there would still be plenty
for the Rajah. And the "Gustis" or princes who received the rice from
the Waidonos helped themselves likewise, and so when the harvest was all
over and the rice tribute was all brought in, the quantity was found
to be less each year than the one before. Sickness in one district, and
fevers in another, and failure of the crops in a third, were of course
alleged as the cause of this falling off; but when the Rajah went to
hunt at the foot of the great mountain, or went to visit a "Gusti" on
the other side of the island, he always saw the villages full of people,
all looking well-fed and happy. And he noticed that the krisses of
his chiefs and officers were getting handsomer and handsomer; and the
handles that were of yellow wood were changed for ivory, and those of
ivory were changed for gold, and diamonds and emeralds sparkled on many
of them; and he knew very well which way the tribute-rice went. But as
he could not prove it he kept silence, and resolved in his own heart
someday to have a census taken, so that he might know the number of
his people, and not be cheated out of more rice than was just and
reasonable.

But the difficulty was how to get this census. He could not go himself
into every village and every house, and count all the people; and if
he ordered it to be done by the regular officers they would quickly
understand what it was for, and the census would be sure to agree
exactly with the quantity of rice he got last year. It was evident
therefore that to answer his purpose no one must suspect why the census
was taken; and to make sure of this, no one must know that there was any
census taken at all. This was a very hard problem; and the Rajah thought
and thought, as hard as a Malay Rajah can be expected to think, but
could not solve it; and so he was very unhappy, and did nothing but
smoke and chew betel with his favourite wife, and eat scarcely anything;
and even when he went to the cock-fight did not seem to care whether his
best birds won or lost. For several days he remained in this sad state,
and all the court were afraid some evil eye had bewitched the Rajah; and
an unfortunate Irish captain who had come in for a cargo of rice and
who squinted dreadfully, was very nearly being krissed, but being first
brought to the royal presence was graciously ordered to go on board and
remain there while his ship stayed in the port.

One morning however, after about a week's continuance of this
unaccountable melancholy, a welcome change took place, for the Rajah
sent to call together all the chiefs, priests, and princes who were
then in Mataram, his capital city; and when they were all assembled in
anxious expectation, he thus addressed them:

"For many days my heart has been very sick and I knew not why, but now
the trouble is cleared away, for I have had a dream. Last night the
spirit of the 'Gunong Agong'--the great fire mountain--appeared to me,
and told me that I must go up to the top of the mountain. All of you may
come with me to near the top, but then I must go up alone, and the
great spirit will again appear to me and will tell me what is of great
importance to me and to you and to all the people of the island. Now go
all of you and make this known through the island, and let every village
furnish men to make clear a road for us to go through the forest and up
the great mountain."

So the news was spread over the whole island that the Rajah must go to
meet the great spirit on the top of the mountain; and every village sent
forth its men, and they cleared away the jungle and made bridges over
the mountain streams and smoothed the rough places for the Rajah's
passage. And when they came to the steep and craggy rocks of the
mountain, they sought out the best paths, sometimes along the bed of a
torrent, sometimes along narrow ledges of the black rocks; in one place
cutting down a tall tree so as to bridge across a chasm, in another
constructing ladders to mount the smooth face of a precipice. The chiefs
who superintended the work fixed upon the length of each day's journey
beforehand according to the nature of the road, and chose pleasant
places by the banks of clear streams and in the neighbourhood of shady
trees, where they built sheds and huts of bamboo well thatched with the
leaves of palm-trees, in which the Rajah and his attendants might eat
and sleep at the close of each day.

And when all was ready, the princes and priests and chief men came again
to the Rajah, to tell him what had been done and to ask him when he
would go up the mountain. And he fixed a day, and ordered every man of
rank and authority to accompany him, to do honour to the great spirit
who had bid him undertake the journey, and to show how willingly they
obeyed his commands. And then there was much preparation throughout
the whole island. The best cattle were killed and the meat salted
and sun-dried; and abundance of red peppers and sweet potatoes were
gathered; and the tall pinang-trees were climbed for the spicy betel
nut, the sirih-leaf was tied up in bundles, and every man filled his
tobacco pouch and lime box to the brim, so that he might not want any of
the materials for chewing the refreshing betel during the journey.
The stores of provisions were sent on a day in advance. And on the day
before that appointed for starting, all the chiefs both great and small
came to Mataram, the abode of the king, with their horses and their
servants, and the bearers of their sirih boxes, and their sleeping-mats,
and their provisions. And they encamped under the tall Waringin-trees
that border all the roads about Mataram, and with blazing fires frighted
away the ghouls and evil spirits that nightly haunt the gloomy avenues.

In the morning a great procession was formed to conduct the Rajah to the
mountain. And the royal princes and relations of the Rajah mounted
their black horses whose tails swept the ground; they used no saddle or
stirrups, but sat upon a cloth of gay colours; the bits were of silver
and the bridles of many-coloured cords. The less important people were
on small strong horses of various colours, well suited to a mountain
journey; and all (even the Rajah) were bare-legged to above the knee,
wearing only the gay coloured cotton waist-cloth, a silk or cotton
jacket, and a large handkerchief tastefully folded around the head.
Everyone was attended by one or two servants bearing his sirih and betel
boxes, who were also mounted on ponies; and great numbers more had gone
on in advance or waited to bring up the rear. The men in authority
were numbered by hundreds and their followers by thousands, and all the
island wondered what great thing would come of it.

For the first two days they went along good roads and through many
villages which were swept clean, and where bright cloths were hung out
at the windows; and all the people, when the Rajah came, squatted down
upon the ground in respect, and every man riding got off his horse and
squatted down also, and many joined the procession at every village. At
the place where they stopped for the night, the people had placed stakes
along each side of the roads in front of the houses. These were split
crosswise at the top, and in the cleft were fastened little clay lamps,
and between them were stuck the green leaves of palm-trees, which,
dripping with the evening dew, gleamed prettily with the many twinkling
lights. And few went to sleep that night until the morning hours,
for every house held a knot of eager talkers, and much betel-nut was
consumed, and endless were the conjectures what would come of it.

On the second day they left the last village behind them and entered the
wild country that surrounds the great mountain, and rested in the huts
that had been prepared for them on the banks of a stream of cold and
sparkling water. And the Rajah's hunters, armed with long and heavy
guns, went in search of deer and wild bulls in the surrounding woods,
and brought home the meat of both in the early morning, and sent it on
in advance to prepare the mid-day meal. On the third day they advanced
as far as horses could go, and encamped at the foot of high rocks, among
which narrow pathways only could be found to reach the mountain-top. And
on the fourth morning when the Rajah set out, he was accompanied only
by a small party of priests and princes with their immediate attendants;
and they toiled wearily up the rugged way, and sometimes were carried
by their servants, until they passed up above the great trees, and then
among the thorny bushes, and above them again on to the black and burned
rock of the highest part of the mountain.

And when they were near the summit, the Rajah ordered them all to halt,
while he alone went to meet the great spirit on the very peak of the
mountain. So he went on with two boys only who carried his sirih and
betel, and soon reached the top of the mountain among great rocks, on
the edge of the great gulf whence issue forth continually smoke and
vapour. And the Rajah asked for sirih, and told the boys to sit down
under a rock and look down the mountain, and not to move until he
returned to them. And as they were tired, and the sun was warm and
pleasant, and the rock sheltered them from the cold wind, the boys fell
asleep. And the Rajah went a little way on under another rock; and as he
was tired, and the sun was warm and pleasant, and he too fell asleep.

And those who were waiting for the Rajah thought him a long time on the
top of the mountain, and thought the great spirit must have much to say,
or might perhaps want to keep him on the mountain always, or perhaps he
had missed his way in coming down again. And they were debating whether
they should go and search for him, when they saw him coming down with
the two boys. And when he met them he looked very grave, but said
nothing; and then all descended together, and the procession returned
as it had come; and the Rajah went to his palace and the chiefs to
their villages, and the people to their houses, to tell their wives and
children all that had happened, and to wonder yet again what would come
of it.

And three days afterwards the Rajah summoned the priests and the princes
and the chief men of Mataram, to hear what the great spirit had told him
on the top of the mountain. And when they were all assembled, and the
betel and sirih had been handed round, he told them what had happened.
On the top of the mountain he had fallen into a trance, and the great
spirit had appeared to him with a face like burnished gold, and had
said--"Oh Rajah! much plague and sickness and fevers are coming upon all
the earth, upon men and upon horses and upon cattle; but as you and
your people have obeyed me and have come up to my great mountain, I will
teach you how you and all the people of Lombock may escape this plague."
And all waited anxiously, to hear how they were to be saved from so
fearful a calamity. And after a short silence the Rajah spoke again
and told them, that the great spirit had commanded that twelve sacred
krisses should be made, and that to make them every village and every
district must send a bundle of needles--a needle for every head in the
village. And when any grievous disease appeared in any village, one
of the sacred krisses should be sent there; and if every house in
that village had sent the right number of needles, the disease would
immediately cease; but if the number of needles sent had not been exact,
the kris would have no virtue.

So the princes and chiefs sent to all their villages and communicated
the wonderful news; and all made haste to collect the needles with the
greatest accuracy, for they feared that if but one were wanting, the
whole village would suffer. So one by one the head men of the villages
brought in their bundles of needles; those who were near Mataram came
first, and those who were far off came last; and the Rajah received them
with his own hands and put them away carefully in an inner chamber, in a
camphor-wood chest whose hinges and clasps were of silver; and on every
bundle was marked the name of the village and the district from whence
it came, so that it might be known that all had heard and obeyed the
commands of the great spirit.

And when it was quite certain that every village had sent in its bundle,
the Rajah divided the needles into twelve equal parts, and ordered the
best steelworker in Mataram to bring his forge and his bellows and his
hammers to the palace, and to make the twelve krisses under the Rajah's
eye, and in the sight of all men who chose to see it. And when they were
finished, they were wrapped up in new silk and put away carefully until
they might be wanted.

Now the journey to the mountain was in the time of the east wind when no
rain falls in Lombock. And soon after the krisses were made it was the
time of the rice harvest, and the chiefs of districts and of villages
brought their tax to the Rajah according to the number of heads in their
villages. And to those that wanted but little of the full amount, the
Rajah said nothing; but when those came who brought only half or a
fourth part of what was strictly due, he said to them mildly, "The
needles which you sent from your village were many more than came from
such-a-one's village, yet your tribute is less than his; go back and see
who it is that has not paid the tax." And the next year the produce of
the tax increased greatly, for they feared that the Rajah might justly
kill those who a second time kept back the right tribute. And so the
Rajah became very rich, and increased the number of his soldiers, and
gave golden jewels to his wives, and bought fine black horses from the
white-skinned Hollanders, and made great feasts when his children were
born or were married; and none of the Rajahs or Sultans among the Malays
were so great or powerful as the Rajah of Lombock.

And the twelve sacred krisses had great virtue. And, when any sickness
appeared in a village one of them was sent for; and sometimes the
sickness went away, and then the sacred kris was taken back again with
great Honour, and the head men of the village came to tell the Rajah of
its miraculous power, and to thank him. And sometimes the sickness would
not go away; and then everybody was convinced that there had been a
mistake in the number of needles sent from that village, and therefore
the sacred kris had no effect, and had to be taken back again by the
head men with heavy hearts, but still, with all honour--for was not the
fault their own?



CHAPTER XIII. TIMOR.

 (COUPANG, 1857-1869. DELLI, 1861.)

THE island of Timor is about three hundred miles long and sixty wide,
and seems to form the termination of the great range of volcanic islands
which begins with Sumatra more than two thousand miles to the west. It
differs however very remarkably from all the other islands of the chain
in not possessing any active volcanoes, with the one exception of Timor
Peak near the centre of the island, which was formerly active, but was
blown up during an eruption in 1638 and has since been quiescent. In no
other part of Timor do there appear to be any recent igneous rocks, so
that it can hardly be classed as a volcanic island. Indeed its position
is just outside of the great volcanic belt, which extends from Flores
through Ombay and Wetter to Banda.

I first visited Timor in 1857, staying a day at Coupang, the chief Dutch
town at the west end of the island; and again in May 1859, when I stayed
a fortnight in the same neighbourhood. In the spring of 1861 I spent
four months at Delli, the capital of the Portuguese possessions in the
eastern part of the island.

The whole neighbourhood of Coupang appears to have been elevated at a
recent epoch, consisting of a rugged surface of coral rock, which rises
in a vertical wall between the beach and the town, whose low, white,
red-tiled houses give it an appearance very similar to other Dutch
settlements in the East. The vegetation is everywhere scanty and
scrubby. Plants of the families Apocynaceae and Euphorbiaceae, abound;
but there is nothing that can be called a forest, and the whole country
has a parched and desolate appearance, contrasting strongly with
the lofty forest trees and perennial verdure of the Moluccas or of
Singapore. The most conspicuous feature of the vegetation was the
abundance of fine fan-leaved palms (Borassus flabelliformis), from the
leaves of which are constructed the strong and durable water-buckets in
general use, and which are much superior to those formed from any other
species of palm. From the same tree, palm-wine and sugar are made, and
the common thatch for houses formed of the leaves lasts six or seven
years without removal. Close to the town I noticed the foundation of
a ruined house below high-water mark, indicating recent subsidence.
Earthquakes are not severe here, and are so infrequent and harmless that
the chief houses are built of stone.

The inhabitants of Coupang consist of Malays, Chinese, and Dutch,
besides the natives, so that there are many strange and complicated
mixtures among the population. There is one resident English merchant,
and whalers as well as Australian ships often come here for stores and
water. The native Timorese preponderate, and a very little examination
serves to show that they have nothing in common with Malays, but are
much more closely allied to the true Papuans of the Aru Islands and New
Guinea. They are tall, have pronounced features, large somewhat aquiline
noses, and frizzly hair, and are generally of a dusky brown colour. The
way in which the women talk to each other and to the men, their loud
voices and laughter, and general character of self-assertion, would
enable an experienced observer to decide, even without seeing them, that
they were not Malays.

Mr. Arndt, a German and the Government doctor, invited me to stay at
his house while in Coupang, and I gladly accepted his offer, as I only
intended making a short visit. We at first began speaking French, but
he got on so badly that we soon passed insensibly into Malay; and
we afterwards held long discussions on literary, scientific, and
philosophical questions in that semi-barbarous language, whose
deficiencies we made up by the free use of French or Latin words.

After a few walks in the neighbourhood of the town, I found such a
poverty of insects and birds that I determined to go for a few days to
the island of Semao at the western extremity of Timor, where I heard
that there was forest country with birds not found at Coupang. With some
difficulty I obtained a large dugout boat with outriggers, to take me
over a distance of about twenty miles. I found the country pretty well
wooded, but covered with shrubs and thorny bushes rather than
forest trees, and everywhere excessively parched and dried up by the
long-continued dry season. I stayed at the village of Oeassa, remarkable
for its soap springs. One of these is in the middle of the village,
bubbling out from a little cone of mud to which the ground rises all
round like a volcano in miniature. The water has a soapy feel and
produces a strong lather when any greasy substance is washed in it.
It contains alkali and iodine, in such quantities as to destroy all
vegetation for some distance around. Close by the village is one of
the finest springs I have ever seen, contained in several rocky basins
communicating by narrow channels. These have been neatly walled where
required and partly levelled, and form fine natural baths. The water
is well tasted and clear as crystal, and the basins are surrounded by
a grove of lofty many-stemmed banyan-trees, which keep them always cool
and shady, and add greatly to the picturesque beauty of the scene.

The village consists of curious little houses very different from any I
have seen elsewhere. They are of an oval figure, and the walls are made
of sticks about four feet high placed close together. From this rises a
high conical roof thatched with grass. The only opening is a door about
three feet high. The people are like the Timorese with frizzly or wavy
hair and of a coppery brown colour. The better class appear to have a
mixture of some superior race which has much improved their features.
I saw in Coupang some chiefs from the island of Savu further west,
who presented characters very distinct from either the Malay or Papuan
races. They most resembled Hindus, having fine well-formed features and
straight thin noses with clear brown complexions. As the Brahminical
religion once spread over all Java, and even now exists in Bali and
Lombock, it is not at all improbable that some natives of India should
have reached this island, either by accident or to escape persecution,
and formed a permanent settlement there.

I stayed at Oeassa four days, when, not finding any insects and very few
new birds, I returned to Coupang to await the next mail steamer. On the
way I had a narrow escape of being swamped. The deep coffin-like boat
was filled up with my baggage, and with vegetables, cocoa-nut and other
fruit for Coupang market, and when we had got some way across into a
rather rough sea, we found that a quantity of water was coming in which
we had no means of baling out. This caused us to sink deeper in the
water, and then we shipped seas over our sides, and the rowers, who had
before declared it was nothing, now became alarmed and turned the boat
round to get back to the coast of Semao, which was not far off. By
clearing away some of the baggage a little of the water could be baled
out, but hardly so fast as it came in, and when we neared the coast
we found nothing but vertical walls of rock against which the sea was
violently beating. We coasted along some distance until we found
a little cove, into which we ran the boat, hauled it on shore, and
emptying it found a large hole in the bottom, which had been temporarily
stopped up with a plug of cocoa-nut which had come out. Had we been a
quarter of a mile further off before we discovered the leak, we should
certainly have been obliged to throw most of our baggage overboard,
and might easily have lost our lives. After we had put all straight and
secure we again started, and when we were halfway across got into such a
strong current and high cross sea that we were very nearly being swamped
a second time, which made me vow never to trust myself again in such
small and miserable vessels.

The mail steamer did not arrive for a week, and I occupied myself in
getting as many of the birds as I could, and found some which were very
interesting. Among them were five species of pigeons of as many distinct
genera, and most of them peculiar to the island; two parrots--the fine
red-winged broad-tail (Platycercus vulneratus), allied to an
Australian species, and a green species of the genus Geoffroyus. The
Tropidorhynchus timorensis was as ubiquitous and as noisy as I had found
it at Lombock; and the Sphaecothera viridis, a curious green oriole
with bare red orbits, was a great acquisition. There were several
pretty finches, warblers, and flycatchers, and among them I obtained the
elegant blue and red Cyornis hyacinthina; but I cannot recognise among
my collections the species mentioned by Dampier, who seems to have been
much struck by the number of small songbirds in Timor. He says: "One
sort of these pretty little birds my men called the ringing bird,
because it had six notes, and always repeated all his notes twice, one
after the other, beginning high and shrill and ending low. The bird was
about the bigness of a lark, having a small, sharp, black bill and blue
wings; the head and breast were of a pale red, and there was a blue
streak about its neck." In Semao, monkeys are abundant. They are the
common hare-lipped monkey (Macacus cynomolgus), which is found all over
the western islands of the Archipelago, and may have been introduced by
natives, who often carry it about captive. There are also some deer,
but it is not quite certain whether they are of the same species as are
found in Java.

I arrived at Delli, the capital of the Portuguese possessions in
Timor, on January 12, 1861, and was kindly received by Captain Hart, an
Englishman and an old resident, who trades in the produce of the country
and cultivates coffee on an estate at the foot of the hills. With him
I was introduced to Mr. Geach, a mining-engineer who had been for two
years endeavouring to discover copper in sufficient quantity to be worth
working.

Delli is a most miserable place compared with even the poorest of the
Dutch towns. The houses are all of mud and thatch; the fort is only a
mud enclosure; and the custom-house and church are built of the same
mean materials, with no attempt at decoration or even neatness. The
whole aspect of the place is that of a poor native town, and there is no
sign of cultivation or civilization round about it. His Excellency
the Governor's house is the only one that makes any pretensions to
appearance, and that is merely a low whitewashed cottage or bungalow.
Yet there is one thing in which civilization exhibits itself--officials
in black and white European costume, and officers in gorgeous uniforms
abound in a degree quite disproportionate to the size or appearance of
the place.

The town being surrounded for some distance by swamps and mudflats is
very unhealthy, and a single night often gives a fever to newcomers
which not unfrequently proves fatal. To avoid this malaria, Captain Hart
always slept at his plantation, on a slight elevation about two miles
from the town, where Mr. Geach also had a small house, which he kindly
invited me to share. We rode there in the evening; and in the course of
two days my baggage was brought up, and I was able to look about me and
see if I could do any collecting.

For the first few weeks I was very unwell and could not go far from the
house. The country was covered with low spiny shrubs and acacias, except
in a little valley where a stream came down from the hills, where some
fine trees and bushes shaded the water and formed a very pleasant place
to ramble up. There were plenty of birds about, and of a tolerable
variety of species; but very few of them were gaily coloured. Indeed,
with one or two exceptions, the birds of this tropical island were
hardly so ornamental as those of Great Britain. Beetles were so scarce
that a collector might fairly say there were none, as the few obscure
or uninteresting species would not repay him for the search. The only
insects at all remarkable or interesting were the butterflies, which,
though comparatively few in species, were sufficiently abundant, and
comprised a large proportion of new or rare sorts. The banks of the
stream formed my best collecting-ground, and I daily wandered up and
down its shady bed, which about a mile up became rocky and precipitous.
Here I obtained the rare and beautiful swallow-tail butterflies, Papilio
aenomaus and P. liris; the males of which are quite unlike each other,
and belong in fact to distinct sections of the genus, while the females
are so much alike that they are undistinguishable on the wing, and to
an uneducated eye equally so in the cabinet. Several other beautiful
butterflies rewarded my search in this place, among which I may
especially mention the Cethosia leschenaultii, whose wings of the
deepest purple are bordered with buff in such a manner as to resemble
at first sight our own Camberwell beauty, although it belongs to a
different genus. The most abundant butterflies were the whites and
yellows (Pieridae), several of which I had already found at Lombock and
at Coupang, while others were new to me.

Early in February we made arrangements to stay for a week at a village
called Baliba, situated about four miles off on the mountains, at
an elevation of 2,000 feet. We took our baggage and a supply of all
necessaries on packhorses; and though the distance by the route we took
was not more than six or seven miles, we were half a day getting there.
The roads were mere tracks, sometimes up steep rocky stairs, sometimes
in narrow gullies worn by the horses' feet, and where it was necessary
to tuck up our legs on our horses' necks to avoid having them crushed.
At some of these places the baggage had to be unloaded, at others it was
knocked off. Sometimes the ascent or descent was so steep that it was
easier to walk than to cling to our ponies' backs; and thus we went up
and down over bare hills whose surface was covered with small pebbles
and scattered over with Eucalypti, reminding me of what I had read of
parts of the interior of Australia rather than of the Malay Archipelago.

The village consisted of three houses only, with low walls raised a few
feet on posts, and very high roofs thatched with grass hanging down to
within two or three feet of the ground. A house which was unfinished and
partly open at the back was given for our use, and in it we rigged up
a table, some benches, and a screen, while an inner enclosed portion
served us for a sleeping apartment. We had a splendid view down upon
Delli and the sea beyond. The country around was undulating and open,
except in the hollows, where there were some patches of forest, which
Mr. Geach, who had been all over the eastern part of Timor, assured me
was the most luxuriant he had yet seen in the island. I was in hopes of
finding some insects here, but was much disappointed, owing perhaps to
the dampness of the climate; for it was not until the sun was pretty
high that the mists cleared away, and by noon we were generally clouded
up again, so that there was seldom more than an hour or two of fitful
sunshine. We searched in every direction for birds and other game,
but they were very scarce. On our way I had shot the fine white-headed
pigeon, Ptilonopus cinctus, and the pretty little lorikeet,
Trichoglossus euteles. I got a few more of these at the blossoms of the
Eucalypti, and also the allied species Trichoglossus iris, and a few
other small but interesting birds. The common jungle-cock of India
(Gallus bankiva) was found here, and furnished us with some excellent
meals; but we could get no deer. Potatoes are grown higher up the
mountains in abundance, and are very good. We had a sheep killed every
other day, and ate our mutton with much appetite in the cool climate,
which rendered a fire always agreeable.

Although one-half the European residents in Delli are continually
ill from fever, and the Portuguese have occupied the place for three
centuries, no one has yet built a house on these fine hills, which, if
a tolerable road were made, would be only an hour's ride from the town;
and almost equally good situations might be found on a lower level at
half an hour's distance. The fact that potatoes and wheat of excellent
quality are grown in abundance at from 3,000 to 3,500 feet elevation,
shows what the climate and soil are capable of if properly cultivated.
From one to two thousand feet high, coffee would thrive; and there are
hundreds of square miles of country over which all the varied products
which require climates between those of coffee and wheat would flourish;
but no attempt has yet been made to form a single mile of road, or a
single acre of plantation!

There must be something very unusual in the climate of Timor to permit
wheat being grown at so moderate an elevation. The grain is of excellent
quality, the bread made from it being equal to any I have ever tasted,
and it is universally acknowledged to be unsurpassed by any made from
imported European or American flour. The fact that the natives have
(quite of their own accord) taken to cultivating such foreign articles
as wheat and potatoes, which they bring in small quantities on the backs
of ponies by the most horrible mountain tracks, and sell very cheaply
at the seaside, sufficiently indicates what might be done if good roads
were made, and if the people were taught, encouraged, and protected.
Sheep also do well on the mountains; and a breed of hardy ponies in much
repute all over the Archipelago, runs half-wild, so that it appears as
if this island, so barren-looking and devoid of the usual features of
tropical vegetation, were yet especially adapted to supply a variety
of products essential to Europeans, which the other islands will not
produce, and which they accordingly import from the other side of the
globe.

On the 24th of February my friend Mr. Geach left Timor, having finally
reported that no minerals worth working were to be found. The Portuguese
were very much annoyed, having made up their minds that copper is
abundant, and still believing it to be so. It appears that from time
immemorial pure native copper has been found at a place on the coast
about thirty miles east of Delli.

The natives say they find it in the bed of a ravine, and many years ago
a captain of a vessel is said to have got some hundreds-weight of it.
Now, however, it is evidently very scarce, as during the two years Mr.
Geach resided in the country, none was found. I was shown one piece
several pounds' weight, having much the appearance of one of the larger
Australian nuggets, but of pure copper instead of gold. The natives and
the Portuguese have very naturally imagined that where these fragments
come from there must be more; and they have a report or tradition,
that a mountain at the head of the ravine is almost pure copper, and of
course of immense value.

After much difficulty a company was at length formed to work the copper
mountain, a Portuguese merchant of Singapore supplying most of the
capital. So confident were they of the existence of the copper, that
they thought it would be waste of time and money to have any exploration
made first; and accordingly, sent to England for a mining engineer, who
was to bring out all necessary tools, machinery, laboratory, utensils, a
number of mechanics, and stores of all kinds for two years, in order to
commence work on a copper-mine which he was told was already discovered.
On reaching Singapore a ship was freighted to take the men and stores to
Timor, where they at length arrived after much delay, a long voyage, and
very great expense.

A day was then fixed to "open the mines." Captain Hart accompanied Mr.
Geach as interpreter. The Governor, the Commandante, the Judge, and all
the chief people of the place went in state to the mountain, with Mr.
Geach's assistant and some of the workmen. As they went up the valley
Mr. Geach examined the rocks, but saw no signs of copper. They went on
and on, but still nothing except a few mere traces of very poor ore. At
length they stood on the copper mountain itself. The Governor stopped,
the officials formed a circle, and he then addressed them, saying, that
at length the day had arrived they had all been so long expecting, when
the treasures of the soil of Timor would be brought to light, and much
more in very grandiloquent Portuguese; and concluded by turning to Mr.
Geach, and requesting him to point out the best spot for them to begin
work at once, and uncover the mass of virgin copper. As the ravines and
precipices among which they had passed, and which had been carefully
examined, revealed very clearly the nature and mineral constitution of
the country, Mr. Geach simply told them that there was not a trace
of copper there, and that it was perfectly useless to begin work. The
audience were thunderstruck! The Governor could not believe his ears. At
length, when Mr. Geach had repeated his statement, the Governor told him
severely that he was mistaken; that they all knew there was copper
there in abundance, and all they wanted him to tell them, as a
mining-engineer, was how best to get at it; and that at all events he
was to begin work somewhere. This Mr. Geach refused to do, trying to
explain that the ravines had cut far deeper into the hill than he could
do in years, and that he would not throw away money or time on any such
useless attempt. After this speech had been interpreted to him, the
Governor saw it was no use, and without saying a word turned his horse
and rode away, leaving my friends alone on the mountain. They all
believed there was some conspiracy that the Englishman would not find
the copper, and that they had been cruelly betrayed.

Mr. Geach then wrote to the Singapore merchant who was his employer,
and it was arranged that he should send the mechanics home again, and
himself explore the country for minerals. At first the Government threw
obstacles in his way and entirely prevented his moving; but at length
he was allowed to travel about, and for more than a year he and his
assistant explored the eastern part of Timor, crossing it in several
places from sea to sea, and ascending every important valley, without
finding any minerals that would pay the expense of working. Copper ore
exists in several places, but always too poor in quality. The best
would pay well if situated in England; but in the interior of an utterly
barren country, with roads to make, and all skilled labour and materials
to import, it would have been a losing concern. Gold also occurs, but
very sparingly and of poor quality. A fine spring of pure petroleum was
discovered far in the interior, where it can never be available until
the country is civilized. The whole affair was a dreadful disappointment
to the Portuguese Government, who had considered it such a certain thing
that they had contracted for the Dutch mail steamers to stop at
Delli and several vessels from Australia were induced to come with
miscellaneous cargoes, for which they expected to find a ready sale
among the population at the newly-opened mines. The lumps of native
copper are still, however, a mystery. Mr. Geach has examined the country
in every direction without being able to trace their origin; so that it
seems probable that they result from the debris of old copper-bearing
strata, and are not really more abundant than gold nuggets are in
Australia or California. A high reward was offered to any native who
should find a piece and show the exact spot where he obtained it, but
without effect.

The mountaineers of Timor are a people of Papuan type, having rather
slender forms, bushy frizzled hair, and the skin of a dusky brown
colour. They have the long nose with overhanging apex which is so
characteristic of the Papuan, and so absolutely unknown among races of
Malayan origin. On the coast there has been much admixture of some of
the Malay races, and perhaps of Hindu, as well as of Portuguese. The
general stature there is lower, the hair wavy instead of frizzled, and
the features less prominent. The houses are built on the ground, while
the mountaineers raise theirs on posts three or four feet high. The
common dress is a long cloth, twisted around the waist and hanging
to the knee, as shown in the illustration (page 305), copied from a
photograph. Both men carry the national umbrella, made of an entire
fan-shaped palm leaf, carefully stitched at the fold of each leaflet to
prevent splitting. This is opened out, and held sloping over the head
and back during a shower. The small water-bucket is made from an entire
unopened leaf of the same palm, and the covered bamboo probably contains
honey for sale. A curious wallet is generally carried, consisting of a
square of strongly woven cloth, the four corners of which are connected
by cords, and often much ornamented with beads and tassels. Leaning
against the house behind the figure on the right are bamboos, used
instead of water jars.

A prevalent custom is the "pomali," exactly equivalent to the "taboo"
of the Pacific islanders, and equally respected. It is used on the
commonest occasions, and a few palm leaves stuck outside a garden as
a sign of the "pomali" will preserve its produce from thieves as
effectually as the threatening notice of man-traps, spring guns, or a
savage dog would do with us. The dead are placed on a stage, raised six
or eight feet above the ground, sometimes open and sometimes covered
with a roof. Here the body remains until the relatives can afford
to make a feast, when it is buried. The Timorese are generally great
thieves, but are not bloodthirsty. They fight continually among
themselves, and take every opportunity of kidnapping unprotected people
of other tribes for slaves; but Europeans may pass anywhere through the
country in safety. Except for a few half-breeds in the town, there are
no native Christians in the island of Timor. The people retain their
independence in a great measure, and both dislike and despise their
would-be rulers, whether Portuguese or Dutch.

The Portuguese government in Timor is a most miserable one. Nobody seems
to care the least about the improvement of the country, and at this
time, after three hundred years of occupation, there has not been a
mile of road made beyond the town, and there is not a solitary European
resident anywhere in the interior. All the Government officials oppress
and rob the natives as much as they can, and yet there is no care taken
to render the town defensible should the Timorese attempt to attack
it. So ignorant are the military officers, that having received a small
mortar and some shells, no one could be found who knew how to use them;
and during an insurrection of the natives (while I was at Delli) the
officer who expected to be sent against the insurgents was instantly
taken ill! And they were allowed to get possession of an important
pass within three miles of the town, where they could defend themselves
against ten times the force. The result was that no provisions were
brought down from the hills; a famine was imminent; and the Governor had
to send off to beg for supplies from the Dutch Governor of Amboyna.

In its present state Timor is more trouble than profit to its Dutch
and Portuguese rulers, and it will continue to be so unless a different
system is pursued. A few good roads into the elevated districts of the
interior; a conciliatory policy and strict justice towards the natives,
and the introduction of a good system of cultivation as in Java and
northern Celebes, might yet make Timor a productive and valuable island.
Rice grows well on the marshy flats, which often fringe the coast, and
maize thrives in all the lowlands, and is the common food of the natives
as it was when Dampier visited the island in 1699. The small quantity of
coffee now grown is of very superior quality, and it might be increased
to any extent. Sheep thrive, and would always be valuable as fresh food
for whalers and to supply the adjacent islands with mutton, if not for
their wool; although it is probable that on the mountains this product
might soon be obtained by judicious breeding. Horses thrive amazingly;
and enough wheat might be grown to supply the whole Archipelago if there
were sufficient inducements to the natives to extend its cultivation,
and good roads by which it could be cheaply transported to the coast.

Under such a system the natives would soon perceive that European
government was advantageous to them. They would begin to save money, and
property being rendered secure they would rapidly acquire new wants and
new tastes, and become large consumers of European goods. This would be
a far surer source of profit to their rulers than imposts and extortion,
and would be at the same time more likely to produce peace and obedience
than the mock-military rule which has hitherto proved most ineffective.
To inaugurate such a system would however require an immediate outlay of
capital, which neither Dutch nor Portuguese seem inclined to make, and
a number of honest and energetic officials, which the latter nation
at least seems unable to produce; so that it is much to be feared that
Timor will for many years to come remain in its present state of chronic
insurrection and misgovernment.

Morality at Delli is at as low an ebb as in the far interior of Brazil,
and crimes are connived at which would entail infamy and criminal
prosecution in Europe. While I was there it was generally asserted and
believed in the place, that two officers had poisoned the husbands of
women with whom they were carrying on intrigues, and with whom they
immediately cohabited on the death of their rivals. Yet no one ever
thought for a moment of showing disapprobation of the crime, or even
of considering it a crime at all, the husbands in question being low
half-castes, who of course ought to make way for the pleasures of their
superiors.

Judging from what I saw myself and by the descriptions of Mr. Geach, the
indigenous vegetation of Timor is poor and monotonous. The lower ranges
of the hills are everywhere covered with scrubby Eucalypti, which only
occasionally grow into lofty forest trees. Mingled with these in smaller
quantities are acacias and the fragrant sandalwood, while the higher
mountains, which rise to about six or seven thousand feet, are either
covered with coarse grass or are altogether barren. In the lower
grounds are a variety of weedy bushes, and open waste places are covered
everywhere with a nettle-like wild mint. Here is found the beautiful
crown lily, Gloriosa superba, winding among the bushes, and displaying
its magnificent blossoms in great profusion. A wild vine also occurs,
bearing great irregular bunches of hairy grapes of a coarse but very
luscious flavour. In some of the valleys where the vegetation is richer,
thorny shrubs and climbers are so abundant as to make the thickets quite
impenetrable.

The soil seems very poor, consisting chiefly of decomposing clayey
shales; and the bare earth and rock is almost everywhere visible. The
drought of the hot season is so severe that most of the streams dry up
in the plains before they reach the sea; everything becomes burned up,
and the leaves of the larger trees fall as completely as in our winter.
On the mountains from two to four thousand feet elevation there is a
much moister atmosphere, so that potatoes and other European products
can be grown all the year round. Besides ponies, almost the only exports
of Timor are sandalwood and beeswax. The sandalwood (Santalum sp.) is
the produce of a small tree, which grows sparingly in the mountains of
Timor and many of the other islands in the far East. The wood is of
a fine yellow colour, and possesses a well-known delightful fragrance
which is wonderfully permanent. It is brought down to Delli in small
logs, and is chiefly exported to China, where it is largely used to burn
in the temples, and in the houses of the wealthy.

The beeswax is a still more important and valuable product, formed by
the wild bees (Apis dorsata), which build huge honeycombs, suspended
in the open air from the underside of the lofty branches of the highest
trees. These are of a semicircular form, and often three or four feet
in diameter. I once saw the natives take a bees' nest, and a very
interesting sight it was. In the valley where I used to collect insects,
I one day saw three or four Timorese men and boys under a high tree,
and, looking up, saw on a very lofty horizontal branch three large bees'
combs. The tree was straight and smooth-barked and without a branch,
until at seventy or eighty feet from the ground it gave out the limb
which the bees had chosen for their home. As the men were evidently
looking after the bees, I waited to watch their operations. One of them
first produced a long piece of wood apparently the stem of a small
tree or creeper, which he had brought with him, and began splitting it
through in several directions, which showed that it was very tough
and stringy. He then wrapped it in palm-leaves, which were secured
by twisting a slender creeper round them. He then fastened his cloth
tightly round his loins, and producing another cloth wrapped it around
his head, neck, and body, and tied it firmly around his neck, leaving
his face, arms, and legs completely bare. Slung to his girdle he
carried a long thin coil of cord; and while he had been making these
preparations, one of his companions had cut a strong creeper or
bush-rope eight or ten yards long, to one end of which the wood-torch
was fastened, and lighted at the bottom, emitting a steady stream of
smoke. Just above the torch a chopping-knife was fastened by a short
cord.

The bee-hunter now took hold of the bush-rope just above the torch and
passed the other end around the trunk of the tree, holding one end in
each hand. Jerking it up the tree a little above his head he set his
foot against the trunk, and leaning back began walking up it. It was
wonderful to see the skill with which he took advantage of the slightest
irregularities of the bark or obliquity of the stem to aid his ascent,
jerking the stiff creeper a few feet higher when he had found a firm
hold for his bare foot. It almost made me giddy to look at him as he
rapidly got up--thirty, forty, fifty feet above the ground; and I kept
wondering how he could possibly mount the next few feet of straight
smooth trunk. Still, however, he kept on with as much coolness and
apparent certainty as if he were going up a ladder, until he got within
ten or fifteen feet of the bees. Then he stopped a moment, and took care
to swing the torch (which hung just at his feet) a little towards these
dangerous insects, so as to send up the stream of smoke between him
and them. Still going on, in a minute more he brought himself under
the limb, and, in a manner quite unintelligible to me, seeing that both
hands were occupied in supporting himself by the creeper, managed to get
upon it.

By this time the bees began to be alarmed, and formed a dense buzzing
swarm just over him, but he brought the torch up closer to him, and
coolly brushed away those that settled on his arms or legs. Then
stretching himself along the limb, he crept towards the nearest comb
and swung the torch just under it. The moment the smoke touched it, its
colour changed in a most curious manner from black to white, the myriads
of bees that had covered it flying off and forming a dense cloud above
and around. The man then lay at full length along the limb, and brushed
off the remaining bees with his hand, and then drawing his knife cut off
the comb at one slice close to the tree, and attaching the thin cord to
it, let it down to his companions below. He was all this time enveloped
in a crowd of angry bees, and how he bore their stings so coolly, and
went on with his work at that giddy height so deliberately, was more
than I could understand. The bees were evidently not stupified by the
smoke or driven away far by it, and it was impossible that the small
stream from the torch could protect his whole body when at work. There
were three other combs on the same tree, and all were successively
taken, and furnished the whole party with a luscious feast of honey and
young bees, as well as a valuable lot of wax.

After two of the combs had been let down, the bees became rather
numerous below, flying about wildly and stinging viciously. Several got
about me, and I was soon stung, and had to run away, beating them off
with my net and capturing them for specimens. Several of them followed
me for at least half a mile, getting into my hair and persecuting me
most pertinaciously, so that I was more astonished than ever at the
immunity of the natives. I am inclined to think that slow and deliberate
motion, and no attempt at escape, are perhaps the best safeguards. A bee
settling on a passive native probably behaves as it would on a tree or
other inanimate substance, which it does not attempt to sting. Still
they must often suffer, but they are used to the pain and learn to bear
it impassively, as without doing so no man could be a bee-hunter.



CHAPTER XIV. THE NATURAL HISTORY OF THE TIMOR GROUP.

IF we look at a map of the Archipelago, nothing seems more unlikely than
that the closely connected chain of islands from Java to Timor should
differ materially in their natural productions. There are, it is true,
certain differences of climate and of physical geography, but these
do not correspond with the division the naturalist is obliged to make.
Between the two ends of the chain there is a great contrast of climate,
the west being exceedingly moist and leaving only a short and irregular
dry season, the east being as dry and parched up, and having but a short
wet season. This change, however, occurs about the middle of Java, the
eastern portion of that island having as strongly marked seasons as
Lombock and Timor. There is also a difference in physical geography; but
this occurs at the eastern termination of the chain where the volcanoes
which are the marked feature of Java, Bali, Lombock, Sumbawa, and
Flores, turn northwards through Gunong Api to Banda, leaving Timor with
only one volcanic peak near its centre, while the main portion of the
island consists of old sedimentary rocks. Neither of these physical
differences corresponds with the remarkable change in natural
productions which occurs at the Straits of Lombock, separating the
island of that name from Bali, and which is at once so large in amount
and of so fundamental a character, as to form an important feature in
the zoological geography of our globe.

The Dutch naturalist Zollinger, who resided a long time on the island of
Bali, informs us that its productions completely assimilate with those
of Java, and that he is not aware of a single animal found in it which
does not inhabit the larger island. During the few days which I stayed
on the north coast of Bali on my way to Lombock, I saw several birds
highly characteristic of Javan ornithology. Among these were the
yellow-headed weaver (Ploceus hypoxantha), the black grasshopper thrush
(Copsychus amoenus), the rosy barbet (Megalaema rosea), the Malay oriole
(Oriolus horsfieldi), the Java ground starling (Sturnopastor jalla), and
the Javanese three-toed woodpecker (Chrysonotus tiga). On crossing over
to Lombock, separated from Bali by a strait less than twenty miles wide,
I naturally expected to meet with some of these birds again; but during
a stay there of three months I never saw one of them, but found a
totally different set of species, most of which were utterly unknown
not only in Java, but also in Borneo, Sumatra, and Malacca. For example,
among the commonest birds in Lombock were white cockatoos and three
species of Meliphagidae or honeysuckers, belonging to family groups
which are entirely absent from the western or Indo-Malayan region of the
Archipelago. On passing to Flores and Timor the distinctness from the
Javanese productions increases, and we find that these islands form a
natural group, whose birds are related to those of Java and Australia,
but are quite distinct from either. Besides my own collections in
Lombock and Timor, my assistant Mr. Allen made a good collection in
Flores; and these, with a few species obtained by the Dutch naturalists,
enable us to form a very good idea of the natural history of this group
of islands, and to derive therefrom some very interesting results.

The number of birds known from these islands up to this date is: 63 from
Lombock, 86 from Flores, and 118 from Timor; and from the whole group,
188 species. With the exception of two or three species which appear
to have been derived from the Moluccas, all these birds can be traced,
either directly or by close allies, to Java on the one side or to
Australia on the other; although no less than 82 of them are found
nowhere out of this small group of islands. There is not, however,
a single genus peculiar to the group, or even one which is largely
represented in it by peculiar species; and this is a fact which
indicates that the fauna is strictly derivative, and that its origin
does not go back beyond one of the most recent geological epochs. Of
course there are a large number of species (such as most of the waders,
many of the raptorial birds, some of the kingfishers, swallows, and a
few others), which range so widely over a large part of the Archipelago
that it is impossible to trace them as having come from any one part
rather than from another. There are fifty-seven such species in my list,
and besides these there are thirty-five more which, though peculiar to
the Timor group, are yet allied to wide-ranging forms. Deducting these
ninety-two species, we have nearly a hundred birds left whose relations
with those of other countries we will now consider.

If we first take those species which, as far as we yet know, are
absolutely confined to each island, we find, in:


  Lombock 4 belonging to 2 genera, of which 1 is Australian, 1 Indian.
  Flores 12       "      7        "         5 are    "       2    "
  Timor  42       "      20       "        16 are    "       4    "

The actual number of peculiar species in each island I do not suppose
to be at all accurately determined, since the rapidly increasing numbers
evidently depend upon the more extensive collections made in Timor than
in Flores, and in Flores than in Lombock; but what we can depend more
upon, and what is of more special interest, is the greatly increased
proportion of Australian forms and decreased proportion of Indian forms,
as we go from west to east. We shall show this in a yet more striking
manner by counting the number of species identical with those of Java
and Australia respectively in each island, thus:


                      In Lombock.     In Flores.    In Timor.
     Javan birds... . 33             23            11
     Australian birds..  4              5            10

Here we see plainly the course of the migration which has been going on
for hundreds or thousands of years, and is still going on at the present
day. Birds entering from Java are most numerous in the island nearest
Java; each strait of the sea to be crossed to reach another island
offers an obstacle, and thus a smaller number get over to the next
island. [The names of all the birds inhabiting these islands are to be
found in the "Proceedings of the Zoological Society of London" for the
year 1863.] It will be observed that the number of birds that appear to
have entered from Australia is much less than those which have come from
Java; and we may at first sight suppose that this is due to the wide sea
that separates Australia from Timor. But this would be a hasty and,
as we shall soon see, an unwarranted supposition. Besides these birds
identical with species inhabiting Java and Australia, there are a
considerable number of others very closely allied to species peculiar to
those countries, and we must take these also into account before we form
any conclusion on the matter. It will be as well to combine these with
the former table thus:


                                       In Lombock.  In Flores.  In Timor.
        Javan birds........  ...           33           23         11
        Closely allied to Javan birds..     1            5          6
        Total..............                34           28         17

        Australian birds.........           4            5         10
        Closely allied to Australian birds  3            9         26
        Total..... .........                7           14         36

We now see that the total number of birds which seem to have been
derived from Java and Australia is very nearly equal, but there is this
remarkable difference between the two series: that whereas the larger
proportion by far of the Java set are identical with those still
inhabiting that country, an almost equally large proportion of the
Australian set are distinct, though often very closely allied species.
It is to be observed also, that these representative or allied species
diminish in number as they recede from Australia, while they increase
in number as they recede from Java. There are two reasons for this, one
being that the islands decrease rapidly in size from Timor to Lombock,
and can therefore support a decreasing number of species; the other and
the more important is, that the distance of Australia from Timor cuts
off the supply of fresh immigrants, and has thus allowed variation
to have full play; while the vicinity of Lombock to Bali and Java has
allowed a continual influx of fresh individuals which, by crossing with
the earlier immigrants, has checked variation.

To simplify our view of the derivative origin of the birds of these
islands let us treat them as a whole, and thus perhaps render more
intelligible their respective relations to Java and Australia.

The Timor group of islands contains:

Javan birds....... 36 Australian birds... 13 Closely allied species..
11 Closely allied species.. 35 Derived from Java .... 47 Derived from
Australia... 48

We have here a wonderful agreement in the number of birds belonging
to Australian and Javanese groups, but they are divided in exactly a
reverse manner, three-fourths of the Javan birds being identical species
and one-fourth representatives, while only one-fourth of the Australian
forms are identical and three-fourths representatives. This is the most
important fact which we can elicit from a study of the birds of these
islands, since it gives us a very complete clue to much of their past
history.

Change of species is a slow process--on that we are all agreed, though
we may differ about how it has taken place. The fact that the Australian
species in these islands have mostly changed, while the Javan species
have almost all remained unchanged, would therefore indicate that the
district was first peopled from Australia. But, for this to have been
the case, the physical conditions must have been very different from
what they are now. Nearly three hundred miles of open sea now separate
Australia from Timor, which island is connected with Java by a chain of
broken land divided by straits which are nowhere more than about twenty
miles wide. Evidently there are now great facilities for the natural
productions of Java to spread over and occupy the whole of these
islands, while those of Australia would find very great difficulty in
getting across. To account for the present state of things, we should
naturally suppose that Australia was once much more closely connected
with Timor than it is at present; and that this was the case is rendered
highly probable by the fact of a submarine bank extending along all the
north and west coast of Australia, and at one place approaching within
twenty miles of the coast of Timor. This indicates a recent subsidence
of North Australia, which probably once extended as far as the edge
of this bank, between which and Timor there is an unfathomed depth of
ocean.

I do not think that Timor was ever actually connected with Australia,
because such a large number of very abundant and characteristic groups
of Australian birds are quite absent, and not a single Australian mammal
has entered Timor--which would certainly not have been the case had
the lands been actually united. Such groups as the bower birds
(Ptilonorhynchus), the black and red cockatoos (Calyptorhynchus),
the blue wrens (Malurus), the crowshrikes (Cracticus), the Australian
shrikes (Falcunculus and Colluricincla), and many others, which abound
all over Australia, would certainly have spread into Timor if it
had been united to that country, or even if for any long time it had
approached nearer to it than twenty miles. Neither do any of the most
characteristic groups of Australian insects occur in Timor; so that
everything combines to indicate that a strait of the sea has always
separated it from Australia, but that at one period this strait was
reduced to a width of about twenty miles.

But at the time when this narrowing of the sea took place in one
direction, there must have been a greater separation at the other end of
the chain, or we should find more equality in the numbers of identical
and representative species derived from each extremity. It is true that
the widening of the strait at the Australian end by subsidence, would,
by putting a stop to immigration and intercrossing of individuals from
the mother country, have allowed full scope to the causes which have
led to the modification of the species; while the continued stream of
immigrants from Java, would, by continual intercrossing, check such
modification. This view will not, however, explain all the facts; for
the character of the fauna of the Timorese group is indicated as well by
the forms which are absent from it as by those which it contains, and is
by this kind of evidence shown to be much more Australian than Indian.
No less than twenty-nine genera, all more or less abundant in Java, and
most of which range over a wide area, are altogether absent; while of
the equally diffused Australian genera only about fourteen are wanting.
This would clearly indicate that there has been, until recently, a wide
separation from Java; and the fact that the islands of Bali and Lombock
are small, and are almost wholly volcanic, and contain a smaller number
of modified forms than the other islands, would point them out as of
comparatively recent origin. A wide arm of the sea probably occupied
their place at the time when Timor was in the closest proximity to
Australia; and as the subterranean fires were slowly piling up the now
fertile islands of Bali and Lombock, the northern shores of Australia
would be sinking beneath the ocean. Some such changes as have been here
indicated, enable us to understand how it happens, that though the birds
of this group are on the whole almost as much Indian as Australian, yet
the species which are peculiar to the group are mostly Australian in
character; and also why such a large number of common Indian forms
which extend through Java to Bali, should not have transmitted a single
representative to the island further east.

The Mammalia of Timor as well as those of the other islands of the
group are exceedingly scanty, with the exception of bats. These last are
tolerably abundant, and no doubt many more remain to be discovered. Out
of fifteen species known from Timor, nine are found also in Java, or the
islands west of it; three are Moluccan species, most of which are also
found in Australia, and the rest are peculiar to Timor.

The land mammals are only seven in number, as follows: 1. The common
monkey, Macacus cynomolgus, which is found in all the Indo-Malayan
islands, and has spread from Java through Bali and Lombock to Timor.
This species is very frequent on the banks of rivers, and may have
been conveyed from island to island on trees carried down by floods. 2.
Paradoxurus fasciatus; a civet cat, very common over a large part of
the Archipelago. 3. Felis megalotis; a tiger cat, said to be peculiar
to Timor, where it exists only in the interior, and is very rare. Its
nearest allies are in Java. 4. Cervus timoriensis; a deer, closely
allied to the Javan and Moluccan species, if distinct. 5. A wild pig,
Sus timoriensis; perhaps the same as some of the Moluccan species. 6.
A shrew mouse, Sorex tenuis; supposed to be peculiar to Timor. 7. An
Eastern opossum, Cuscus orientalis; found also in the Moluccas, if not a
distinct species.

The fact that not one of these species is Australian or nearly allied to
any Australian form, is strongly corroborative of the opinion that Timor
has never formed a part of that country; as in that case some kangaroo
or other marsupial animal would almost certainly be found there. It is
no doubt very difficult to account for the presence of some of the few
mammals that do exist in Timor, especially the tiger cat and the deer.
We must consider, however, that during thousands, and perhaps hundreds
of thousands of years, these islands and the seas between them have
been subjected to volcanic action. The land has been raised and has sunk
again; the straits have been narrowed or widened; many of the islands
may have been joined and dissevered again; violent floods have again and
again devastated the mountains and plains, carrying out to sea hundreds
of forest trees, as has often happened during volcanic eruptions in
Java; and it does not seem improbable that once in a thousand, or ten
thousand years, there should have occurred such a favourable combination
of circumstances as would lead to the migration of two or three land
animals from one island to another. This is all that we need ask to
account for the very scanty and fragmentary group of Mammalia which now
inhabit the large island of Timor. The deer may very probably have been
introduced by man, for the Malays often keep tame fawns; and it may
not require a thousand, or even five hundred years, to establish new
characters in an animal removed to a country so different in climate and
vegetation as is Timor from the Moluccas. I have not mentioned horses,
which are often thought to be wild in Timor, because there are no
grounds whatever for such a belief. The Timor ponies have every one an
owner, and are quite as much domesticated animals as the cattle on a
South American hacienda.

I have dwelt at some length upon the origin of the Timorese fauna
because it appears to be a most interesting and instructive problem. It
is very seldom that we can trace the animals of a district so clearly as
we can in this case to two definite sources, and still more rarely that
they furnish such decisive evidence of the time, the manner, and the
proportions of their introduction. We have here a group of Oceanic
Islands in miniature--islands which have never formed part of the
adjacent lands, although so closely approaching them; and their
productions have the characteristics of true Oceanic Islands slightly
modified. These characteristics are: the absence all Mammalia except
bats; and the occurrence of peculiar species of birds, insects, and land
shells, which, though found nowhere else, are plainly related to those
of the nearest land. Thus, we have an entire absence of all Australian
mammals, and the presence of only a few stragglers from the west which
can be accounted for in the manner already indicated. Bats are tolerably
abundant.

Birds have many peculiar species, with a decided relationship to those
of the two nearest masses of land. The insects have similar relations
with the birds. As an example, four species of the Papilionidae are
peculiar to Timor, three others are also found in Java, and one in
Australia. Of the four peculiar species two are decided modifications
of Javanese forms, while the others seem allied to those of the Moluccas
and Celebes. The very few land shells known are all, curiously enough,
allied to or identical with Moluccan or Celebes forms. The Pieridae
(white and yellow butterflies) which wander more, and from frequenting
open grounds, are more liable to be blown out to sea, seem about equally
related to those of Java, Australia, and the Moluccas.

It has been objected to in Mr. Darwin's theory, of Oceanic Islands
having never been connected with the mainland, that this would imply
that their animal population was a matter of chance; it has been termed
the "flotsam and jetsam theory," and it has been maintained that nature
does not work by the "CHAPTER of accidents." But in the case which I
have here described, we have the most positive evidence that such has
been the mode of peopling the islands. Their productions are of that
miscellaneous character which we should expect from such an origin; and
to suppose that they have been portions of Australia or of Java will
introduce perfectly gratuitous difficulties, and render it quite
impossible to explain those curious relations which the best known group
of animals (the birds) have been shown to exhibit. On the other hand,
the depth of the surrounding seas, the form of the submerged banks,
and the volcanic character of most of the islands, all point to an
independent origin.

Before concluding, I must make one remark to avoid misapprehension. When
I say that Timor has never formed part of Australia, I refer only to
recent geological epochs. In Secondary or even Eocene or Miocene times,
Timor and Australia may have been connected; but if so, all record of
such a union has been lost by subsequent submergence, and in accounting
for the present land-inhabitants of any country we have only to consider
those changes which have occurred since its last elevation above the
waters. Since such last elevation, I feel confident that Timor has not
formed part of Australia.



CHAPTER XV. CELEBES.

 (MACASSAR, SEPTEMBER TO NOVEMBER, 1856.)

I LEFT Lombock on the 30th of August, and reached Macassar in three
days. It was with great satisfaction that I stepped on a shore which I
had been vainly trying to reach since February, and where I expected to
meet with so much that was new and interesting.

The coast of this part of Celebes is low and flat, lined with trees and
villages so as to conceal the interior, except at occasional openings
which show a wide extent of bare and marshy rice-fields. A few hills
of no great height were visible in the background; but owing to the
perpetual haze over the land at this time of the year, I could nowhere
discern the high central range of the peninsula, or the celebrated peak
of Bontyne at its southern extremity. In the roadstead of Macassar there
was a fine 42-gun frigate, the guardship of the place, as well as a
small war steamer and three or four little cutters used for cruising
after the pirates which infest these seas. There were also a few
square-rigged trading-vessels, and twenty or thirty native praus of
various sizes. I brought letters of introduction to a Dutch gentleman,
Mr. Mesman, and also to a Danish shopkeeper, who could both speak
English and who promised to assist me in finding a place to stay,
suitable for my pursuits. In the meantime, I went to a kind of
clubhouse, in default of any hotel in the place.

Macassar was the first Dutch town I had visited, and I found it prettier
and cleaner than any I had yet seen in the East. The Dutch have some
admirable local regulations. All European houses must be kept well
white-washed, and every person must, at four in the afternoon, water the
road in front of his house. The streets are kept clear of refuse, and
covered drains carry away all impurities into large open sewers, into
which the tide is admitted at high-water and allowed to flow out when
it has ebbed, carrying all the sewage with it into the sea. The town
consists chiefly of one long narrow street along the seaside, devoted to
business, and principally occupied by the Dutch and Chinese merchants'
offices and warehouses, and the native shops or bazaars. This extends
northwards for more than a mile, gradually merging into native
houses often of a most miserable description, but made to have a neat
appearance by being all built up exactly to the straight line of the
street, and being generally backed by fruit trees. This street is
usually thronged with a native population of Bugis and Macassar men, who
wear cotton trousers about twelve inches long, covering only from the
hip to half-way down the thigh, and the universal Malay sarong, of gay
checked colours, worn around the waist or across the shoulders in a
variety of ways. Parallel to this street run two short ones which form
the old Dutch town, and are enclosed by gates. These consist of private
houses, and at their southern end is the fort, the church, and a road at
right angles to the beach, containing the houses of the Governor and
of the principal officials. Beyond the fort, again along the beach,
is another long street of native huts and many country-houses of the
tradesmen and merchants. All around extend the flat rice-fields, now
bare and dry and forbidding, covered with dusty stubble and weeds. A few
months back these were a mass of verdure, and their barren appearance
at this season offered a striking contrast to the perpetual crops on the
same kind of country in Lombock and Bali, where the seasons are exactly
similar, but where an elaborate system of irrigation produces the effect
of a perpetual spring.

The day after my arrival I paid a visit of ceremony to the Governor,
accompanied by my friend the Danish merchant, who spoke excellent
English. His Excellency was very polite, and offered me every facility
for travelling about the country and prosecuting my researches in
natural history. We conversed in French, which all Dutch officials speak
very well.

Finding it very inconvenient and expensive to stay in the town, I
removed at the end of a week to a little bamboo house, kindly offered me
by Mr. Mesman. It was situated about two miles away, on a small coffee
plantation and farm, and about a mile beyond Mr. M.'s own country-house.
It consisted of two rooms raised about seven feet above the ground, the
lower part being partly open (and serving excellently to skin birds in)
and partly used as a granary for rice. There was a kitchen and other
outhouses, and several cottages nearby, occupied by men in Mr. M.'s
employ.

After being settled a few days in my new house, I found that no
collections could be made without going much further into the country.
The rice-fields for some miles around resembled English stubbles late
in autumn, and were almost as unproductive of bird or insect life. There
were several native villages scattered about, so embosomed in fruit
trees that at a distance they looked like clumps or patches of forest.
These were my only collecting places; but they produced a very limited
number of species, and were soon exhausted. Before I could move to any
more promising district it was necessary to obtain permission from the
Rajah of Goa, whose territories approach to within two miles of the town
of Macassar. I therefore presented myself at the Governor's office and
requested a letter to the Rajah, to claim his protection, and permission
to travel in his territories whenever I might wish to do so. This was
immediately granted, and a special messenger was sent with me to carry
the letter.

My friend Mr. Mesman kindly lent me a horse, and accompanied me on my
visit to the Rajah, with whom he was great friends. We found his Majesty
seated out of doors, watching the erection of a new house. He was naked
from the waist up, wearing only the usual short trousers and sarong.
Two chairs were brought out for us, but all the chiefs and other natives
were seated on the ground. The messenger, squatting down at the Rajah's
feet, produced the letter, which was sewn up in a covering of yellow
silk. It was handed to one of the chief officers, who ripped it open and
returned it to the Rajah, who read it, and then showed it to Mr. M., who
both speaks and reads the Macassar language fluently, and who explained
fully what I required. Permission was immediately granted me to go where
I liked in the territories of Goa, but the Rajah desired, that should I
wish to stay any time at a place I would first give him notice, in order
that he might send someone to see that no injury was done me. Some wine
was then brought us, and afterwards some detestable coffee and wretched
sweetmeats, for it is a fact that I have never tasted good coffee where
people grow it themselves.

Although this was the height of the dry season, and there was a fine
wind all day, it was by no means a healthy time of year. My boy Ali had
hardly been a day on shore when he was attacked by fever, which put me
to great inconvenience, as at the house where I was staying, nothing
could be obtained but at mealtime. After having cured Ali, and with much
difficulty got another servant to cook for me, I was no sooner settled
at my country abode than the latter was attacked with the same disease;
and, having a wife in the town, left me. Hardly was he gone than I fell
ill myself with strong intermittent fever every other day. In about a
week I got over it, by a liberal use of quinine, when scarcely was I on
my legs than Ali again became worse than ever. Ali's fever attacked him
daily, but early in the morning he was pretty well, and then managed
to cook enough for me for the day. In a week I cured him, and also
succeeded in getting another boy who could cook and shoot, and had no
objection to go into the interior. His name was Baderoon, and as he
was unmarried and had been used to a roving life, having been several
voyages to North Australia to catch trepang or "beche de mer", I was in
hopes of being able to keep him. I also got hold of a little impudent
rascal of twelve or fourteen, who could speak some Malay, to carry my
gun or insect-net and make himself generally useful. Ali had by this
time become a pretty good bird-skinner, so that I was fairly supplied
with servants.

I made many excursions into the country, in search of a good station for
collecting birds and insects. Some of the villages a few miles inland
are scattered about in woody ground which has once been virgin forest,
but of which the constituent trees have been for the most part replaced
by fruit trees, and particularly by the large palm, Arenga saccharifera,
from which wine and sugar are made, and which also produces a coarse
black fibre used for cordage. That necessary of life, the bamboo, has
also been abundantly planted. In such places I found a good many birds,
among which were the fine cream-coloured pigeon, Carpophaga luctuosa,
and the rare blue-headed roller, Coracias temmincki, which has a most
discordant voice, and generally goes in pairs, flying from tree to tree,
and exhibiting while at rest that all-in-a-heap appearance and jerking
motion of the head and tail which are so characteristic of the great
Fissirostral group to which it belongs. From this habit alone,
the kingfishers, bee-eaters, rollers, trogons, and South American
puff-birds, might be grouped together by a person who had observed them
in a state of nature, but who had never had an opportunity of examining
their form and structure in detail. Thousands of crows, rather smaller
than our rook, keep up a constant cawing in these plantations; the
curious wood-swallows (Artami), which closely resemble swallows in their
habits and flight but differ much in form and structure, twitter from
the tree-tops; while a lyre-tailed drongo-shrike, with brilliant black
plumage and milk-white eyes, continually deceives the naturalist by the
variety of its unmelodious notes.

In the more shady parts butterflies were tolerably abundant; the most
common being species of Euplaea and Danais, which frequent gardens
and shrubberies, and owing to their weak flight are easily captured. A
beautiful pale blue and black butterfly, which flutters along near the
ground among the thickets, and settles occasionally upon flowers, was
one of the most striking; and scarcely less so, was one with a rich
orange band on a blackish ground--these both belong to the Pieridae, the
group that contains our common white butterflies, although differing
so much from them in appearance. Both were quite new to European
naturalists. [The former has been named Eronia tritaea; the latter
Tachyris ithonae.] Now and then I extended my walks some miles further,
to the only patch of true forest I could find, accompanied by my two
boys with guns and insect-net. We used to start early, taking our
breakfast with us, and eating it wherever we could find shade and water.
At such times my Macassar boys would put a minute fragment of rice and
meat or fish on a leaf, and lay it on a stone or stump as an offering to
the deity of the spot; for though nominal Mahometans the Macassar people
retain many pagan superstitions, and are but lax in their religious
observances. Pork, it is true, they hold in abhorrence, but will
not refuse wine when offered them, and consume immense quantities of
"sagueir," or palm-wine, which is about as intoxicating as ordinary beer
or cider. When well made it is a very refreshing drink, and we often
took a draught at some of the little sheds dignified by the name of
bazaars, which are scattered about the country wherever there is any
traffic.

One day Mr. Mesman told me of a larger piece of forest where he
sometimes went to shoot deer, but he assured me it was much further off,
and that there were no birds. However, I resolved to explore it, and the
next morning at five o'clock we started, carrying our breakfast and some
other provisions with us, and intending to stay the night at a house on
the borders of the wood. To my surprise two hours' hard walking brought
us to this house, where we obtained permission to pass the night. We
then walked on, Ali and Baderoon with a gun each, Baso carrying
our provisions and my insect-box, while I took only my net and
collecting-bottle and determined to devote myself wholly to the insects.
Scarcely had I entered the forest when I found some beautiful little
green and gold speckled weevils allied to the genus Pachyrhynchus, a
group which is almost confined to the Philippine Islands, and is quite
unknown in Borneo, Java, or Malacca. The road was shady and apparently
much trodden by horses and cattle, and I quickly obtained some
butterflies I had not before met with. Soon a couple of reports were
heard, and coming up to my boys I found they had shot two specimens of
one of the finest of known cuckoos, Phoenicophaus callirhynchus. This
bird derives its name from its large bill being coloured of a brilliant
yellow, red, and black, in about equal proportions. The tail is
exceedingly long, and of a fine metallic purple, while the plumage of
the body is light coffee brown. It is one of the characteristic birds of
the island of Celebes, to which it is confined.

After sauntering along for a couple of hours we reached a small river,
so deep that horses could only cross it by swimming, so we had to
turn back; but as we were getting hungry, and the water of the almost
stagnant river was too muddy to drink, we went towards a house a few
hundred yards off. In the plantation we saw a small raised hut, which
we thought would do well for us to breakfast in, so I entered, and found
inside a young woman with an infant. She handed me a jug of water, but
looked very much frightened. However, I sat down on the doorstep, and
asked for the provisions. In handing them up, Baderoon saw the infant,
and started back as if he had seen a serpent. It then immediately struck
me that this was a hut in which, as among the Dyaks of Borneo and many
other savage tribes, the women are secluded for some time after the
birth of their child, and that we did very wrong to enter it; so we
walked off and asked permission to eat our breakfast in the family
mansion close at hand, which was of course granted. While I ate, three
men, two women, and four children watched every motion, and never took
eyes off me until I had finished.

On our way back in the heat of the day, I had the good fortune to
capture three specimens of a fine Ornithoptera, the largest, the
most perfect, and the most beautiful of butterflies. I trembled with
excitement as I took the first out of my net and found it to be in
perfect condition. The ground colour of this superb insect was a rich
shining bronzy black, the lower wings delicately grained with white, and
bordered by a row of large spots of the most brilliant satiny yellow.
The body was marked with shaded spots of white, yellow, and fiery
orange, while the head and thorax were intense black. On the under-side
the lower wings were satiny white, with the marginal spots half black
and half yellow. I gazed upon my prize with extreme interest, as I at
first thought it was quite a new species. It proved however to be a
variety of Ornithoptera remus, one of the rarest and most remarkable
species of this highly esteemed group. I also obtained several other
new and pretty butterflies. When we arrived at our lodging-house, being
particularly anxious about my insect treasures, I suspended the box
from a bamboo on which I could detect no sign of ants, and then began
skinning some of my birds. During my work I often glanced at my precious
box to see that no intruders had arrived, until after a longer spell of
work than usual I looked again, and saw to my horror that a column of
small red ants were descending the string and entering the box. They
were already busy at work at the bodies of my treasures, and another
half-hour would have seen my whole day's collection destroyed. As it
was, I had to take every insect out, clean them thoroughly as well as
the box, and then seek a place of safety for them. As the only effectual
one, I begged a plate and a basin from my host, filled the former with
water, and standing the latter in it placed my box on the top, and then
felt secure for the night; a few inches of clean water or oil being the
only barrier these terrible pests are not able to pass.

On returning home to Mamajam (as my house was called) I had a slight
return of intermittent fever, which kept me some days indoors. As soon
as I was well, I again went to Goa, accompanied by Mr. Mesman, to beg
the Rajah's assistance in getting a small house built for me near the
forest. We found him at a cock-fight in a shed near his palace, which
however, he immediately left to receive us, and walked with us up an
inclined plane of boards which serves for stairs to his house. This was
large, well-built, and lofty, with bamboo floor and glass windows. The
greater part of it seemed to be one large hall divided by the supporting
posts. Near a window sat the Queen, squatting on a rough wooden
arm-chair, chewing the everlasting sirih and betel-nut, while a brass
spittoon by her side and a sirih-box in front were ready to administer
to her wants. The Rajah seated himself opposite to her in a similar
chair, and a similar spittoon and sirih-box were held by a little boy
squatting at his side. Two other chairs were brought for us. Several
young women, some the Rajah's daughters, others slaves, were standing
about; a few were working at frames making sarongs, but most of them
were idle.

And here I might (if I followed the example of most travellers) launch
out into a glowing description of the charms of these damsels, the
elegant costumes they wore, and the gold and silver ornaments with which
they were adorned. The jacket or body of purple gauze would figure well
in such a description, allowing the heaving bosom to be seen beneath it,
while "sparkling eyes," and "jetty tresses," and "tiny feet" might be
thrown in profusely. But, alas! regard for truth will not permit me to
expatiate too admiringly on such topics, determined as I am to give
as far as I can a true picture of the people and places I visit. The
princesses were, it is true, sufficiently good-looking, yet neither
their persons nor their garments had that appearance of freshness and
cleanliness without which no other charms can be contemplated with
pleasure. Everything had a dingy and faded appearance, very disagreeable
and unroyal to a European eye. The only thing that excited some degree
of admiration was the quiet and dignified manner of the Rajah and the
great respect always paid to him. None can stand erect in his presence,
and when he sits on a chair, all present (Europeans of course excepted)
squat upon the ground. The highest seat is literally, with these people,
the place of honour and the sign of rank. So unbending are the rules in
this respect, that when an English carriage which the Rajah of Lombock
had sent for arrived, it was found impossible to use it because the
driver's seat was the highest, and it had to be kept as a show in its
coach house. On being told the object of my visit, the Rajah at once
said that he would order a house to be emptied for me, which would be
much better than building one, as that would take a good deal of time.
Bad coffee and sweetmeats were given us as before.

Two days afterwards, I called on the Rajah to ask him to send a guide
with me to show me the house I was to occupy. He immediately ordered a
man to be sent for, gave him instructions, and in a few minutes we
were on our way. My conductor could speak no Malay, so we walked on in
silence for an hour, when we turned into a pretty good house and I was
asked to sit down. The head man of the district lived here, and in about
half an hour we started again, and another hour's walk brought us to the
village and where I was to be lodged. We went to the residence of the
village chief, who conversed with my conductor for some time.

Getting tired, I asked to be shown the house that was prepared for me,
but the only reply I could get was, "Wait a little," and the parties
went on talking as before. So I told them I could not wait, as I wanted
to see the house and then to go shooting in the forest. This seemed
to puzzle them, and at length, in answer to questions, very poorly
explained by one or two bystanders who knew a little Malay, it came out
that no house was ready, and no one seemed to have the least idea where
to get one. As I did not want to trouble the Rajah any more, I thought
it best to try to frighten them a little; so I told them that if they
did not immediately find me a house as the Rajah had ordered, I should
go back and complain to him, but that if a house was found me I would
pay for the use of it. This had the desired effect, and one of the head
men of the village asked me to go with him and look for a house. He
showed me one or two of the most miserable and ruinous description,
which I at once rejected, saying, "I must have a good one, and near to
the forest." The next he showed me suited very well, so I told him to
see that it was emptied the next day, for that the day after I should
come and occupy it.

On the day mentioned, as I was not quite ready to go, I sent my two
Macassar boys with brooms to sweep out the house thoroughly. They
returned in the evening and told me that when they got there the house
was inhabited, and not a single article removed. However, on hearing
they had come to clean and take possession, the occupants made a move,
but with a good deal of grumbling, which made me feel rather uneasy as
to how the people generally might take my intrusion into their village.
The next morning we took our baggage on three packhorses, and, after a
few break-downs, arrived about noon at our destination.

After getting all my things set straight, and having made a hasty meal,
I determined if possible to make friends with the people. I therefore
sent for the owner of the house and as many of his acquaintances as
liked to come, to have a "bitchara," or talk. When they were all seated,
I gave them a little tobacco all around, and having my boy Baderoon for
interpreter, tried to explain to them why I came there; that I was very
sorry to turn them out of the house, but that the Rajah had ordered it
rather than build a new one, which was what I had asked for, and then
placed five silver rupees in the owner's hand as one month's rent. I
then assured them that my being there would be a benefit to them, as I
should buy their eggs and fowls and fruit; and if their children would
bring me shells and insects, of which I showed them specimens, they also
might earn a good many coppers. After all this had been fully explained
to them, with a long talk and discussion between every sentence, I could
see that I had made a favourable impression; and that very afternoon, as
if to test my promise to buy even miserable little snail-shells, a dozen
children came one after another, bringing me a few specimens each of
a small Helix, for which they duly received "coppers," and went away
amazed but rejoicing.

A few days' exploration made me well acquainted with the surrounding
country. I was a long way from the road in the forest which I had first
visited, and for some distance around my house were old clearings and
cottages. I found a few good butterflies, but beetles were very scarce,
and even rotten timber and newly-felled trees (generally so productive)
here produced scarcely anything. This convinced me that there was not a
sufficient extent of forest in the neighbourhood to make the place worth
staying at long, but it was too late now to think of going further, as
in about a month the wet season would begin; so I resolved to stay here
and get what was to be had. Unfortunately, after a few days I became ill
with a low fever which produced excessive lassitude and disinclination
to all exertion. In vain I endeavoured to shake it off; all I could do
was to stroll quietly each day for an hour about the gardens near, and
to the well, where some good insects were occasionally to be found; and
the rest of the day to wait quietly at home, and receive what beetles
and shells my little corps of collectors brought me daily. I imputed
my illness chiefly to the water, which was procured from shallow wells,
around which there was almost always a stagnant puddle in which the
buffaloes wallowed. Close to my house was an enclosed mudhole where
three buffaloes were shut up every night, and the effluvia from which
freely entered through the open bamboo floor. My Malay boy Ali was
affected with the same illness, and as he was my chief bird-skinner I
got on but slowly with my collections.

The occupations and mode of life of the villagers differed but little
from those of all other Malay races. The time of the women was almost
wholly occupied in pounding and cleaning rice for daily use, in bringing
home firewood and water, and in cleaning, dyeing, spinning, and weaving
the native cotton into sarongs. The weaving is done in the simplest kind
of frame stretched on the floor; and is a very slow and tedious process.
To form the checked pattern in common use, each patch of coloured
threads has to be pulled up separately by hand and the shuttle passed
between them; so that about an inch a day is the usual progress in stuff
a yard and a half wide. The men cultivate a little sirih (the pungent
pepper leaf used for chewing with betel-nut) and a few vegetables; and
once a year rudely plough a small patch of ground with their buffaloes
and plant rice, which then requires little attention until harvest time.
Now and then they have to see to the repairs of their houses, and make
mats, baskets, or other domestic utensils, but a large part of their
time is passed in idleness.

Not a single person in the village could speak more than a few words
of Malay, and hardly any of the people appeared to have seen a European
before. One most disagreeable result of this was that I excited terror
alike in man and beast. Wherever I went, dogs barked, children screamed,
women ran away, and men stared as though I were some strange and
terrible cannibal or monster. Even the pack-horses on the roads and
paths would start aside when I appeared and rush into the jungle; and
as to those horrid, ugly brutes, the buffaloes, they could never be
approached by me; not for fear of my own but of others' safety. They
would first stick out their necks and stare at me, and then on a
nearer view break loose from their halters or tethers, and rush away
helter-skelter as if a demon were after them, without any regard for
what might be in their way. Whenever I met buffaloes carrying packs
along a pathway, or being driven home to the village, I had to turn
aside into the jungle and hide myself until they had passed, to avoid
a catastrophe which would increase the dislike with which I was already
regarded. Everyday about noon the buffaloes were brought into the villa,
and were tethered in the shade around the houses; and then I had to
creep about like a thief by back ways, for no one could tell what
mischief they might do to children and houses were I to walk among
them. If I came suddenly upon a well where women were drawing water or
children bathing, a sudden flight was the certain result; which things
occurring day after day, were very unpleasant to a person who does not
like to be disliked, and who had never been accustomed to be treated as
an ogre.

About the middle of November, finding my health no better, and insects,
birds, and shells all very scarce, I determined to return to Mamajam,
and pack up my collections before the heavy rains commenced. The wind
had already begun to blow from the west, and many signs indicated that
the rainy season might set in earlier than usual; and then everything
becomes very damp, and it is almost impossible to dry collections
properly. My kind friend Mr. Mesman again lent me his pack-horses, and
with the assistance of a few men to carry my birds and insects, which I
did not like to trust on horses' backs, we got everything home safe. Few
can imagine the luxury it was to stretch myself on a sofa, and to take
my supper comfortably at table seated in my easy bamboo chair, after
having for five weeks taken all my meals uncomfortably on the floor.
Such things are trifles in health, but when the body is weakened by
disease the habits of a lifetime cannot be so easily set aside.

My house, like all bamboo structures in this country, was a leaning one,
the strong westerly winds of the wet season having set all its posts
out of the perpendicular to such a degree as to make me think it might
someday possibly go over altogether. It is a remarkable thing that the
natives of Celebes have not discovered the use of diagonal struts in
strengthening buildings. I doubt if there is a native house in the
country two years old and at all exposed to the wind, which stands
upright; and no wonder, as they merely consist of posts and joists all
placed upright or horizontal, and fastened rudely together with rattans.
They may be seen in every stage of the process of tumbling down, from
the first slight inclination, to such a dangerous slope that it becomes
a notice to quit to the occupiers.

The mechanical geniuses of the country have only discovered two ways of
remedying the evil. One is, after it has commenced, to tie the house to
a post in the ground on the windward side by a rattan or bamboo cable.
The other is a preventive, but how they ever found it out and did not
discover the true way is a mystery. This plan is, to build the house
in the usual way, but instead of having all the principal supports
of straight posts, to have two or three of them chosen as crooked as
possible. I had often noticed these crooked posts in houses, but imputed
it to the scarcity of good, straight timber, until one day I met some
men carrying home a post shaped something like a dog's hind leg, and
inquired of my native boy what they were going to do with such a piece
of wood. "To make a post for a house," said he. "But why don't they get
a straight one, there are plenty here?" said I. "Oh," replied he, "they
prefer some like that in a house, because then it won't fall," evidently
imputing the effect to some occult property of crooked timber. A little
consideration and a diagram will, however, show, that the effect imputed
to the crooked post may be really produced by it. A true square changes
its figure readily into a rhomboid or oblique figure, but when one or
two of the uprights are bent or sloping, and placed so as to oppose each
other, the effect of a strut is produced, though in a rude and clumsy
manner.

Just before I had left Mamajam the people had sown a considerable
quantity of maize, which appears above ground in two or three days, and
in favourable seasons ripens in less than two months. Owing to a week's
premature rains the ground was all flooded when I returned, and the
plants just coming into ear were yellow and dead. Not a grain would be
obtained by the whole village, but luckily it is only a luxury, not a
necessity of life. The rain was the signal for ploughing to begin, in
order to sow rice on all the flat lands between us and the town. The
plough used is a rude wooden instrument with a very short single handle,
a tolerably well-shaped coulter, and the point formed of a piece of hard
palm-wood fastened in with wedges. One or two buffaloes draw it at a
very slow pace. The seed is sown broadcast, and a rude wooden harrow is
used to smooth the surface.

By the beginning of December the regular wet season had set in. Westerly
winds and driving rains sometimes continued for days together; the
fields for miles around were under water, and the ducks and buffaloes
enjoyed themselves amazingly. All along the road to Macassar, ploughing
was daily going on in the mud and water, through which the wooden plough
easily makes its way, the ploughman holding the plough-handle with one
hand while a long bamboo in the other serves to guide the buffaloes.
These animals require an immense deal of driving to get them on at all;
a continual shower of exclamations is kept up at them, and "Oh! ah! Gee!
ugh!" are to be heard in various keys and in an uninterrupted succession
all day long. At night we were favoured with a different kind of
concert. The dry ground around my house had become a marsh tenanted by
frogs, who kept up a most incredible noise from dusk to dawn. They
were somewhat musical too, having a deep vibrating note which at times
closely resembles the tuning of two or three bass-viols in an orchestra.
In Malacca and Borneo I had heard no such sounds as these, which
indicates that the frogs, like most of the animals of Celebes, are of
species peculiar to it.

My kind friend and landlord, Mr. Mesman, was a good specimen of the
Macassar-born Dutchman. He was about thirty-five years of age, had a
large family, and lived in a spacious house near the town, situated
in the midst of a grove of fruit trees, and surrounded by a perfect
labyrinth of offices, stables, and native cottages occupied by his
numerous servants, slaves, or dependants. He usually rose before the
sun, and after a cup of coffee looked after his servants, horses, and
dogs, until seven, when a substantial breakfast of rice and meat was
ready in a cool verandah. Putting on a clean white linen suit, he then
drove to town in his buggy, where he had an office, with two or three
Chinese clerks who looked after his affairs. His business was that of
a coffee and opium merchant. He had a coffee estate at Bontyne, and
a small prau which traded to the Eastern islands near New Guinea, for
mother-of-pearl and tortoiseshell. About one he would return home,
have coffee and cake or fried plantain, first changing his dress for a
coloured cotton shirt and trousers and bare feet, and then take a siesta
with a book. About four, after a cup of tea, he would walk round his
premises, and generally stroll down to Mamajam to pay me a visit, and
look after his farm.

This consisted of a coffee plantation and an orchard of fruit trees,
a dozen horses and a score of cattle, with a small village of Timorese
slaves and Macassar servants. One family looked after the cattle and
supplied the house with milk, bringing me also a large glassful every
morning, one of my greatest luxuries. Others had charge of the horses,
which were brought in every afternoon and fed with cut grass. Others had
to cut grass for their master's horses at Macassar--not a very easy task
in the dry season, when all the country looks like baked mud; or in
the rainy season, when miles in every direction are flooded. How they
managed it was a mystery to me, but they know grass must be had, and
they get it. One lame woman had charge of a flock of ducks. Twice a
day she took them out to feed in the marshy places, let them waddle and
gobble for an hour or two, and then drove them back and shut them up
in a small dark shed to digest their meal, whence they gave forth
occasionally a melancholy quack. Every night a watch was set,
principally for the sake of the horses--the people of Goa, only two
miles off, being notorious thieves, and horses offering the easiest and
most valuable spoil. This enabled me to sleep in security, although many
people in Macassar thought I was running a great risk, living alone in
such a solitary place and with such bad neighbours.

My house was surrounded by a kind of straggling hedge of roses,
jessamines, and other flowers, and every morning one of the women
gathered a basketful of the blossoms for Mr. Mesman's family. I
generally took a couple for my own breakfast table, and the supply never
failed during my stay, and I suppose never does. Almost every Sunday Mr.
M. made a shooting excursion with his eldest son, a lad of fifteen, and
I generally accompanied him; for though the Dutch are Protestants,
they do not observe Sunday in the rigid manner practised in England and
English colonies. The Governor of the place has his public reception
every Sunday evening, when card-playing is the regular amusement.

On December 13th I went on board a prau bound for the Aru Islands, a
journey which will be described in the latter part of this work.

On my return, after a seven months' absence, I visited another district
to the north of Macassar, which will form the subject of the next
CHAPTER.



CHAPTER XVI. CELEBES.

 (MACASSAR, JULY TO NOVEMBER, 1857.)

I REACHED Macassar again on the 11th of July, and established myself in
my old quarters at Mamajam, to sort, arrange, clean, and pack up my Aru
collections. This occupied me a month; and having shipped them off for
Singapore, had my guns repaired, and received a new one from England,
together with a stock of pins, arsenic, and other collecting requisites.
I began to feel eager for work again, and had to consider where I should
spend my time until the end of the year; I had left Macassar seven
months before, a flooded marsh being ploughed up for the rice-sowing.
The rains had continued for five months, yet now all the rice was cut,
and dry and dusty stubble covered the country just as when I had first
arrived there.

After much inquiry I determined to visit the district of Maros, about
thirty miles north of Macassar, where Mr. Jacob Mesman, a brother of my
friend, resided, who had kindly offered to find me house-room and
give me assistance should I feel inclined to visit him. I accordingly
obtained a pass from the Resident, and having hired a boat set off one
evening for Maros. My boy Ali was so ill with fever that I was obliged
to leave him in the hospital, under the care of my friend the German
doctor, and I had to make shift with two new servants utterly ignorant
of everything. We coasted along during the night, and at daybreak
entered the Maros river, and by three in the afternoon reached the
village. I immediately visited the Assistant Resident, and applied for
ten men to carry my baggage, and a horse for myself. These were promised
to be ready that night, so that I could start as soon as I liked in the
morning. After having taken a cup of tea I took my leave, and slept in
the boat. Some of the men came at night as promised, but others did not
arrive until the next morning. It took some time to divide my baggage
fairly among them, as they all wanted to shirk the heavy boxes, and
would seize hold of some light article and march off with it, until made
to come back and wait until the whole had been fairly apportioned. At
length about eight o'clock all was arranged, and we started for our walk
to Mr. M.'s farm.

The country was at first a uniform plain of burned-up rice-grounds, but
at a few miles' distance precipitous hills appeared, backed by the lofty
central range of the peninsula. Towards these our path lay, and after
having gone six or eight miles the hills began to advance into the plain
right and left of us, and the ground became pierced here and there with
blocks and pillars of limestone rock, while a few abrupt conical hills
and peaks rose like islands. Passing over an elevated tract forming
the shoulder of one of the hills, a picturesque scene lay before us.
We looked down into a little valley almost entirely surrounded by
mountains, rising abruptly in huge precipices, and forming a succession
of knolls and peaks and domes of the most varied and fantastic shapes.
In the very centre of the valley was a large bamboo house, while
scattered around were a dozen cottages of the same material.

I was kindly received by Mr. Jacob Mesman in an airy saloon detached
from the house, and entirely built of bamboo and thatched with grass.
After breakfast he took me to his foreman's house, about a hundred yards
off, half of which was given up to me until I should decide where to
have a cottage built for my own use. I soon found that this spot was too
much exposed to the wind and dust, which rendered it very difficult
to work with papers or insects. It was also dreadfully hot in the
afternoon, and after a few days I got a sharp attack of fever, which
determined me to move. I accordingly fixed on a place about a mile off,
at the foot of a forest-covered hill, where in a few days Mr. M. built
for me a nice little house, consisting of a good-sized enclosed verandah
or open room, and a small inner sleeping-room, with a little cookhouse
outside. As soon as it was finished I moved into it, and found the
change most agreeable.

The forest which surrounded me was open and free from underwood,
consisting of large trees, widely scattered with a great quantity of
palm-trees (Arenga saccharifera), from which palm wine and sugar
are made. There were also great numbers of a wild Jack-fruit tree
(Artocarpus), which bore abundance of large reticulated fruit, serving
as an excellent vegetable. The ground was as thickly covered with dry
leaves as it is in an English wood in November; the little rocky streams
were all dry, and scarcely a drop of water or even a damp place was
anywhere to be seen. About fifty yards below my house, at the foot of
the hill, was a deep hole in a watercourse where good water was to be
had, and where I went daily to bathe by having buckets of water taken
out and pouring it over my body.

My host Mr. M. enjoyed a thoroughly country life, depending almost
entirely on his gun and dogs to supply his table. Wild pigs of large
size were very plentiful and he generally got one or two a week, besides
deer occasionally, and abundance of jungle-fowl, hornbills, and great
fruit pigeons. His buffaloes supplied plenty of milk from which he made
his own butter; he grew his own rice and coffee, and had ducks, fowls,
and their eggs, in profusion. His palm-trees supplied him all the year
round with "sagueir," which takes the place of beer; and the sugar made
from them is an excellent sweetmeat. All the fine tropical vegetables
and fruits were abundant in their season, and his cigars were made from
tobacco of his own raising. He kindly sent me a bamboo of buffalo-milk
every morning; it was as thick as cream, and required diluting with
water to keep it fluid during the day. It mixes very well with tea and
coffee, although it has a slight peculiar flavour, which after a time
is not disagreeable. I also got as much sweet "sagueir" as I liked to
drink, and Mr. M. always sent me a piece of each pig he killed, which
with fowls, eggs, and the birds we shot ourselves, and buffalo beef
about once a fortnight, kept my larder sufficiently well supplied.

Every bit of flatland was cleared and used as rice-fields, and on the
lower slopes of many of the hills tobacco and vegetables were grown.
Most of the slopes are covered with huge blocks of rock, very fatiguing
to scramble over, while a number of the hills are so precipitous as to
be quite inaccessible. These circumstances, combined with the excessive
drought, were very unfavourable for my pursuits. Birds were scarce, and
I got but few new to me. Insects were tolerably plentiful, but unequal.
Beetles, usually so numerous and interesting, were exceedingly scarce,
some of the families being quite absent and others only represented
by very minute species. The Flies and Bees, on the other hand, were
abundant, and of these I daily obtained new and interesting species. The
rare and beautiful Butterflies of Celebes were the chief object of my
search, and I found many species altogether new to me, but they were
generally so active and shy as to render their capture a matter of great
difficulty. Almost the only good place for them was in the dry beds of
the streams in the forest, where, at damp places, muddy pools, or even
on the dry rocks, all sorts of insects could be found. In these rocky
forests dwell some of the finest butterflies in the world. Three species
of Ornithoptera, measuring seven or eight inches across the wings, and
beautifully marked with spots or masses of satiny yellow on a black
ground, wheel through the thickets with a strong sailing flight. About
the damp places are swarms of the beautiful blue-banded Papilios,
miletus and telephus, the superb golden green P. macedon, and the rare
little swallow-tail Papilio rhesus, of all of which, though very active,
I succeeded in capturing fine series of specimens.

I have rarely enjoyed myself more than during my residence here. As I
sat taking my coffee at six in the morning, rare birds would often
be seen on some tree close by, when I would hastily sally out in my
slippers, and perhaps secure a prize I had been seeking after for weeks.
The great hornbills of Celebes (Buceros cassidix) would often come with
loud-flapping wings, and perch upon a lofty tree just in front of me;
and the black baboon-monkeys, Cynopithecus nigrescens, often stared down
in astonishment at such an intrusion into their domains while at
night herds of wild pigs roamed about the house, devouring refuse, and
obliging us to put away everything eatable or breakable from our little
cooking-house. A few minutes' search on the fallen trees around my house
at sunrise and sunset, would often produce me more beetles than I would
meet with in a day's collecting, and odd moments could be made valuable
which when living in villages or at a distance from the forest are
inevitably wasted. Where the sugar-palms were dripping with sap, flies
congregated in immense numbers, and it was by spending half an hour at
these when I had the time to spare, that I obtained the finest and most
remarkable collection of this group of insects that I have ever made.

Then what delightful hours I passed wandering up and down the dry
river-courses, full of water-holes and rocks and fallen trees, and
overshadowed by magnificent vegetation. I soon got to know every hole
and rock and stump, and came up to each with cautious step and bated
breath to see what treasures it would produce. At one place I would find
a little crowd of the rare butterfly Tachyris zarinda, which would
rise up at my approach, and display their vivid orange and cinnabar-red
wings, while among them would flutter a few of the fine blue-banded
Papilios. Where leafy branches hung over the gully, I might expect to
find a grand Ornithoptera at rest and an easy prey. At certain rotten
trunks I was sure to get the curious little tiger beetle, Therates
flavilabris. In the denser thickets I would capture the small metal-blue
butterflies (Amblypodia) sitting on the leaves, as well as some rare and
beautiful leaf-beetles of the families Hispidae and Chrysomelidae.

I found that the rotten jack-fruits were very attractive to many
beetles, and used to split them partly open and lay them about in the
forest near my house to rot. A morning's search at these often produced
me a score of species--Staphylinidae, Nitidulidae, Onthophagi, and
minute Carabidae, being the most abundant. Now and then the "sagueir"
makers brought me a fine rosechafer (Sternoplus schaumii) which they
found licking up the sweet sap. Almost the only new birds I met with
for some time were a handsome ground thrush (Pitta celebensis), and a
beautiful violet-crowned dove (Ptilonopus celebensis), both very similar
to birds I had recently obtained at Aru, but of distinct species.

About the latter part of September a heavy shower of rain fell,
admonishing us that we might soon expect wet weather, much to the
advantage of the baked-up country. I therefore determined to pay a visit
to the falls of the Maros river, situated at the point where it issues
from the mountains--a spot often visited by travellers and considered
very beautiful. Mr. M. lent me a horse, and I obtained a guide from a
neighbouring village; and taking one of my men with me, we started
at six in the morning, and after a ride of two hours over the flat
rice-fields skirting the mountains which rose in grand precipices on our
left, we reached the river about half-way between Maros and the falls,
and thence had a good bridle-road to our destination, which we reached
in another hour. The hills had closed in around us as we advanced;
and when we reached a ruinous shed which had been erected for the
accommodation of visitors, we found ourselves in a flat-bottomed
valley about a quarter of a mile wide, bounded by precipitous and often
overhanging limestone rocks. So far the ground had been cultivated, but
it now became covered with bushes and large scattered trees.

As soon as my scanty baggage had arrived and was duly deposited in the
shed, I started off alone for the fall, which was about a quarter of a
mile further on. The river is here about twenty yards wide, and issues
from a chasm between two vertical walls of limestone, over a rounded
mass of basaltic rock about forty feet high, forming two curves
separated by a slight ledge. The water spreads beautifully over this
surface in a thin sheet of foam, which curls and eddies in a succession
of concentric cones until it falls into a fine deep pool below. Close
to the very edge of the fall a narrow and very rugged path leads to the
river above, and thence continues close under the precipice along the
water's edge, or sometimes in the water, for a few hundred yards, after
which the rocks recede a little, and leave a wooded bank on one side,
along which the path is continued, until in about half a mile, a second
and smaller fall is reached. Here the river seems to issue from a
cavern, the rocks having fallen from above so as to block up the channel
and bar further progress. The fall itself can only be reached by a path
which ascends behind a huge slice of rock which has partly fallen
away from the mountain, leaving a space two or three feet wide, but
disclosing a dark chasm descending into the bowels of the mountain, and
which, having visited several such, I had no great curiosity to explore.

Crossing the stream a little below the upper fall, the path ascends
a steep slope for about five hundred feet, and passing through a
gap enters a narrow valley, shut in by walls of rock absolutely
perpendicular and of great height. Half a mile further this valley turns
abruptly to the right, and becomes a mere rift in the mountain. This
extends another half mile, the walls gradually approaching until they
are only two feet apart, and the bottom rising steeply to a pass which
leads probably into another valley, but which I had no time to explore.
Returning to where this rift had begun the main path turns up to the
left in a sort of gully, and reaches a summit over which a fine natural
arch of rock passes at a height of about fifty feet. Thence was a steep
descent through thick jungle with glimpses of precipices and distant
rocky mountains, probably leading into the main river valley again. This
was a most tempting region to explore, but there were several reasons
why I could go no further. I had no guide, and no permission to enter
the Bugis territories, and as the rains might at any time set in,
I might be prevented from returning by the flooding of the river. I
therefore devoted myself during the short time of my visit to obtaining
what knowledge I could of the natural productions of the place.

The narrow chasms produced several fine insects quite new to me, and one
new bird, the curious Phlaegenas tristigmata, a large ground pigeon
with yellow breast and crown, and purple neck. This rugged path is the
highway from Maros to the Bugis country beyond the mountains. During
the rainy season it is quite impassable, the river filling its bed and
rushing between perpendicular cliffs many hundred feet high. Even at the
time of my visit it was most precipitous and fatiguing, yet women and
children came over it daily, and men carrying heavy loads of palm sugar
(of very little value). It was along the path between the lower and the
upper falls, and about the margin of the upper pool, that I found most
insects. The large semi-transparent butterfly, Idea tondana, flew lazily
along by dozens, and it was here that I at length obtained an insect
which I had hoped but hardly expected to meet with--the magnificent
Papilio androcles, one of the largest and rarest known swallow-tailed
butterflies. During my four days' stay at the falls, I was so fortunate
as to obtain six good specimens. As this beautiful creature flies, the
long white tails flicker like streamers, and when settled on the beach
it carries them raised upwards, as if to preserve them from injury. It
is scarce even here, as I did not see more than a dozen specimens
in all, and had to follow many of them up and down the river's bank
repeatedly before I succeeded in their capture. When the sun shone
hottest, about noon, the moist beach of the pool below the upper
fall presented a beautiful sight, being dotted with groups of gay
butterflies--orange, yellow, white, blue, and green--which on being
disturbed rose into the air by hundreds, forming clouds of variegated
colours.

Such gorges, chasms, and precipices here abound, as I have nowhere seen
in the Archipelago. A sloping surface is scarcely anywhere to be found,
huge walls and rugged masses of rock terminating all the mountains
and enclosing the valleys. In many parts there are vertical or even
overhanging precipices five or six hundred feet high, yet completely
clothed with a tapestry of vegetation. Ferns, Pandanaceae, shrubs,
creepers, and even forest trees, are mingled in an evergreen network,
through the interstices of which appears the white limestone rock or
the dark holes and chasms with which it abounds. These precipices
are enabled to sustain such an amount of vegetation by their peculiar
structure. Their surfaces are very irregular, broken into holes and
fissures, with ledges overhanging the mouths of gloomy caverns; but from
each projecting part have descended stalactites, often forming a wild
gothic tracery over the caves and receding hollows, and affording an
admirable support to the roots of the shrubs, trees, and creepers, which
luxuriate in the warm pure atmosphere and the gentle moisture which
constantly exudes from the rocks. In places where the precipice offers
smooth surfaces of solid rock, it remains quite bare, or only stained
with lichens, and dotted with clumps of ferns that grow on the small
ledges and in the minutest crevices.

The reader who is familiar with tropical nature only through the medium
of books and botanical gardens will picture to himself in such a spot
many other natural beauties. He will think that I have unaccountably
forgotten to mention the brilliant flowers, which, in gorgeous masses of
crimson, gold or azure, must spangle these verdant precipices, hang over
the cascade, and adorn the margin of the mountain stream. But what is
the reality? In vain did I gaze over these vast walls of verdure, among
the pendant creepers and bushy shrubs, all around the cascade on the
river's bank, or in the deep caverns and gloomy fissures--not one single
spot of bright colour could be seen, not one single tree or bush or
creeper bore a flower sufficiently conspicuous to form an object in
the landscape. In every direction the eye rested on green foliage and
mottled rock. There was infinite variety in the colour and aspect of
the foliage; there was grandeur in the rocky masses and in the exuberant
luxuriance of the vegetation; but there was no brilliancy of colour,
none of those bright flowers and gorgeous masses of blossom so generally
considered to be everywhere present in the tropics. I have here given an
accurate sketch of a luxuriant tropical scene as noted down on the spot,
and its general characteristics as regards colour have been so often
repeated, both in South America and over many thousand miles in the
Eastern tropics, that I am driven to conclude that it represents the
general aspect of nature at the equatorial (that is, the most tropical)
parts of the tropical regions.

How is it then, that the descriptions of travellers generally give
a very different idea? and where, it may be asked, are the glorious
flowers that we know do exist in the tropics? These questions can be
easily answered. The fine tropical flowering-plants cultivated in our
hothouses have been culled from the most varied regions, and therefore
give a most erroneous idea of their abundance in any one region. Many of
them are very rare, others extremely local, while a considerable number
inhabit the more arid regions of Africa and India, in which tropical
vegetation does not exhibit itself in its usual luxuriance. Fine and
varied foliage, rather than gay flowers, is more characteristic of those
parts where tropical vegetation attains its highest development, and in
such districts each kind of flower seldom lasts in perfection more than
a few weeks, or sometimes a few days. In every locality a lengthened
residence will show an abundance of magnificent and gaily-blossomed
plants, but they have to be sought for, and are rarely at any one time
or place so abundant as to form a perceptible feature in the landscape.
But it has been the custom of travellers to describe and group together
all the fine plants they have met with during a long journey, and thus
produce the effect of a gay and flower-painted landscape. They have
rarely studied and described individual scenes where vegetation was most
luxuriant and beautiful, and fairly stated what effect was produced
in them by flowers. I have done so frequently, and the result of these
examinations has convinced me that the bright colours of flowers have a
much greater influence on the general aspect of nature in temperate
than in tropical climates. During twelve years spent amid the grandest
tropical vegetation, I have seen nothing comparable to the effect
produced on our landscapes by gorse, broom, heather, wild hyacinths,
hawthorn, purple orchises, and buttercups.

The geological structure of this part of Celebes is interesting.
The limestone mountains, though of great extent, seem to be entirely
superficial, resting on a basis of basalt which in some places forms low
rounded hills between the more precipitous mountains. In the rocky beds
of the streams basalt is almost always found, and it is a step in this
rock which forms the cascade already described. From it the limestone
precipices rise abruptly; and in ascending the little stairway along the
side of the fall, you step two or three times from one rock on to the
other--the limestone dry and rough, being worn by the water and rains
into sharp ridges and honeycombed holes--the basalt moist, even, and
worn smooth and slippery by the passage of bare-footed pedestrians. The
solubility of the limestone by rain-water is well seen in the little
blocks and peaks which rise thickly through the soil of the alluvial
plains as you approach the mountains. They are all skittle-shaped,
larger in the middle than at the base, the greatest diameter occurring
at the height to which the country is flooded in the wet season,
and thence decreasing regularly to the ground. Many of them overhang
considerably, and some of the slenderer pillars appear to stand upon a
point. When the rock is less solid it becomes curiously honeycombed by
the rains of successive winters, and I noticed some masses reduced to
a complete network of stone through which light could be seen in every
direction.

From these mountains to the sea extends a perfectly flat alluvial plain,
with no indication that water would accumulate at a great depth beneath
it, yet the authorities at Macassar have spent much money in boring a
well a thousand feet deep in hope of getting a supply of water like that
obtained by the Artesian wells in the London and Paris basins. It is not
to be wondered at that the attempt was unsuccessful.

Returning to my forest hut, I continued my daily search after birds and
insects. The weather, however, became dreadfully hot and dry, every drop
of water disappearing from the pools and rock-holes, and with it the
insects which frequented them. Only one group remained unaffected by
the intense drought; the Diptera, or two-winged flies, continued as
plentifully as ever, and on these I was almost compelled to concentrate
my attention for a week or two, by which means I increased my collection
of that Order to about two hundred species. I also continued to obtain
a few new birds, among which were two or three kinds of small hawks and
falcons, a beautiful brush-tongued paroquet, Trichoglossus ornatus, and
a rare black and white crow, Corvus advena.

At length, about the middle of October, after several gloomy days, down
came a deluge of rain which continued to fall almost every afternoon,
showing that the early part of the wet season had commenced. I hoped
now to get a good harvest of insects, and in some respects I was not
disappointed. Beetles became much more numerous, and under a thick bed
of leaves that had accumulated on some rocks by the side of a forest
stream, I found an abundance of Carabidae, a family generally scarce in
the tropics. The butterflies, however, disappeared. Two of my servants
were attacked with fever, dysentery, and swelled feet, just at the time
that the third had left me, and for some days they both lay groaning in
the house. When they got a little better I was attacked myself, and as
my stores were nearly finished and everything was getting very damp,
I was obliged to prepare for my return to Macassar, especially as the
strong westerly winds would render the passage in a small open boat
disagreeable, if not dangerous.

Since the rains began, numbers of huge millipedes, as thick as one's
finger and eight or ten inches long, crawled about everywhere--in the
paths, on trees, about the house--and one morning when I got up I even
found one in my bed! They were generally of a dull lead colour or of
a deep brick red, and were very nasty-looking things to be coming
everywhere in one's way, although quite harmless. Snakes too began to
show themselves. I killed two of a very abundant species--big-headed,
and of a bright green colour, which lie coiled up on leaves and shrubs
and can scarcely be seen until one is close upon them. Brown snakes got
into my net while beating among dead leaves for insects, and made me
rather cautious about inserting my hand until I knew what kind of game I
had captured. The fields and meadows which had been parched and sterile,
now became suddenly covered with fine long grass; the river-bed where
I had so many times walked over burning rocks, was now a deep and rapid
stream; and numbers of herbaceous plants and shrubs were everywhere
springing up and bursting into flower. I found plenty of new insects,
and if I had had a good, roomy, water-and-wind-proof house, I should
perhaps have stayed during the wet season, as I feel sure many things
can then be obtained which are to be found at no other time. With my
summer hut, however, this was impossible. During the heavy rains a fine
drizzly mist penetrated into every part of it, and I began to have the
greatest difficulty in keeping my specimens dry.

Early in November I returned to Macassar, and having packed up my
collections, started in the Dutch mail steamer for Amboyna and Ternate.
Leaving this part of my journey for the present, I will in the next
CHAPTER conclude my account of Celebes, by describing the extreme
northern part of the island which I visited two years later.



CHAPTER XVII. CELEBES.

 (MENADO, JUNE TO SEPTEMBER, 1859.)

IT was after my residence at Timor-Coupang that I visited the
northeastern extremity of Celebes, touching Banda, Amboyna, and Ternate
on my way. I reached Menado on the 10th of June, 1859, and was very
kindly received by Mr. Tower, an Englishman, but a very old resident in
Menado, where he carries on a general business. He introduced me to Mr.
L. Duivenboden (whose father had been my friend at Ternate), who had
much taste for natural history; and to Mr. Neys, a native of Menado, but
who was educated at Calcutta, and to whom Dutch, English, and Malay
were equally mother-tongues. All these gentlemen showed me the greatest
kindness, accompanied me in my earliest walks about the country, and
assisted me by every means in their power. I spent a week in the
town very pleasantly, making explorations and inquiries after a good
collecting station, which I had much difficulty in finding, owing to the
wide cultivation of coffee and cacao, which has led to the clearing
away of the forests for many miles around the town, and over extensive
districts far into the interior.

The little town of Menado is one of the prettiest in the East. It has
the appearance of a large garden containing rows of rustic villas with
broad paths between, forming streets generally at right angles with each
other. Good roads branch off in several directions towards the interior,
with a succession of pretty cottages, neat gardens, and thriving
plantations, interspersed with wildernesses of fruit trees. To the west
and south the country is mountainous, with groups of fine volcanic peaks
6,000 or 7,000 feet high, forming grand and picturesque backgrounds to
the landscape.

The inhabitants of Minahasa (as this part of Celebes is called) differ
much from those of all the rest of the island, and in fact from any
other people in the Archipelago. They are of a light-brown or yellow
tint, often approaching the fairness of a European; of a rather short
stature, stout and well-made; of an open and pleasing countenance, more
or less disfigured as age increases by projecting check-bones; and with
the usual long, straight, jet-black hair of the Malayan races. In some
of the inland villages where they may be supposed to be of the purest
race, both men and women are remarkably handsome; while nearer the
coasts where the purity of their blood has been destroyed by the
intermixture of other races, they approach to the ordinary types of the
wild inhabitants of the surrounding countries.

In mental and moral characteristics they are also highly peculiar.
They are remarkably quiet and gentle in disposition, submissive to the
authority of those they consider their superiors, and easily induced
to learn and adopt the habits of civilized people. They are clever
mechanics, and seem capable of acquiring a considerable amount of
intellectual education.

Up to a very recent period these people were thorough savages, and
there are persons now living in Menado who remember a state of things
identical with that described by the writers of the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries. The inhabitants of the several villages
were distinct tribes, each under its own chief, speaking languages
unintelligible to each other, and almost always at war. They built their
houses elevated upon lofty posts to defend themselves from the attacks
of their enemies. They were headhunters like the Dyaks of Borneo, and
were said to be sometimes cannibals. When a chief died, his tomb was
adorned with two fresh human heads; and if those of enemies could not
be obtained, slaves were killed for the occasion. Human skulls were the
great ornaments of the chiefs' houses. Strips of bark were their only
dress. The country was a pathless wilderness, with small cultivated
patches of rice and vegetables, or clumps of fruit-trees, diversifying
the otherwise unbroken forest. Their religion was that naturally
engendered in the undeveloped human mind by the contemplation of grand
natural phenomena and the luxuriance of tropical nature. The burning
mountain, the torrent and the lake, were the abode of their deities;
and certain trees and birds were supposed to have special influence
over men's actions and destiny. They held wild and exciting festivals
to propitiate these deities or demons, and believed that men could be
changed by them into animals--either during life or after death.

Here we have a picture of true savage life; of small isolated
communities at war with all around them, subject to the wants and
miseries of such a condition, drawing a precarious existence from the
luxuriant soil, and living on, from generation to generation, with no
desire for physical amelioration, and no prospect of moral advancement.

Such was their condition down to the year 1822, when the coffee-plant
was first introduced, and experiments were made as to its cultivation.
It was found to succeed admirably from fifteen hundred feet, up to four
thousand feet above the sea. The chiefs of villages were induced to
undertake its cultivation. Seed and native instructors were sent
from Java; food was supplied to the labourers engaged in clearing and
planting; a fixed price was established at which all coffee brought to
the government collectors was to be paid for, and the village chiefs who
now received the titles of "Majors" were to receive five percent of the
produce. After a time, roads were made from the port of Menado up to
the plateau, and smaller paths were cleared from village to village;
missionaries settled in the more populous districts and opened schools;
and Chinese traders penetrated to the interior and supplied clothing and
other luxuries in exchange for the money which the sale of the coffee
had produced.

At the same time, the country was divided into districts, and the system
of "Controlleurs," which had worked so well in Java, was introduced. The
"Controlleur" was a European, or a native of European blood, who was the
general superintendent of the cultivation of the district, the
adviser of the chiefs, the protector of the people, and the means of
communication between both and the European Government. His duties
obliged him to visit every village in succession once a month, and to
send in a report on their condition to the Resident. As disputes between
adjacent villages were now settled by appeal to a superior authority,
the old and inconvenient semi-fortified houses were disused, and under
the direction of the "Controlleurs" most of the houses were rebuilt on a
neat and uniform plan. It was this interesting district which I was now
about to visit.

Having decided on my route, I started at 8 A.M. on the 22d of June.
Mr. Tower drove me the first three miles in his chaise, and Mr. Neys
accompanied me on horseback three miles further to the village of
Lotta. Here we met the Controlleur of the district of Tondano, who was
returning home from one of his monthly tours, and who had agreed to act
as my guide and companion on the journey. From Lotta we had an almost
continual ascent for six miles, which brought us on to the plateau of
Tondano at an elevation of about 2,400 feet. We passed through three
villages whose neatness and beauty quite astonished me. The main road,
along which all the coffee is brought down from the interior in carts
drawn by buffaloes, is always turned aside at the entrance of a village,
so as to pass behind it, and thus allow the village street itself to
be kept neat and clean. This is bordered by neat hedges often formed
entirely of rose-trees, which are perpetually in blossom. There is a
broad central path and a border of fine turf, which is kept well swept
and neatly cut. The houses are all of wood, raised about six feet on
substantial posts neatly painted blue, while the walls are whitewashed.
They all have a verandah enclosed with a neat balustrade, and are
generally surrounded by orange-trees and flowering shrubs. The
surrounding scenery is verdant and picturesque. Coffee plantations
of extreme luxuriance, noble palms and tree ferns, wooded hills and
volcanic peaks, everywhere meet the eye. I had heard much of the beauty
of this country, but the reality far surpassed my expectations.

About one o'clock we reached Tomohón, the chief place of a district,
having a native chief now called the "Major," at whose house we were to
dine. Here was a fresh surprise for me. The house was large, airy and
very substantially built of hard native timber, squared and put together
in a most workmanlike manner. It was furnished in European style, with
handsome chandelier lamps, and the chairs and tables all well made by
native workmen. As soon as we entered, madeira and bitters were offered
us. Then two handsome boys neatly dressed in white, and with smoothly
brushed jet-black hair, handed us each a basin of water and a clean
napkin on a salver. The dinner was excellent. Fowls cooked in various
ways; wild pig roasted, stewed and fried; a fricassee of bats, potatoes,
rice and other vegetables; all served on good china, with finger glasses
and fine napkins, and abundance of good claret and beer, seemed to
me rather curious at the table of a native chief on the mountains of
Celebes. Our host was dressed in a suit of black with patent-leather
shoes, and really looked comfortable and almost gentlemanly in them. He
sat at the head of the table and did the honours well, though he did
not talk much. Our conversation was entirely in Malay, as that is the
official language here, and in fact the mother-tongue and only language
of the Controlleur, who is a native-born half-breed. The Major's father
who was chief before him, wore, I was informed, a strip of bark as his
sole costume, and lived in a rude but raised home on lofty poles, and
abundantly decorated with human heads. Of course we were expected, and
our dinner was prepared in the best style, but I was assured that the
chiefs all take a pride in adopting European customs, and in being able
to receive their visitors in a handsome manner.

After dinner and coffee, the Controlleur went on to Tondano, and I
strolled about the village waiting for my baggage, which was coming in
a bullock-cart, and did not arrive until after midnight. Supper was very
similar to dinner, and on retiring I found an elegant little room with
a comfortable bed, gauze curtains with blue and red hangings, and every
convenience. Next morning at sunrise the thermometer in the verandah
stood at 69°, which I was told is about the usual lowest temperature at
this place, 2,500 feet above the sea. I had a good breakfast of coffee,
eggs, and fresh bread and butter, which I took in the spacious verandah
amid the odour of roses, jessamine, and other sweet-scented flowers,
which filled the garden in front; and about eight o'clock left Tomohón
with a dozen men carrying my baggage.

Our road lay over a mountain ridge about 4,000 feet above the sea, and
then descended about 500 feet to the little village of Rurúkan, the
highest in the district of Minahasa, and probably in all Celebes. Here I
had determined to stay for some time to see whether this elevation would
produce any change in the zoology. The village had only been formed
about ten years, and was quite as neat as those I had passed through,
and much more picturesque. It is placed on a small level spot, from
which there is an abrupt wooded descent down to the beautiful lake of
Tondano, with volcanic mountains beyond. On one side is a ravine, and
beyond it a fine mountainous and wooded country.

Near the village are the coffee plantations. The trees are planted in
rows, and are kept topped to about seven feet high. This causes the
lateral branches to grow very strong, so that some of the trees become
perfect hemispheres, loaded with fruit from top to bottom, and producing
from ten to twenty pounds each of cleaned coffee annually. These
plantations were all formed by the Government, and are cultivated by the
villagers under the direction of their chief. Certain days are appointed
for weeding or gathering, and the whole working population are summoned
by the sound of a gong. An account is kept of the number of hours' work
done by each family, and at the year's end, the produce of the sale is
divided among them proportionately. The coffee is taken to Government
stores established at central places over the whole country, and is paid
for at a low fixed price. Out of this a certain percentage goes to the
chiefs and majors, and the remainder is divided among the inhabitants.
This system works very well, and I believe is at present far better for
the people than free-trade would be. There are also large rice-fields,
and in this little village of seventy houses, I was informed that a
hundred pounds' worth of rice was sold annually.

I had a small house at the very end of the village, almost hanging over
the precipitous slope down to the stream, and with a splendid view from
the verandah. The thermometer in the morning often stood at 62° and
never rose so high as 80°, so that with the thin clothing used in the
tropical plains we were always cool and sometimes positively cold, while
the spout of water where I went daily for my bath had quite an icy
feel. Although I enjoyed myself very much among these fine mountains
and forests, I was somewhat disappointed as to my collections. There
was hardly any perceptible difference between the animal life in this
temperate region and in the torrid plains below, and what difference
did exist was in most respects disadvantageous to me. There seemed to be
nothing absolutely peculiar to this elevation. Birds and quadrupeds were
less plentiful, but of the same species. In insects there seemed to be
more difference. The curious beetles of the family Cleridae, which are
found chiefly on bark and rotten wood, were finer than I have seen them
elsewhere. The beautiful Longicorns were scarcer than usual, and the few
butterflies were all of tropical species. One of these, Papilio blumei,
of which I obtained a few specimens only, is among the most magnificent
I have ever seen. It is a green and gold swallow-tail, with azure-blue
and spoon-shaped tails, and was often seen flying about the village when
the sun shone, but in a very shattered condition. The great amount
of wet and cloudy weather was a great drawback all the time I was at
Rurúkan.

Even in the vegetation there is very little to indicate elevation.
The trees are more covered with lichens and mosses, and the ferns and
tree-ferns are finer and more luxuriant than I had been accustomed to
seeing on the low grounds, both probably attributable to the almost
perpetual moisture that here prevails. Abundance of a tasteless
raspberry, with blue and yellow compositae, have somewhat of a temperate
aspect; and minute ferns and Orchideae, with dwarf Begonias on the
rocks, make some approach to a sub-alpine vegetation. The forest,
however, is most luxuriant. Noble palms, Pandani, and tree-ferns are
abundant in it, while the forest trees are completely festooned with
Orchideae, Bromeliae, Araceae, Lycopodiums, and mosses. The ordinary
stemless ferns abound; some with gigantic fronds ten or twelve feet
long, others barely an inch high; some with entire and massive leaves,
others elegantly waving their finely-cut foliage, and adding endless
variety and interest to the forest paths. The cocoa-nut palm still
produces fruit abundantly, but is said to be deficient in oil. Oranges
thrive better than below, producing abundance of delicious fruit; but
the shaddock or pumplemous (Citrus decumana) requires the full force of
a tropical sun, for it will not thrive even at Tondano a thousand feet
lower. On the hilly slopes rice is cultivated largely, and ripens well,
although the temperature rarely or never rises to 80°, so that one would
think it might be grown even in England in fine summers, especially if
the young plants were raised under glass.

The mountains have an unusual quantity of earth and vegetable mould
spread over them. Even on the steepest slopes there is everywhere a
covering of clays and sands, and generally a good thickness of vegetable
soil. It is this which perhaps contributes to the uniform luxuriance
of the forest, and delays the appearance of that sub-alpine vegetation
which depends almost as much on the abundance of rocky and exposed
surfaces as on difference of climate. At a much lower elevation on
Mount Ophir in Malacca, Dacrydiums and Rhododendrons with abundance of
Nepenthes, ferns, and terrestrial orchids suddenly took the place of the
lofty forest; but this was plainly due to the occurrence of an extensive
slope of bare, granitic rock at an elevation of less than 3,000 feet.
The quantity of vegetable soil, and also of loose sands and clays,
resting on steep slopes, hill-tops and the sides of ravines, is a
curious and important phenomenon. It may be due in part to constant,
slight earthquake shocks facilitating the disintegration of rock; but,
would also seem to indicate that the country has been long exposed to
gentle atmospheric action, and that its elevation has been exceedingly
slow and continuous.

During my stay at Rurúkan, my curiosity was satisfied by experiencing a
pretty sharp earthquake-shock. On the evening of June 29th, at a quarter
after eight, as I was sitting reading, the house began shaking with a
very gentle, but rapidly increasing motion. I sat still enjoying the
novel sensation for some seconds; but in less than half a minute it
became strong enough to shake me in my chair, and to make the house
visibly rock about, and creak and crack as if it would fall to pieces.
Then began a cry throughout the village of "Tana goyang! tana goyang!"
(Earthquake! earthquake!) Everybody rushed out of their houses--women
screamed and children cried--and I thought it prudent to go out too.
On getting up, I found my head giddy and my steps unsteady, and could
hardly walk without falling. The shock continued about a minute, during
which time I felt as if I had been turned round and round, and was
almost seasick. Going into the house again, I found a lamp and a bottle
of arrack upset. The tumbler which formed the lamp had been thrown out
of the saucer in which it had stood. The shock appeared to be nearly
vertical, rapid, vibratory, and jerking. It was sufficient, I have no
doubt, to have thrown down brick, chimneys, walls, and church towers;
but as the houses here are all low, and strongly framed of timber, it
is impossible for them to be much injured, except by a shock that would
utterly destroy a European city. The people told me it was ten years
since they had had a stronger shock than this, at which time many houses
were thrown down and some people killed.

At intervals of ten minutes to half an hour, slight shocks and tremors
were felt, sometimes strong enough to send us all out again. There was
a strange mixture of the terrible and the ludicrous in our situation. We
might at any moment have a much stronger shock, which would bring down
the house over us, or--what I feared more--cause a landslip, and send
us down into the deep ravine on the very edge of which the village is
built; yet I could not help laughing each time we ran out at a slight
shock, and then in a few moments ran in again. The sublime and the
ridiculous were here literally but a step apart. On the one hand, the
most terrible and destructive of natural phenomena was in action
around us--the rocks, the mountains, the solid earth were trembling and
convulsed, and we were utterly impotent to guard against the danger that
might at any moment overwhelm us. On the other hand was the spectacle of
a number of men, women, and children running in and out of their houses,
on what each time proved a very unnecessary alarm, as each shock ceased
just as it became strong enough to frighten us. It seemed really very
much like "playing at earthquakes," and made many of the people join me
in a hearty laugh, even while reminding each other that it really might
be no laughing matter.

At length the evening got very cold, and I became very sleepy, and
determined to turn in; leaving orders to my boys, who slept nearer
the door, to wake me in case the house was in danger of falling. But
I miscalculated my apathy, for I could not sleep much. The shocks
continued at intervals of half an hour or an hour all night, just strong
enough to wake me thoroughly each time and keep me on the alert, ready
to jump up in case of danger. I was therefore very glad when morning
came. Most of the inhabitants had not been to bed at all, and some had
stayed out of doors all night. For the next two days and nights shocks
still continued at short intervals, and several times a day for a week,
showing that there was some very extensive disturbance beneath our
portion of the earth's crust. How vast the forces at work really are can
only be properly appreciated when, after feeling their effects, we look
abroad over the wide expanse of hill and valley, plain and mountain, and
thus realize in a slight degree the immense mass of matter heaved
and shaken. The sensation produced by an earthquake is never to be
forgotten. We feel ourselves in the grasp of a power to which the
wildest fury of the winds and waves are as nothing; yet the effect is
more a thrill of awe than the terror which the more boisterous war of
the elements produces. There is a mystery and an uncertainty as to the
amount of danger we incur, which gives greater play to the imagination,
and to the influences of hope and fear. These remarks apply only to a
moderate earthquake. A severe one is the most destructive and the most
horrible catastrophe to which human beings can be exposed.

A few days after the earthquake I took a walk to Tondano, a large
village of about 7,000 inhabitants, situated at the lower end of the
lake of the same name. I dined with the Controlleur, Mr. Bensneider,
who had been my guide to Tomohón. He had a fine large house, in which he
often received visitors; and his garden was the best for flowers which I
had seen in the tropics, although there was no great variety. It was he
who introduced the rose hedges which give such a charming appearance to
the villages; and to him is chiefly due the general neatness and good
order that everywhere prevail. I consulted him about a fresh locality,
as I found Rurúkan too much in the clouds, dreadfully damp and gloomy,
and with a general stagnation of bird and insect life. He recommended me
a village some distance beyond the lake, near which was a large forest,
where he thought I should find plenty of birds. As he was going himself
in a few days, I decided to accompany him.

After dinner I asked him for a guide to the celebrated waterfall on the
outlet stream of the lake. It is situated about a mile and half below
the village, where a slight rising ground closes in the basin, and
evidently once formed, the shore of the lake. Here the river enters a
gorge, very narrow and tortuous, along which it rushes furiously for a
short distance and then plunges into a great chasm, forming the head
of a large valley. Just above the fall the channel is not more than ten
feet wide, and here a few planks are thrown across, whence, half hid by
luxuriant vegetation, the mad waters may be seen rushing beneath, and a
few feet farther plunge into the abyss. Both sight and sound are grand
and impressive. It was here that, four years before my visit, the
Governor-General of the Netherland Indies committed suicide, by leaping
into the torrent. This at least is the general opinion, as he suffered
from a painful disease which was supposed to have made him weary of his
life. His body was found next day in the stream below.

Unfortunately, no good view of the fall could now be obtained, owing
to the quantity of wood and high grass that lined the margins of the
precipices. There are two falls, the lower being the most lofty; and it
is possible, by long circuit, to descend into the valley and see them
from below. Were the best points of view searched for and rendered
accessible, these falls would probably be found to be the finest in the
Archipelago. The chasm seems to be of great depth, probably 500 or 600
feet. Unfortunately, I had no time to explore this valley, as I was
anxious to devote every fine day to increasing my hitherto scanty
collections.

Just opposite my abode in Rurúkan was the schoolhouse. The schoolmaster
was a native, educated by the Missionary at Tomohón. School was held
every morning for about three hours, and twice a week in the evening
there was catechising and preaching. There was also a service on Sunday
morning. The children were all taught in Malay, and I often heard them
repeating the multiplication-table, up to twenty times twenty, very
glibly. They always wound up with singing, and it was very pleasing to
hear many of our old psalm-tunes in these remote mountains, sung with
Malay words. Singing is one of the real blessings which Missionaries
introduce among savage nations, whose native chants are almost always
monotonous and melancholy.

On catechising evenings the schoolmaster was a great man, preaching and
teaching for three hours at a stretch much in the style of an English
ranter. This was pretty cold work for his auditors, however warming to
himself; and I am inclined to think that these native teachers, having
acquired facility of speaking and an endless supply of religious
platitudes to talk about, ride their hobby rather hard, without much
consideration for their flock. The Missionaries, however, have much
to be proud of in this country. They have assisted the Government in
changing a savage into a civilized community in a wonderfully short
space of time. Forty years ago the country was a wilderness, the people
naked savages, garnishing their rude houses with human heads. Now it is
a garden, worthy of its sweet native name of "Minahasa." Good roads
and paths traverse it in every direction; some of the finest coffee
plantations in the world surround the villages, interspersed with
extensive rice-fields more than sufficient for the support of the
population.

The people are now the most industrious, peaceable, and civilized in the
whole Archipelago. They are the best clothed, the best housed, the best
fed, and the best educated; and they have made some progress towards
a higher social state. I believe there is no example elsewhere of such
striking results being produced in so short a time--results which are
entirely due to the system of government now adopted by the Dutch in
their Eastern possessions. The system is one which may be called a
"paternal despotism." Now we Englishmen do not like despotism--we hate
the name and the thing, and we would rather see people ignorant,
lazy, and vicious, than use any but moral force to make them wise,
industrious, and good. And we are right when we are dealing with men of
our own race, and of similar ideas and equal capacities with ourselves.
Example and precept, the force of public opinion, and the slow, but sure
spread of education, will do everything in time, without engendering any
of those bitter feelings, or producing any of that servility, hypocrisy,
and dependence, which are the sure results of despotic government. But
what should we think of a man who should advocate these principles
of perfect freedom in a family or a school? We should say that he was
applying a good, general principle to a case in which the conditions
rendered it inapplicable--the case in which the governed are in an
admitted state of mental inferiority to those who govern them, and are
unable to decide what is best for their permanent welfare. Children must
be subjected to some degree of authority, and guidance; and if properly
managed they will cheerfully submit to it, because they know their own
inferiority, and believe their elders are acting solely for their good.
They learn many things the use of which they cannot comprehend, and
which they would never learn without some moral and social, if not
physical, pressure. Habits of order, of industry, of cleanliness, of
respect and obedience, are inculcated by similar means. Children would
never grow up into well-behaved and well-educated men, if the same
absolute freedom of action that is allowed to men were allowed to them.
Under the best aspect of education, children are subjected to a
mild despotism for the good of themselves and of society; and their
confidence in the wisdom and goodness of those who ordain and apply this
despotism, neutralizes the bad passions and degrading feelings, which
under less favourable conditions are its general results.

Now, there is not merely an analogy--there is in many respects an
identity of relation between master and pupil or parent and child on the
one hand, and an uncivilized race and its civilized rulers on the other.
We know (or think we know) that the education and industry, and the
common usages of civilized man, are superior to those of savage life;
and, as he becomes acquainted with them, the savage himself admits this.
He admires the superior acquirements of the civilized man, and it is
with pride that he will adopt such usages as do not interfere too much
with his sloth, his passions, or his prejudices. But as the willful
child or the idle schoolboy, who was never taught obedience, and never
made to do anything which of his own free will he was not inclined to
do, would in most cases obtain neither education nor manners; so it is
much more unlikely that the savage, with all the confirmed habits of
manhood and the traditional prejudices of race, should ever do more than
copy a few of the least beneficial customs of civilization, without some
stronger stimulus than precept, very imperfectly backed by example.

If we are satisfied that we are right in assuming the government over a
savage race, and occupying their country, and if we further consider it
our duty to do what we can to improve our rude subjects and raise them
up towards our own level, we must not be too much afraid of the cry
of "despotism" and "slavery," but must use the authority we possess to
induce them to do work which they may not altogether like, but which
we know to be an indispensable step in their moral and physical
advancement. The Dutch have shown much good policy in the means by which
they have done this. They have in most cases upheld and strengthened the
authority of the native chiefs, to whom the people have been accustomed
to render a voluntary obedience; and by acting on the intelligence and
self-interest of these chiefs, have brought about changes in the manners
and customs of the people, which would have excited ill-feeling and
perhaps revolt, had they been directly enforced by foreigners.

In carrying out such a system, much depends upon the character of the
people; and the system which succeeds admirably in one place could
only be very partially worked out in another. In Minahasa the natural
docility and intelligence of the race have made their progress rapid;
and how important this is, is well illustrated by the fact, that in the
immediate vicinity of the town of Menado are a tribe called Banteks,
of a much less tractable disposition, who have hitherto resisted all
efforts of the Dutch Government to induce them to adopt any systematic
cultivation. These remain in a ruder condition, but engage themselves
willingly as occasional porters and labourers, for which their greater
strength and activity well adapt them.

No doubt the system here sketched seems open to serious objection. It
is to a certain extent despotic, and interferes with free trade, free
labour, and free communication. A native cannot leave his village
without a pass, and cannot engage himself to any merchant or captain
without a Government permit. The coffee has all to be sold to
Government, at less than half the price that the local merchant would
give for it, and he consequently cries out loudly against "monopoly"
and "oppression." He forgets, however, that the coffee plantations were
established by the Government at great outlay of capital and skill; that
it gives free education to the people, and that the monopoly is in lieu
of taxation. He forgets that the product he wants to purchase and make
a profit by, is the creation of the Government, without whom the people
would still be savages. He knows very well that free trade would, as its
first result, lead to the importation of whole cargoes of arrack,
which would be carried over the country and exchanged for coffee. That
drunkenness and poverty would spread over the land; that the public
coffee plantations would not be kept up; that the quality and quantity
of the coffee would soon deteriorate; that traders and merchants would
get rich, but that the people would relapse into poverty and barbarism.
That such is invariably the result of free trade with any savage tribes
who possess a valuable product, native or cultivated, is well known to
those who have visited such people; but we might even anticipate from
general principles that evil results would happen.

If there is one thing rather than another to which the grand law of
continuity or development will apply, it is to human progress. There are
certain stages through which society must pass in its onward march from
barbarism to civilization. Now one of these stages has always been
some form or other of despotism, such as feudalism or servitude, or a
despotic paternal government; and we have every reason to believe that
it is not possible for humanity to leap over this transition epoch, and
pass at once from pure savagery to free civilization. The Dutch system
attempts to supply this missing link, and to bring the people on by
gradual steps to that higher civilization, which we (the English) try to
force upon them at once. Our system has always failed. We demoralize and
we extirpate, but we never really civilize. Whether the Dutch system
can permanently succeed is but doubtful, since it may not be possible to
compress the work of ten centuries into one; but at all events it takes
nature as a guide, and is therefore, more deserving of success, and more
likely to succeed, than ours.

There is one point connected with this question which I think the
Missionaries might take up with great physical and moral results. In
this beautiful and healthy country, and with abundance of food and
necessaries, the population does not increase as it ought to do. I can
only impute this to one cause. Infant mortality, produced by neglect
while the mothers are working in the plantations, and by general
ignorance of the conditions of health in infants. Women all work, as
they have always been accustomed to do. It is no hardship to them, but
I believe is often a pleasure and relaxation. They either take their
infants with them, in which case they leave them in some shady spot on
the ground, going at intervals to give them nourishment, or they leave
them at home in the care of other children too young to work. Under
neither of these circumstances can infants be properly attended to, and
great mortality is the result, keeping the increase of population far
below the rate which the general prosperity of the country and the
universality of marriage would lead us to expect. This is a matter in
which the Government is directly interested, since it is by the increase
of the population alone that there can be any large and permanent
increase in the production of coffee. The Missionaries should take up
the question because, by inducing married women to confine themselves to
domestic duties, they will decidedly promote a higher civilization, and
directly increase the health and happiness of the whole community. The
people are so docile and so willing to adopt the manners and customs of
Europeans, that the change might be easily effected by merely showing
them that it was a question of morality and civilization, and an
essential step in their progress towards an equality with their white
rulers.

After a fortnight's stay at Rurúkan, I left that pretty and interesting
village in search of a locality and climate more productive of birds and
insects. I passed the evening with the Controlleur of Tondano, and the
next morning at nine, left in a small boat for the head of the lake, a
distance of about ten miles. The lower end of the lake is bordered by
swamps and marshes of considerable extent, but a little further on, the
hills come down to the water's edge and give it very much the appearance
of a greet river, the width being about two miles. At the upper end is
the village of Kakas, where I dined with the head man in a good house
like those I have already described; and then went on to Langówan, four
miles distant over a level plain. This was the place where I had been
recommended to stay, and I accordingly unpacked my baggage and made
myself comfortable in the large house devoted to visitors. I obtained
a man to shoot for me, and another to accompany me the next day to the
forest, where I was in hopes of finding a good collecting ground.

In the morning after breakfast I started off, but found I had four miles
to walk over a wearisome straight road through coffee plantations before
I could get to the forest, and as soon as I did so, it came on to rain
heavily and did not cease until night. This distance to walk every day
was too far for any profitable work, especially when the weather was so
uncertain. I therefore decided at once that I must go further on, until
I found someplace close to or in a forest country. In the afternoon my
friend Mr. Bensneider arrived, together with the Controlleur of the next
district, called Belang, from whom I learned that six miles further on
there was a village called Panghu, which had been recently formed and
had a good deal of forest close to it; and he promised me the use of a
small house if I liked to go there.

The next morning I went to see the hot-springs and mud volcanoes, for
which this place is celebrated. A picturesque path among plantations
and ravines brought us to a beautiful circular basin about forty feet in
diameter, bordered by a calcareous ledge, so uniform and truly curved,
that it looked like a work of art. It was filled with clear water
very near the boiling point, and emitted clouds of steam with a strong
sulphureous odour. It overflows at one point and forms a little stream
of hot water, which at a hundred yards' distance is still too hot to
hold the hand in. A little further on, in a piece of rough wood, were
two other springs not so regular in outline, but appearing to be much
hotter, as they were in a continual state of active ebullition. At
intervals of a few minutes, a great escape of steam or gas took place,
throwing up a column of water three or four feet high.

We then went to the mud-springs, which are about a mile off, and are
still more curious. On a sloping tract of ground in a slight hollow is
a small lake of liquid mud, with patches of blue, red, or white, and
in many places boiling and bubbling most furiously. All around on the
indurated clay are small wells and craters full of boiling mud. These
seem to be forming continually, a small hole appearing first, which
emits jets of steam and boiling mud, which upon hardening, forms a
little cone with a crater in the middle. The ground for some distance is
very unsafe, as it is evidently liquid at a small depth, and bends with
pressure like thin ice. At one of the smaller, marginal jets which I
managed to approach, I held my hand to see if it was really as hot as it
looked, when a little drop of mud that spurted on to my finger scalded
like boiling water.

A short distance off, there was a flat bare surface of rock as smooth
and hot as an oven floor, which was evidently an old mud-pool, dried
up and hardened. For hundreds of yards around where there were banks of
reddish and white clay used for whitewash, it was still so hot close to
the surface that the hand could hardly bear to be held in cracks a few
inches deep, and from which arose a strong sulphureous vapour. I was
informed that some years back a French gentleman who visited these
springs ventured too near the liquid mud, when the crust gave way and he
was engulfed in the horrible caldron.

This evidence of intense heat so near the surface over a large tract
of country was very impressive, and I could hardly divest myself of the
notion that some terrible catastrophe might at any moment devastate
the country. Yet it is probable that all these apertures are really
safety-valves, and that the inequalities of the resistance of various
parts of the earth's crust will always prevent such an accumulation of
force as would be required to upheave and overwhelm any extensive area.
About seven miles west of this is a volcano which was in eruption about
thirty years before my visit, presenting a magnificent appearance and
covering the surrounding country with showers of ashes. The plains
around the lake formed by the intermingling and decomposition of
volcanic products are of amazing fertility, and with a little management
in the rotation of crops might be kept in continual cultivation. Rice is
now grown on them for three or four years in succession, when they are
left fallow for the same period, after which rice or maize can be again
grown. Good rice produces thirty-fold, and coffee trees continue
bearing abundantly for ten or fifteen years, without any manure and with
scarcely any cultivation.

I was delayed a day by incessant rain, and then proceeded to Panghu,
which I reached just before the daily rain began at 11 A.M. After
leaving the summit level of the lake basin, the road is carried along
the slope of a fine forest ravine. The descent is a long one, so that I
estimated the village to be not more than 1,500 feet above the sea, yet
I found the morning temperature often 69°, the same as at Tondano at
least 600 or 700 feet higher. I was pleased with the appearance of the
place, which had a good deal of forest and wild country around it; and
found prepared for me a little house consisting only of a verandah and a
back room. This was only intended for visitors to rest in, or to pass a
night, but it suited me very well. I was so unfortunate, however, as
to lose both my hunters just at this time. One had been left at Tondano
with fever and diarrhoea, and the other was attacked at Langówan with
inflammation of the chest, and as his case looked rather bad I had
him sent back to Menado. The people here were all so busy with their
rice-harvest, which was important for them to finish owing to the early
rains, that I could get no one to shoot for me.

During the three weeks that I stayed at Panghu it rained nearly every
day, either in the afternoon only, or all day long; but there were
generally a few hours' sunshine in the morning, and I took advantage of
these to explore the roads and paths, the rocks and ravines, in search
of insects. These were not very abundant, yet I saw enough to convince
me that the locality was a good one, had I been there at the beginning
instead of at the end of the dry season. The natives brought me daily a
few insects obtained at the Sagueir palms, including some fine Cetonias
and stag-beetles. Two little boys were very expert with the blowpipe,
and brought me a good many small birds, which they shot with pellets
of clay. Among these was a pretty little flower-pecker of a new species
(Prionochilus aureolimbatus), and several of the loveliest honeysuckers
I had yet seen. My general collection of birds was, however, almost at
a standstill; for though I at length obtained a man to shoot for me, he
was not good for much, and seldom brought me more than one bird a day.
The best thing he shot was the large and rare fruit-pigeon peculiar to
Northern Celebes (Carpophaga forsteni), which I had long been seeking.

I was myself very successful in one beautiful group of insects, the
tiger-beetles, which seem more abundant and varied here than anywhere
else in the Archipelago. I first met with them on a cutting in the road,
where a hard clayey bank was partially overgrown with mosses and small
ferns. Here, I found running about, a small olive-green species which
never took flight; and more rarely, a fine purplish black wingless
insect, which was always found motionless in crevices, and was
therefore, probably nocturnal. It appeared to me to form a new genus.
About the roads in the forest, I found the large and handsome Cicindela
heros, which I had before obtained sparingly at Macassar; but it was in
the mountain torrent of the ravine itself that I got my finest things.
On dead trunks overhanging the water and on the banks and foliage, I
obtained three very pretty species of Cicindela, quite distinct in size,
form, and colour, but having an almost identical pattern of pale spots.
I also found a single specimen of a most curious species with very long
antennae. But my finest discovery here was the Cicindela gloriosa, which
I found on mossy stones just rising above the water. After obtaining
my first specimen of this elegant insect, I used to walk up the stream,
watching carefully every moss-covered rock and stone. It was rather shy,
and would often lead me on a long chase from stone to stone, becoming
invisible every time it settled on the damp moss, owing to its rich
velvety green colour. On some days I could only catch a few glimpses of
it; on others I got a single specimen; and on a few occasions two, but
never without a more or less active pursuit. This and several other
species I never saw but in this one ravine.

Among the people here I saw specimens of several types, which, with the
peculiarities of the languages, gives me some notion of their probable
origin. A striking illustration of the low state of civilization
of these people, until quite recently, is to be found in the great
diversity of their languages. Villages three or four miles apart have
separate dialects, and each group of three or four such villages has a
distinct language quite unintelligible to all the rest; so that, until
the recent introduction of Malay by the Missionaries, there must
have been a bar to all free communication. These languages offer
many peculiarities. They contain a Celebes-Malay element and a Papuan
element, along with some radical peculiarities found also in the
languages of the Siau and Sanguir islands further north, and therefore,
probably derived from the Philippine Islands. Physical characteristics
correspond. There are some of the less civilized tribes which have
semi-Papuan features and hair, while in some villages the true Celebes
or Bugis physiognomy prevails. The plateau of Tondano is chiefly
inhabited by people nearly as white as the Chinese, and with very
pleasing semi-European features. The people of Siau and Sanguir much
resemble these, and I believe them to be perhaps immigrants from some
of the islands of North Polynesia. The Papuan type will represent the
remnant of the aborigines, while those of the Bugis character show the
extension northward of the superior Malay races.

As I was wasting valuable time at Panghu, owing to the bad weather and
the illness of my hunters, I returned to Menado after a stay of three
weeks. Here I had a little touch of fever, and what with drying and
packing all of my collections and getting fresh servants, it was a
fortnight before I was again ready to start. I now went eastward over
an undulating country skirting the great volcano of Klabat, to a village
called Lempias, situated close to the extensive forest that covers the
lower slopes of that mountain. My baggage was carried from village to
village by relays of men; and as each change involved some delay, I did
not reach my destination (a distance of eighteen miles) until sunset. I
was wet through, and had to wait for an hour in an uncomfortable
state until the first installment of my baggage arrived, which luckily
contained my clothes, while the rest did not come in until midnight.

This being the district inhabited by that singular annual the Babirusa
(Hog-deer), I inquired about skulls and soon obtained several in
tolerable condition, as well as a fine one of the rare and curious
"Sapi-utan" (Anoa depressicornis). Of this animal I had seen two living
specimens at Menado, and was surprised at their great resemblance to
small cattle, or still more to the Eland of South Africa. Their Malay
name signifies "forest ox," and they differ from very small highbred
oxen principally by the low-hanging dewlap, and straight, pointed horns
which slope back over the neck. I did not find the forest here so rich
in insects as I had expected, and my hunters got me very few birds, but
what they did obtain were very interesting. Among these were the rare
forest Kingfisher (Cittura cyanotis), a small new species of Megapodius,
and one specimen of the large and interesting Maleo (Megacephalon
rubripes), to obtain which was one of my chief reasons for visiting this
district. Getting no more, however, after ten days' search, I removed
to Licoupang, at the extremity of the peninsula, a place celebrated for
these birds, as well as for the Babirusa and Sapi-utan. I found here
Mr. Goldmann, the eldest son of the Governor of the Moluccas, who was
superintending the establishment of some Government salt-works. This was
a better locality, and I obtained some fine butterflies and very
good birds, among which was one more specimen of the rare ground dove
(Phlegaenas tristigmata), which I had first obtained near the Maros
waterfall in South Celebes.

Hearing what I was particularly in search of, Mr. Goldmann kindly
offered to make a hunting-party to the place where the "Maleos" are most
abundant, a remote and uninhabited sea-beach about twenty miles distant.
The climate here was quite different from that on the mountains; not a
drop of rain having fallen for four months; so I made arrangements to
stay on the beach a week, in order to secure a good number of specimens.
We went partly by boat and partly through the forest, accompanied by the
Major or head-man of Licoupang, with a dozen natives and about twenty
dogs. On the way they caught a young Sapi-utan and five wild pigs. Of
the former I preserved the head. This animal is entirely confined to the
remote mountain forests of Celebes and one or two adjacent islands which
form part of the same group. In the adults the head is black, with a
white mark over each eye, one on each cheek and another on the throat.
The horns are very smooth and sharp when young, but become thicker and
ridged at the bottom with age. Most naturalists consider this curious
animal to be a small ox, but from the character of the horns, the fine
coat of hair and the descending dewlap, it seemed closely to approach
the antelopes.

Arrived at our destination, we built a but and prepared for a stay of
some days--I to shoot and skin "Maleos", and Mr. Goldmann and the Major
to hunt wild pigs, Babirusa, and Sapi-utan. The place is situated in the
large bay between the islands of Limbe and Banca, and consists of
steep beach more than a mile in length, of deep loose and coarse black
volcanic sand (or rather gravel), very fatiguing to walk over. It is
bounded at each extremity by a small river with hilly ground beyond,
while the forest behind the beach itself is tolerably level and its
growth stunted. We probably have here an ancient lava stream from the
Klabat volcano, which has flowed down a valley into the sea, and the
decomposition of which has formed the loose black sand. In confirmation
of this view, it may be mentioned that the beaches beyond the small
rivers in both directions are of white sand.

It is in this loose, hot, black sand that those singular birds, the
"Maleos" deposit their eggs. In the months of August and September, when
there is little or no rain, they come down in pairs from the interior to
this or to one or two other favourite spots, and scratch holes three or
four feet deep, just above high-water mark, where the female deposits a
single large egg, which she covers over with about a foot of sand--and
then returns to the forest. At the end of ten or twelve days she comes
again to the same spot to lay another egg, and each female bird is
supposed to lay six or eight eggs during the season. The male assists
the female in making the hole, coming down and returning with her. The
appearance of the bird when walking on the beach is very handsome.
The glossy black and rosy white of the plumage, the helmeted head and
elevated tail, like that of the common fowl, give a striking character,
which their stately and somewhat sedate walk renders still more
remarkable. There is hardly any difference between the sexes, except
that the casque or bonnet at the back of the head and the tubercles at
the nostrils are a little larger, and the beautiful rosy salmon colour a
little deeper in the male bird; but the difference is so slight that it
is not always possible to tell a male from a female without dissection.
They run quickly, but when shot at or suddenly disturbed, take wing with
a heavy noisy flight to some neighbouring tree, where they settle on a
low branch; and, they probably roost at night in a similar situation.
Many birds lay in the same hole, for a dozen eggs are often found
together; and these are so large that it is not possible for the body of
the bird to contain more than one fully-developed egg at the same time.
In all the female birds which I shot, none of the eggs besides the one
large one exceeded the size of peas, and there were only eight or nine
of these, which is probably the extreme number a bird can lay in one
season.

Every year the natives come for fifty miles round to obtain these eggs,
which are esteemed as a great delicacy, and when quite fresh, are indeed
delicious. They are richer than hens' eggs and of a finer favour, and
each one completely fills an ordinary teacup, and forms with bread or
rice a very good meal. The colour of the shell is a pale brick red, or
very rarely pure white. They are elongate and very slightly smaller at
one end, from four to four and a half inches long by two and a quarter
or two and a half wide.

After the eggs are deposited in the sand, they are no further cared for
by the mother. The young birds, upon breaking the shell, work their way
up through the sand and run off at once to the forest; and I was assured
by Mr. Duivenboden of Ternate, that they can fly the very day they are
hatched. He had taken some eggs on board his schooner which hatched
during the night, and in the morning the little birds flew readily
across the cabin. Considering the great distances the birds come to
deposit the eggs in a proper situation (often ten or fifteen miles) it
seems extraordinary that they should take no further care of them. It
is, however, quite certain that they neither do nor can watch them. The
eggs being deposited by a number of hens in succession in the same hole,
would render it impossible for each to distinguish its own; and the food
necessary for such large birds (consisting entirely of fallen fruits)
can only be obtained by roaming over an extensive district, so that
if the numbers of birds which come down to this single beach in the
breeding season, amounting to many hundreds, were obliged to remain in
the vicinity, many would perish of hunger.

In the structure of the feet of this bird, we may detect a cause for
its departing from the habits of its nearest allies, the Megapodii and
Talegalli, which heap up earth, leaves, stones, and sticks into a huge
mound, in which they bury their eggs. The feet of the Maleo are not
nearly so large or strong in proportion as in these birds, while its
claws are short and straight instead of being long and much curved. The
toes are, however, strongly webbed at the base, forming a broad powerful
foot, which, with the rather long leg, is well adapted to scratch away
the loose sand (which flies up in a perfect shower when the birds are at
work), but which could not without much labour accumulate the heaps of
miscellaneous rubbish, which the large grasping feet of the Megapodius
bring together with ease.

We may also, I think, see in the peculiar organization of the entire
family of the Megapodidae or Brush Turkeys, a reason why they depart so
widely from the usual habits of the Class of birds. Each egg being so
large as entirely to fill up the abdominal cavity and with difficulty
pass the walls of the pelvis, a considerable interval is required before
the successive eggs can be matured (the natives say about thirteen
days). Each bird lays six or eight eggs or even more each season, so
that between the first and last there may be an interval of two or three
months. Now, if these eggs were hatched in the ordinary way, either the
parents must keep sitting continually for this long period, or if they
only began to sit after the last egg was deposited, the first would
be exposed to injury by the climate, or to destruction by the large
lizards, snakes, or other animals which abound in the district; because
such large birds must roam about a good deal in search of food. Here
then we seem to have a case in which the habits of a bird may be
directly traced to its exceptional organization; for it will hardly be
maintained that this abnormal structure and peculiar food were given
to the Megapodidae in order that they might not exhibit that parental
affection, or possess those domestic instincts so general in the Class
of birds, and which so much excite our admiration.

It has generally been the custom of writers on Natural History to take
the habits and instincts of animals as fixed points, and to consider
their structure and organization, as specially adapted, to be in
accordance with these. This assumption is however an arbitrary one, and
has the bad effect of stifling inquiry into the nature and causes
of "instincts and habits," treating them as directly due to a "first
cause," and therefore, incomprehensible to us. I believe that a careful
consideration of the structure of a species, and of the peculiar
physical and organic conditions by which it is surrounded, or has been
surrounded in past ages, will often, as in this case, throw much light
on the origin of its habits and instincts. These again, combined with
changes in external conditions, react upon structure, and by means of
"variation" and "natural selection", both are kept in harmony.

My friends remained three days, and got plenty of wild pigs and two
Anóas, but the latter were much injured by the dogs, and I could only
preserve the heads. A grand hunt which we attempted on the third day
failed, owing to bad management in driving in the game, and we waited
for five hours perched on platforms in trees without getting a shot,
although we had been assured that pigs, Babirusas, and Anóas would rush
past us in dozens. I myself, with two men, stayed three days longer to
get more specimens of the Maleos, and succeeded in preserving twenty-six
very fine ones--the flesh and eggs of which supplied us with abundance
of good food.

The Major sent a boat, as he had promised, to take home my baggage,
while I walked through the forest with my two boys and a guide, about
fourteen miles. For the first half of the distance there was no path,
and we had often to cut our way through tangled rattans or thickets of
bamboo. In some of our turnings to find the most practicable route,
I expressed my fear that we were losing our way, as the sun being
vertical, I could see no possible clue to the right direction. My
conductors, however, laughed at the idea, which they seemed to
consider quite ludicrous; and sure enough, about half way, we suddenly
encountered a little hut where people from Licoupang came to hunt and
smoke wild pigs. My guide told me he had never before traversed the
forest between these two points; and this is what is considered by some
travellers as one of the savage "instincts," whereas it is merely the
result of wide general knowledge. The man knew the topography of the
whole district; the slope of the land, the direction of the streams, the
belts of bamboo or rattan, and many other indications of locality and
direction; and he was thus enabled to hit straight upon the hut, in
the vicinity of which he had often hunted. In a forest of which he knew
nothing, he would be quite as much at a loss as a European. Thus it is,
I am convinced, with all the wonderful accounts of Indians finding their
way through trackless forests to definite points; they may never have
passed straight between the two particular points before, but they
are well acquainted with the vicinity of both, and have such a general
knowledge of the whole country, its water system, its soil and its
vegetation, that as they approach the point they are to reach, many
easily-recognised indications enable them to hit upon it with certainty.

The chief feature of this forest was the abundance of rattan palms
hanging from the trees, and turning and twisting about on the ground,
often in inextricable confusion. One wonders at first how they can get
into such queer shapes; but it is evidently caused by the decay and fall
of the trees up which they have first climbed, after which they grow
along the ground until they meet with another trunk up which to ascend.
A tangled mass of twisted living rattan, is therefore, a sign that at
some former period a large tree has fallen there, though there may be
not the slightest vestige of it left. The rattan seems to have unlimited
powers of growth, and a single plant may mount up several trees in
succession, and thus reach the enormous length they are said sometimes
to attain. They much improve the appearance of a forest as seen from the
coast; for they vary the otherwise monotonous tree-tops with feathery
crowns of leaves rising clear above them, and each terminated by an
erect leafy spike like a lightning-conductor.

The other most interesting object in the forest was a beautiful palm,
whose perfectly smooth and cylindrical stem rises erect to more than a
hundred feet high, with a thickness of only eight or ten inches; while
the fan-shaped leaves which compose its crown, are almost complete
circles of six or eight feet diameter, borne aloft on long and slender
petioles, and beautifully toothed round the edge by the extremities
of the leaflets, which are separated only for a few inches from the
circumference. It is probably the Livistona rotundifolia of botanists,
and is the most complete and beautiful fan-leaf I have ever seen,
serving admirably for folding into water-buckets and impromptu baskets,
as well as for thatching and other purposes.

A few days afterwards I returned to Menado on horse-back, sending my
baggage around by sea; and had just time to pack up all my collections
to go by the next mail steamer to Amboyna. I will now devote a few pages
to an account of the chief peculiarities of the Zoology of Celebes, and
its relation to that of the surrounding countries.



CHAPTER XVIII. NATURAL HISTORY OF CELEBES.

THE position of Celebes is the most central in the Archipelago.
Immediately to the north are the Philippine islands; on the west is
Borneo; on the east are the Molucca islands; and on the south is the
Timor group--and it is on all sides so connected with these islands by
its own satellites, by small islets, and by coral reefs, that neither by
inspection on the map nor by actual observation around its coast, is it
possible to determine accurately which should be grouped with it, and
which with the surrounding districts. Such being the case, we should
naturally expect to find that the productions of this central island
in some degree represented the richness and variety of the whole
Archipelago, while we should not expect much individuality in a country,
so situated, that it would seem as if it were pre-eminently fitted to
receive stragglers and immigrants from all around.

As so often happens in nature, however, the fact turns out to be just
the reverse of what we should have expected; and an examination of its
animal productions shows Celebes to be at once the poorest in the
number of its species, and the most isolated in the character of its
productions, of all the great islands in the Archipelago. With its
attendant islets it spreads over an extent of sea hardly inferior in
length and breadth to that occupied by Borneo, while its actual land
area is nearly double that of Java; yet its Mammalia and terrestrial
birds number scarcely more than half the species found in the last-named
island. Its position is such that it could receive immigrants from every
side more readily than Java, yet in proportion to the species which
inhabit it, far fewer seem derived from other islands, while far more
are altogether peculiar to it; and a considerable number of its animal
forms are so remarkable, as to find no close allies in any other part of
the world. I now propose to examine the best known groups of Celebesian
animals in some detail, to study their relations to those of other
islands, and to call attention to the many points of interest which they
suggest.

We know far more of the birds of Celebes than we do of any other group
of animals. No less than 191 species have been discovered, and though
no doubt, many more wading and swimming birds have to be added; yet the
list of land birds, 144 in number, and which for our present purpose
are much the most important, must be very nearly complete. I myself
assiduously collected birds in Celebes for nearly ten months, and my
assistant, Mr. Allen, spent two months in the Sula islands. The Dutch
naturalist Forsten spent two years in Northern Celebes (twenty years
before my visit), and collections of birds had also been sent to Holland
from Macassar. The French ship of discovery, L'Astrolabe, also touched
at Menado and procured collections. Since my return home, the Dutch
naturalists Rosenberg and Bernstein have made extensive collections
both in North Celebes and in the Sula islands; yet all their researches
combined have only added eight species of land birds to those forming
part of my own collection--a fact which renders it almost certain that
there are very few more to discover.

Besides Salayer and Boutong on the south, with Peling and Bungay on the
east, the three islands of the Sula (or Zula) Archipelago also belong
zoologically to Celebes, although their position is such that it would
seem more natural to group them with the Moluccas. About 48 land birds
are now known from the Sula group, and if we reject from these, five
species which have a wide range over the Archipelago, the remainder are
much more characteristic of Celebes than of the Moluccas. Thirty-one
species are identical with those of the former island, and four are
representatives of Celebes forms, while only eleven are Moluccan
species, and two more representatives.

But although the Sula islands belong to Celebes, they are so close to
Bouru and the southern islands of the Gilolo group, that several purely
Moluccan forms have migrated there, which are quite unknown to the
island of Celebes itself; the whole thirteen Moluccan species being
in this category, thus adding to the productions of Celebes a
foreign element which does not really belong to it. In studying the
peculiarities of the Celebesian fauna, it will therefore be well to
consider only the productions of the main island.

The number of land birds in the island of Celebes is 128, and from these
we may, as before, strike out a small number of species which roam
over the whole Archipelago (often from India to the Pacific), and
which therefore only serve to disguise the peculiarities of individual
islands. These are 20 in number, and leave 108 species which we may
consider as more especially characteristic of the island. On accurately
comparing these with the birds of all the surrounding countries, we find
that only nine extend into the islands westward, and nineteen into the
islands eastward, while no less than 80 are entirely confined to the
Celebesian fauna--a degree of individuality which, considering the
situation of the island, is hardly to be equalled in any other part of
the world. If we still more closely examine these 80 species, we shall
be struck by the many peculiarities of structure they present, and by
the curious affinities with distant parts of the world which many
of them seem to indicate. These points are of so much interest and
importance that it will be necessary to pass in review all those species
which are peculiar to the island, and to call attention to whatever is
most worthy of remark.

Six species of the Hawk tribe are peculiar to Celebes; three of these
are very distinct from allied birds which range over all India to Java
and Borneo, and which thus seem to be suddenly changed on entering
Celebes. Another (Accipiter trinotatus) is a beautiful hawk, with
elegant rows of large round white spots on the tail, rendering it very
conspicuous and quite different from any other known bird of the family.
Three owls are also peculiar; and one, a barn owl (Strix rosenbergii),
is very much larger and stronger than its ally Strix javanica, which
ranges from India through all the islands as far as Lombock.

Of the ten Parrots found in Celebes, eight are peculiar. Among them are
two species of the singular racquet-tailed parrots forming the genus
Prioniturus, and which are characterised by possessing two long
spoon-shaped feathers in the tail. Two allied species are found in the
adjacent island of Mindanao, one of the Philippines, and this form of
tail is found in no other parrots in the whole world. A small species of
Lorikeet (Trichoglossus flavoviridis) seems to have its nearest ally in
Australia.

The three Woodpeckers which inhabit the island are all peculiar, and are
allied to species found in Java and Borneo, although very different from
them all.

Among the three peculiar Cuckoos, two are very remarkable. Phoenicophaus
callirhynchus is the largest and handsomest species of its genus, and is
distinguished by the three colours of its beak, bright yellow, red, and
black. Eudynamis melanorynchus differs from all its allies in having a
jet-black bill, whereas the other species of the genus always have it
green, yellow, or reddish.

The Celebes Roller (Coracias temmincki) is an interesting example of
one species of a genus being cut off from the rest. There are species of
Coracias in Europe, Asia, and Africa, but none in the Malay peninsula,
Sumatra, Java, or Borneo. The present species seems therefore quite out
of place; and what is still more curious is the fact that it is not at
all like any of the Asiatic species, but seems more to resemble those of
Africa.

In the next family, the Bee-eaters, is another equally isolated bird,
Meropogon forsteni, which combines the characters of African and Indian
Bee-eaters, and whose only near ally, Meropogon breweri, was discovered
by M. Du Chaillu in West Africa!

The two Celebes Hornbills have no close allies in those which abound in
the surrounding countries. The only Thrush, Geocichla erythronota,
is most nearly allied to a species peculiar to Timor. Two of the
Flycatchers are closely allied to Indian species, which are not found
in the Malay islands. Two genera somewhat allied to the Magpies
(Streptocitta and Charitornis), but whose affinities are so doubtful
that Professor Schlegel places them among the Starlings, are entirely
confined to Celebes. They are beautiful long-tailed birds, with black
and white plumage, and with the feathers of the head somewhat rigid and
scale-like.

Doubtfully allied to the Starlings are two other very isolated and
beautiful birds. One, Enodes erythrophrys, has ashy and yellow plumage,
but is ornamented with broad stripes of orange-red above the eyes. The
other, Basilornis celebensis, is a blue-black bird with a white patch
on each side of the breast, and the head ornamented with a beautiful
compressed scaly crest of feathers, resembling in form that of the
well-known Cock-of-the-rock of South America. The only ally to this bird
is found in Ceram, and has the feathers of the crest elongated upwards
into quite a different form.

A still more curious bird is the Scissirostrum pagei, which although
it is at present classed in the Starling family, differs from all other
species in the form of the bill and nostrils, and seems most nearly
allied in its general structure to the Ox-peckers (Buphaga) of tropical
Africa, next to which the celebrated ornithologist Prince Bonaparte
finally placed it. It is almost entirely of a slatey colour, with yellow
bill and feet, but the feathers of the rump and upper tail-coverts each
terminate in a rigid, glossy pencil or tuft of a vivid crimson. These
pretty little birds take the place of the metallic-green starlings
of the genus Calornis, which are found in most other islands of the
Archipelago, but which are absent from Celebes. They go in flocks,
feeding upon grain and fruits, often frequenting dead trees, in holes of
which they build their nests; and they cling to the trunks as easily as
woodpeckers or creepers.

Out of eighteen Pigeons found in Celebes, eleven are peculiar to it. Two
of them, Ptilonopus gularis and Turacaena menadensis, have their
nearest allies in Timor. Two others, Carpophaga forsteni and Phlaegenas
tristigmata, most resemble Philippine island species; and Carpophaga
radiata belongs to a New Guinea group. Lastly, in the Gallinaceous
tribe, the curious helmeted Maleo (Megacephalon rubripes) is quite
isolated, having its nearest (but still distant) allies in the
Brush-turkeys of Australia and New Guinea.

Judging, therefore, by the opinions of the eminent naturalists who have
described and classified its birds, we find that many of the species
have no near allies whatsoever in the countries which surround Celebes,
but are either quite isolated, or indicate relations with such distant
regions as New Guinea, Australia, India, or Africa. Other cases of
similar remote affinities between the productions of distant countries
no doubt exist, but in no spot upon the globe that I am yet acquainted
with, do so many of them occur together, or do they form so decided a
feature in the natural history of the country.

The Mammalia of Celebes are very few in number, consisting of fourteen
terrestrial species and seven bats. Of the former no less than eleven
are peculiar, including two which there is reason to believe may have
been recently carried into other islands by man. Three species which
have a tolerably wide range in the Archipelago, are: (1) The curious
Lemur, Tarsius spectrum, which is found in all the islands as far
westward as Malacca; (2) the common Malay Civet, Viverra tangalunga,
which has a still wider range; and (3) a Deer, which seems to be the
same as the Rusa hippelaphus of Java, and was probably introduced by man
at an early period.

The more characteristic species are as follow:

Cynopithecus nigrescens, a curious baboon-like monkey if not a true
baboon, which abounds all over Celebes, and is found nowhere else but
in the one small island of Batchian, into which it has probably been
introduced accidentally. An allied species is found in the Philippines,
but in no other island of the Archipelago is there anything resembling
them. These creatures are about the size of a spaniel, of a jet-black
colour, and have the projecting dog-like muzzle and overhanging brows
of the baboons. They have large red callosities and a short fleshy tail,
scarcely an inch long and hardly visible. They go in large bands, living
chiefly in the trees, but often descending on the ground and robbing
gardens and orchards.

Anoa depressicornis, the Sapi-utan, or wild cow of the Malays, is an
animal which has been the cause of much controversy, as to whether it
should be classed as ox, buffalo, or antelope. It is smaller than any
other wild cattle, and in many respects seems to approach some of the
ox-like antelopes of Africa. It is found only in the mountains, and
is said never to inhabit places where there are deer. It is somewhat
smaller than a small Highland cow, and has long straight horns, which
are ringed at the base and slope backwards over the neck.

The wild pig seems to be of a species peculiar to the island; but a much
more curious animal of this family is the Babirusa or Pig-deer; so
named by the Malays from its long and slender legs, and curved tusks
resembling horns. This extraordinary creature resembles a pig in general
appearance, but it does not dig with its snout, as it feeds on fallen
fruits. The tusks of the lower jaw are very long and sharp, but the
upper ones instead of growing downwards in the usual way are completely
reversed, growing upwards out of bony sockets through the skin on
each side of the snout, curving backwards to near the eyes, and in old
animals often reaching eight or ten inches in length. It is difficult to
understand what can be the use of these extraordinary horn-like teeth.
Some of the old writers supposed that they served as hooks, by which
the creature could rest its head on a branch. But the way in which they
usually diverge just over and in front of the eye has suggested the more
probable idea, that they serve to guard these organs from thorns and
spines, while hunting for fallen fruits among the tangled thickets of
rattans and other spiny plants. Even this, however, is not satisfactory,
for the female, who must seek her food in the same way, does not possess
them. I should be inclined to believe rather, that these tusks were once
useful, and were then worn down as fast as they grew; but that changed
conditions of life have rendered them unnecessary, and they now develop
into a monstrous form, just as the incisors of the Beaver or Rabbit
will go on growing, if the opposite teeth do not wear them away. In old
animals they reach an enormous size, and are generally broken off as if
by fighting.

Here again we have a resemblance to the Wart-hogs of Africa, whose upper
canines grow outwards and curve up so as to form a transition from the
usual mode of growth to that of the Babirusa. In other respects there
seems no affinity between these animals, and the Babirusa stands
completely isolated, having no resemblance to the pigs of any other part
of the world. It is found all over Celebes and in the Sula islands,
and also in Bourn, the only spot beyond the Celebes group to which it
extends; and which island also shows some affinity to the Sula islands
in its birds, indicating perhaps, a closer connection between them at
some former period than now exists.

The other terrestrial mammals of Celebes are five species of squirrels,
which are all distinct from those of Java and Borneo, and mark the
furthest eastward range of the genus in the tropics; and two of Eastern
opossums (Cuscus), which are different from those of the Moluccas, and
mark the furthest westward extension of this genus and of the Marsupial
order. Thus we see that the Mammalia of Celebes are no less individual
and remarkable than the birds, since three of the largest and most
interesting species have no near allies in surrounding countries, but
seem vaguely to indicate a relation to the African continent.

Many groups of insects appear to be especially subject to local
influences, their forms and colours changing with each change of
conditions, or even with a change of locality where the conditions seem
almost identical. We should therefore anticipate that the individuality
manifested in the higher animals would be still more prominent in these
creatures with less stable organisms. On the other hand, however, we
have to consider that the dispersion and migration of insects is much
more easily effected than that of mammals or even of birds. They are
much more likely to be carried away by violent winds; their eggs may
be carried on leaves either by storms of wind or by floating trees, and
their larvae and pupae, often buried in trunks of trees or enclosed in
waterproof cocoons, may be floated for days or weeks uninjured over
the ocean. These facilities of distribution tend to assimilate the
productions of adjacent lands in two ways: first, by direct mutual
interchange of species; and secondly, by repeated immigrations of
fresh individuals of a species common to other islands, which by
intercrossing, tend to obliterate the changes of form and colour, which
differences of conditions might otherwise produce. Bearing these facts
in mind, we shall find that the individuality of the insects of Celebes
is even greater than we have any reason to expect.

For the purpose of insuring accuracy in comparisons with other islands,
I shall confine myself to those groups which are best known, or which
I have myself carefully studied. Beginning with the Papilionidae or
Swallow-tailed butterflies, Celebes possesses 24 species, of which the
large number of 18 are not found in any other island. If we compare this
with Borneo, which out of 29 species has only two not found elsewhere,
the difference is as striking as anything can be. In the family of the
Pieridae, or white butterflies, the difference is not quite so great,
owing perhaps to the more wandering habits of the group; but it is still
very remarkable. Out of 30 species inhabiting Celebes, 19 are peculiar,
while Java (from which more species are known than from Sumatra or
Borneo), out of 37 species, has only 13 peculiar. The Danaidae are
large, but weak-flying butterflies, which frequent forests and gardens,
and are plainly but often very richly coloured. Of these my own
collection contains 16 species from Celebes and 15 from Borneo; but
whereas no less than 14 are confined to the former island, only two are
peculiar to the latter. The Nymphalidae are a very extensive group,
of generally strong-winged and very bright-coloured butterflies, very
abundant in the tropics, and represented in our own country by our
Fritillaries, our Vanessas, and our Purple-emperor. Some months ago I
drew up a list of the Eastern species of this group, including all the
new ones discovered by myself, and arrived at the following comparative
results:--


                Species of  Species peculiar to      Percentage
               Nymphalidae.    each island.     of peculiar Species.

     Java.....     70......           23..........        33
     Borneo....    52......           15..........        29
     Celebes ...   48......           35..........        73

The Coleoptera are so extensive that few of the groups have yet been
carefully worked out. I will therefore refer to one only, which I have
myself recently studied--the Cetoniadae or Rose-chafers--a group of
beetles which, owing to their extreme beauty, have been much sought
after. From Java 37 species of these insects are known, and from Celebes
only 30; yet only 13, or 35 percent, are peculiar to the former island,
and 19, or 63 percent, to the latter.

The result of these comparisons is, that although Celebes is a single,
large island with only a few smaller ones closely grouped around it,
we must really consider it as forming one of the great divisions of the
Archipelago, equal in rank and importance to the whole of the Moluccan
or Philippine groups, to the Papuan islands, or to the Indo-Malay
islands (Java, Sumatra, Borneo, and the Malay peninsula). Taking those
families of insects and birds which are best known, the following table
shows the comparison of Celebes with the other groups of islands:--


                        PAPILIONIDAE AND    HAWKS, PARROTS, AND
                            PERIDAE               PIGEONS.
                       Percent of peculiar   Percent of peculiar
                            Species.              Species.
     Indo-Malay region....     56..........         54
     Philippine group ....     66..........         73
     Celebes.........          69..........         60
     Moluccan group .....      52..........         62
     Timor group.......        42..........         47
     Papuan group ......       64..........         74

These large and well-known families well represent the general character
of the zoology of Celebes; and they show that this island is really one
of the most isolated portions of the Archipelago, although situated in
its very centre.

But the insects of Celebes present us with other phenomena more curious
and more difficult to explain than their striking individuality.
The butterflies of that island are in many cases characterised by a
peculiarity of outline, which distinguishes them at a glance from those
of any other part of the world. It is most strongly manifested in the
Papilios and the Pieridae, and consists in the forewings being either
strongly curved or abruptly bent near the base, or in the extremity
being elongated and often somewhat hooked. Out of the 14 species of
Papilio in Celebes, 13 exhibit this peculiarity in a greater or less
degree, when compared with the most nearly allied species of the
surrounding islands. Ten species of Pieridae have the same character,
and in four or five of the Nymphalidae it is also very distinctly
marked. In almost every case, the species found in Celebes are much
larger than those of the islands westward, and at least equal to those
of the Moluccas, or even larger. The difference of form is, however, the
most remarkable feature, as it is altogether a new thing for a whole
set of species in one country to differ in exactly the same way from the
corresponding sets in all the surrounding countries; and it is so well
marked, that without looking at the details of colouring, most Celebes
Papilios and many Pieridae, can be at once distinguished from those of
other islands by their form alone.

The outside figure of each pair here given, shows the exact size and
form of the fore-wing in a butterfly of Celebes, while the inner one
represents the most closely allied species from one of the adjacent
islands. Figure 1 shows the strongly curved margin of the Celebes
species, Papilio gigon, compared with the much straighter margin of
Papilio demolion from Singapore and Java. Figure 2 shows the abrupt bend
over the base of the wing in Papilio miletus of Celebes, compared with
the slight curvature in the common Papilio sarpedon, which has almost
exactly the same form from India to New Guinea and Australia. Figure
3 shows the elongated wing of Tachyris zarinda, a native of Celebes,
compared with the much shorter wing of Tachyris nero, a very closely
allied species found in all the western islands. The difference of form
is in each case sufficiently obvious, but when the insects themselves
are compared, it is much more striking than in these partial outlines.

From the analogy of birds, we should suppose that the pointed wing
gave increased rapidity of flight, since it is a character of terns,
swallows, falcons, and of the swift-flying pigeons. A short and rounded
wing, on the other hand, always accompanies a more feeble or more
laborious flight, and one much less under command. We might suppose,
therefore, that the butterflies which possess this peculiar form were
better able to escape pursuit. But there seems no unusual abundance of
insectivorous birds to render this necessary; and as we cannot believe
that such a curious peculiarity is without meaning, it seems probable
that it is the result of a former condition of things, when the island
possessed a much richer fauna, the relics of which we see in the
isolated birds and Mammalia now inhabiting it; and when the abundance
of insectivorous creatures rendered some unusual means of escape
a necessity for the large-winged and showy butterflies. It is some
confirmation of this view, that neither the very small nor the very
obscurely coloured groups of butterflies have elongated wings, nor is
any modification perceptible in those strong-winged groups which already
possess great strength and rapidity of flight. These were already
sufficiently protected from their enemies, and did not require increased
power of escaping from them. It is not at all clear what effect the
peculiar curvature of the wings has in modifying flight.

Another curious feature in the zoology of Celebes is also worthy of
attention. I allude to the absence of several groups which are found on
both sides of it, in the Indo-Malay islands as well as in the Moluccas;
and which thus seem to be unable, from some unknown cause, to obtain a
footing in the intervening island. In Birds we have the two families of
Podargidae and Laniadae, which range over the whole Archipelago and into
Australia, and which yet have no representative in Celebes. The genera
Ceyx among Kingfishers, Criniger among Thrushes, Rhipidura among
Flycatchers, Calornis among Starlings, and Erythrura among Finches,
are all found in the Moluccas as well as in Borneo and Java--but not a
single species belonging to any one of them is found in Celebes. Among
insects, the large genus of Rose-chafers, Lomaptera, is found in every
country and island between India and New Guinea, except Celebes. This
unexpected absence of many groups, from one limited district in the very
centre of their area of distribution, is a phenomenon not altogether
unique, but, I believe, nowhere so well marked as in this case; and it
certainly adds considerably to the strange character of this remarkable
island.

The anomalies and eccentricities in the natural history of Celebes which
I have endeavoured to sketch in this CHAPTER, all point to an origin in
a remote antiquity. The history of extinct animals teaches us that their
distribution in time and in space are strikingly similar. The rule is,
that just as the productions of adjacent areas usually resemble each
other closely, so do the productions of successive periods in the same
area; and as the productions of remote areas generally differ widely, so
do the productions of the same area at remote epochs. We are therefore
led irresistibly to the conclusion, that change of species, still more
of generic and of family form, is a matter of time. But time may have
led to a change of species in one country, while in another the forms
have been more permanent, or the change may have gone on at an equal
rate but in a different manner in both. In either case, the amount of
individuality in the productions of a district will be to some extent
a measure of the time that a district has been isolated from those that
surround it. Judged by this standard, Celebes must be one of the oldest
parts of the Archipelago. It probably dates from a period not only
anterior to that when Borneo, Java, and Sumatra were separated from the
continent, but from that still more remote epoch when the land that now
constitutes these islands had not risen above the ocean.

Such an antiquity is necessary, to account for the number of animal
forms it possesses, which show no relation to those of India or
Australia, but rather with those of Africa; and we are led to speculate
on the possibility of there having once existed a continent in the
Indian Ocean which might serve as a bridge to connect these distant
countries. Now it is a curious fact, that the existence of such a land
has been already thought necessary, to account for the distribution
of the curious Quadrumana forming the family of the Lemurs. These have
their metropolis in Madagascar, but are found also in Africa, in Ceylon,
in the peninsula of India, and in the Malay Archipelago as far as
Celebes, which is its furthest eastern limit. Dr. Sclater has proposed
for the hypothetical continent connecting these distant points, and
whose former existence is indicated by the Mascarene islands and the
Maldive coral group, the name of Lemuria. Whether or not we believe
in its existence in the exact form here indicated, the student of
geographical distribution must see in the extraordinary and isolated
productions of Celebes, proof of the former existence of some continent
from whence the ancestors of these creatures, and of many other
intermediate forms, could have been derived.

In this short sketch of the most striking peculiarities of the Natural
History of Celebes, I have been obliged to enter much into details that
I fear will have been uninteresting to the general reader, but unless I
had done so, my exposition would have lost much of its force and value.
It is by these details alone that I have been able to prove the unusual
features that Celebes presents to us. Situated in the very midst of an
Archipelago, and closely hemmed in on every side by islands teeming with
varied forms of life, its productions have yet a surprising amount of
individuality. While it is poor in the actual number of its species, it
is yet wonderfully rich in peculiar forms, many of which are singular
or beautiful, and are in some cases absolutely unique upon the globe. We
behold here the curious phenomenon of groups of insects changing their
outline in a similar manner when compared with those of surrounding
islands, suggesting some common cause which never seems to have acted
elsewhere in exactly the same way. Celebes, therefore, presents us with
a most striking example of the interest that attaches to the study of
the geographical distribution of animals. We can see that their present
distribution upon the globe is the result of all the more recent changes
the earth's surface has undergone; and, by a careful study of the
phenomena, we are sometimes able to deduce approximately what those past
changes must have been in order to produce the distribution we find to
exist. In the comparatively simple case of the Timor group, we were able
to deduce these changes with some approach to certainty. In the much
more complicated case of Celebes, we can only indicate their general
nature, since we now see the result, not of any single or recent change
only, but of a whole series of the later revolutions which have resulted
in the present distribution of land in the Eastern Hemisphere.



CHAPTER XIX. BANDA.

 (DECEMBER 1857, MAY 1859, APRIL 1861.)

THE Dutch mail steamer in which I travelled from Macassar to Banda and
Amboyna was a roomy and comfortable vessel, although it would only
go six miles an hour in the finest weather. As there were but three
passengers besides myself, we had abundance of room, and I was able to
enjoy a voyage more than I had ever done before. The arrangements are
somewhat different from those on board English or Indian steamers. There
are no cabin servants, as every cabin passenger invariably brings his
own, and the ship's stewards attend only to the saloon and the eating
department. At six A.M. a cup of tea or coffee is provided for those
who like it. At seven to eight there is a light breakfast of tea, eggs,
sardines, etc. At ten, Madeira, Gin and bitters are brought on deck as a
whet for the substantial eleven o'clock breakfast, which differs from a
dinner only in the absence of soup. Cups of tea and coffee are brought
around at three P.M.; bitters, etc. again at five, a good dinner with
beer and claret at half-past six, concluded by tea and coffee at eight.
Between whiles, beer and sodawater are supplied when called for, so
there is no lack of little gastronomical excitements to while away the
tedium of a sea voyage.

Our first stopping place was Coupang, at the west end of the large
island of Timor. We then coasted along that island for several hundred
miles, having always a view of hilly ranges covered with scanty
vegetation, rising ridge behind ridge to the height of six or seven
thousand feet. Turning off towards Banda we passed Pulo-Cambing, Wetter,
and Roma, all of which are desolate and barren volcanic islands, almost
as uninviting as Aden, and offering a strange contrast to the usual
verdure and luxuriance of the Archipelago. In two days more we reached
the volcanic group of Banda, covered with an unusually dense and
brilliant green vegetation, indicating that we had passed beyond the
range of the hot dry winds from the plains of Central Australia. Banda
is a lovely little spot, its three islands enclosing a secure harbour
from whence no outlet is visible, and with water so transparent, that
living corals and even the minutest objects are plainly seen on the
volcanic sand at a depth of seven or eight fathoms. The ever smoking
volcano rears its bare cone on one side, while the two larger islands
are clothed with vegetation to the summit of the hills.

Going on shore, I walked up a pretty path which leads to the highest
point of the island on which the town is situated, where there is a
telegraph station and a magnificent view. Below lies the little town,
with its neat red-tiled white houses and the thatched cottages of the
natives, bounded on one side by the old Portuguese fort. Beyond, about
half a mile distant, lies the larger island in the shape of a horseshoe,
formed of a range of abrupt hills covered with fine forest and nutmeg
gardens; while close opposite the town is the volcano, forming a nearly
perfect cone, the lower part only covered with a light green bushy
vegetation. On its north side the outline is more uneven, and there is
a slight hollow or chasm about one-fifth of the way down, from which
constantly issue two columns of smoke, as well as a good deal from the
rugged surface around and from some spots nearer the summit. A white
efflorescence, probably sulphur, is thickly spread over the upper part
of the mountain, marked by the narrow black vertical lines of water
gullies. The smoke unites as it rises, and forms a dense cloud, which in
calm, damp weather spreads out into a wide canopy hiding the top of the
mountain. At night and early morning, it often rises up straight and
leaves the whole outline clear.

It is only when actually gazing on an active volcano that one can fully
realize its awfulness and grandeur. Whence comes that inexhaustible
fire whose dense and sulphurous smoke forever issues from this bare and
desolate peak? Whence the mighty forces that produced that peak, and
still from time to time exhibit themselves in the earthquakes that
always occur in the vicinity of volcanic vents? The knowledge from
childhood of the fact that volcanoes and earthquakes exist, has taken
away somewhat of the strange and exceptional character that really
belongs to them. The inhabitant of most parts of northern Europe sees in
the earth the emblem of stability and repose. His whole life-experience,
and that of all his age and generation, teaches him that the earth is
solid and firm, that its massive rocks may contain water in abundance,
but never fire; and these essential characteristics of the earth are
manifest in every mountain his country contains. A volcano is a fact
opposed to all this mass of experience, a fact of so awful a character
that, if it were the rule instead of the exception, it would make the
earth uninhabitable a fact so strange and unaccountable that we may be
sure it would not be believed on any human testimony, if presented to us
now for the first time, as a natural phenomenon happening in a distant
country.

The summit of the small island is composed of a highly crystalline
basalt; lower down I found a hard, stratified slatey sandstone, while
on the beach are huge blocks of lava, and scattered masses of white
coralline limestone. The larger island has coral rock to a height of
three or four hundred feet, while above is lava and basalt. It seems
probable, therefore, that this little group of four islands is the
fragment of a larger district which was perhaps once connected with
Ceram, but which was separated and broken up by the same forces which
formed the volcanic cone. When I visited the larger island on another
occasion, I saw a considerable tract covered with large forest
trees--dead, but still standing. This was a record of the last great
earthquake only two years ago, when the sea broke in over this part of
the island and so flooded it as to destroy the vegetation on all
the lowlands. Almost every year there is an earthquake here, and at
intervals of a few years, very severe ones which throw down houses and
carry ships out of the harbour bodily into the streets.

Notwithstanding the losses incurred by these terrific visitations, and
the small size and isolated position of these little islands, they have
been and still are of considerable value to the Dutch Government, as the
chief nutmeg-garden in the world. Almost the whole surface is planted
with nutmegs, grown under the shade of lofty Kanary trees (Kanarium
commune). The light volcanic soil, the shade, and the excessive moisture
of these islands, where it rains more or less every month in the year,
seem exactly to suit the nutmeg-tree, which requires no manure and
scarcely any attention. All the year round flowers and ripe fruit are
to be found, and none of those diseases occur which under a forced
and unnatural system of cultivation have ruined the nutmeg planters of
Singapore and Penang.

Few cultivated plants are more beautiful than nutmeg-trees. They are
handsomely shaped and glossy-leaved, growing to the height of twenty or
thirty feet, and bearing small yellowish flowers. The fruit is the
size and colour of a peach, but rather oval. It is of a tough fleshy
consistence, but when ripe splits open, and shows the dark-brown nut
within, covered with the crimson mace, and is then a most beautiful
object. Within the thin, hard shell of the nut is the seed, which is the
nutmeg of commerce. The nuts are eaten by the large pigeons of Banda,
which digest the mace, but cast up the nut with its seed uninjured.

The nutmeg trade has hitherto been a strict monopoly of the Dutch
Government; but since leaving the country I believe that this monopoly
has been partially or wholly discontinued, a proceeding which appears
exceedingly injudicious and quite unnecessary. There are cases in which
monopolies are perfectly justifiable, and I believe this to be one of
them. A small country like Holland cannot afford to keep distant and
expensive colonies at a loss; and having possession of a very small
island where a valuable product, not a necessity of life, can be
obtained at little cost, it is almost the duty of the state to
monopolise it. No injury is done thereby to anyone, but a great benefit
is conferred upon the whole population of Holland and its dependencies,
since the produce of the state monopolies saves them from the weight of
a heavy taxation. Had the Government not kept the nutmeg trade of Banda
in its own hands, it is probable that the whole of the islands would
long ago have become the property of one or more large capitalists. The
monopoly would have been almost the same, since no known spot on the
globe can produce nutmegs so cheaply as Banda, but the profits of the
monopoly would have gone to a few individuals instead of to the nation.

As an illustration of how a state monopoly may become a state duty, let
us suppose that no gold existed in Australia, but that it had been
found in immense quantities by one of our ships in some small and barren
island. In this case it would plainly become the duty of the state to
keep and work the mines for the public benefit, since by doing so, the
gain would be fairly divided among the whole population by decrease of
taxation; whereas by leaving it open to free trade while merely keeping
the government of the island; we should certainly produce enormous evils
during the first struggle for the precious metal, and should ultimately
subside into the monopoly of some wealthy individual or great company,
whose enormous revenue would not equally benefit the community. The
nutmegs of Banda and the tin of Banca are to some extent parallel cases
to this supposititious one, and I believe the Dutch Government will act
most unwisely if they give up their monopoly.

Even the destruction of the nutmeg and clove trees in many islands, in
order to restrict their cultivation to one or two where the monopoly
could be easily guarded, usually made the theme of so much virtuous
indignation against the Dutch, may be defended on similar principles,
and is certainly not nearly so bad as many monopolies we ourselves have
until very recently maintained. Nutmegs and cloves are not necessaries
of life; they are not even used as spices by the natives of the
Moluccas, and no one was materially or permanently injured by the
destruction of the trees, since there are a hundred other products
that can be grown in the same islands, equally valuable and far more
beneficial in a social point of view. It is a case exactly parallel
to our prohibition of the growth of tobacco in England, for fiscal
purposes, and is, morally and economically, neither better nor worse.
The salt monopoly which we so long maintained in India was in much
worse. As long as we keep up a system of excise and customs on articles
of daily use, which requires an elaborate array of officers and
coastguards to carry into effect, and which creates a number of purely
legal crimes, it is the height of absurdity for us to affect indignation
at the conduct of the Dutch, who carried out a much more justifiable,
less hurtful, and more profitable system in their Eastern possessions.

I challenge objectors to point out any physical or moral evils that
have actually resulted from the action of the Dutch Government in this
matter; whereas such evils are the admitted results of every one of our
monopolies and restrictions. The conditions of the two experiments are
totally different. The true "political economy" of a higher race, when
governing a lower race, has never yet been worked out. The application
of our "political economy" to such cases invariably results in the
extinction or degradation of the lower race; whence, we may consider
it probable that one of the necessary conditions of its truth is the
approximate mental and social unity of the society in which it is
applied. I shall again refer to this subject in my CHAPTER on Ternate,
one of the most celebrated of the old spice-islands.

The natives of Banda are very much mixed, and it is probable that at
least three-fourths of the population are mongrels, in various degrees
of Malay, Papuan, Arab, Portuguese, and Dutch. The first two form the
bases of the larger portion, and the dark skins, pronounced features,
and more or less frizzly hair of the Papuans preponderates. There seems
little doubt that the aborigines of Banda were Papuans, and a portion
of them still exists in the Ke islands, where they emigrated when the
Portuguese first took possession of their native island. It is such
people as these that are often looked upon as transitional forms between
two very distinct races, like the Malays and Papuans, whereas they are
only examples of intermixture.

The animal productions of Banda, though very few, are interesting. The
islands have perhaps no truly indigenous Mammalia but bats. The deer
of the Moluccas and the pig have probably been introduced. A species of
Cuscus or Eastern opossum is also found at Banda, and this may be truly
indigenous in the sense of not having been introduced by man. Of birds,
during my three visits of one or two days each, I collected eight kinds,
and the Dutch collectors have added a few others. The most remarkable is
a fine and very handsome fruit-pigeon, Carpophaga concinna, which feeds
upon the nutmegs, or rather on the mace, and whose loud booming note
is to be continually heard. This bird is found in the Ke and Matabello
islands as well as Banda, but not in Ceram or any of the larger islands,
which are inhabited by allied but very distinct species. A beautiful
small fruit-dove, Ptilonopus diadematus, is also peculiar to Banda.



CHAPTER XX. AMBOYNA.

 (DECEMBER 1857, OCTOBER 1859, FEBRUARY 1860.)

TWENTY hours from Banda brought us to Amboyna, the capital of the
Moluccas, and one of the oldest European settlements in the East. The
island consists of two peninsulas, so nearly divided by inlets of the
sea, as to leave only a sandy isthmus about a mile wide near their
eastern extremity. The western inlet is several miles long and forms
a fine harbour on the southern side of which is situated the town
of Amboyna. I had a letter of introduction to Dr. Mohnike, the chief
medical officer of the Moluccas, a German and a naturalist. I found
that he could write and read English, but could not speak it, being
like myself a bad linguist; so we had to use French as a medium of
communication. He kindly offered me a room during my stay in Amboyna,
and introduced me to his junior, Dr. Doleschall, a Hungarian and also an
entomologist. He was an intelligent and most amiable young man but I was
shocked to find that he was dying of consumption, though still able to
perform the duties of his office. In the evening my host took me to the
residence of the Governor, Mr. Goldmann, who received me in a most kind
and cordial manner, and offered me every assistance. The town of Amboyna
consists of a few business streets, and a number of roads set out at
right angles to each other, bordered by hedges of flowering shrubs, and
enclosing country houses and huts embossed in palms and fruit trees.
Hills and mountains form the background in almost every direction, and
there are few places more enjoyable for a morning or evening stroll than
these sandy roads and shady lanes in the suburbs of the ancient city of
Amboyna.

There are no active volcanoes in the island, nor is it now subject to
frequent earthquakes, although very severe ones have occurred and may be
expected again. Mr. William Funnell, in his voyage with Dampier to the
South Seas in 1705, says: "Whilst we were here, (at Amboyna) we had a
great earthquake, which continued two days, in which time it did a
great deal of mischief, for the ground burst open in many places, and
swallowed up several houses and whole families. Several of the people
were dug out again, but most of them dead, and many had their legs
or arms broken by the fall of the houses. The castle walls were rent
asunder in several places, and we thought that it and all the houses
would have fallen down. The ground where we were swelled like a wave
in the sea, but near us we had no hurt done." There are also numerous
records of eruptions of a volcano on the west side of the island.
In 1674 an eruption destroyed a village. In 1694 there was another
eruption. In 1797 much vapour and heat was emitted. Other eruptions
occurred in 1816 and 1820, and in 1824 a new crater is said to have been
formed. Yet so capricious is the action of these subterranean fires,
that since the last-named epoch all eruptive symptoms have so completely
ceased, that I was assured by many of the most intelligent European
inhabitants of Amboyna, that they had never heard of any such thing as a
volcano on the island.

During the few days that elapsed before I could make arrangements to
visit the interior, I enjoyed myself much in the society of the two
doctors, both amiable and well-educated men, and both enthusiastic
entomologists, though obliged to increase their collections almost
entirely by means of native collectors. Dr. Doleschall studied chiefly
the flies and spiders, but also collected butterflies and moths, and in
his boxes I saw grand specimens of the emerald Ornithoptera priamus and
the azure Papilio ulysses, with many more of the superb butterflies of
this rich island. Dr. Mohnike confined himself chiefly to the beetles,
and had formed a magnificent collection during many years residence in
Java, Sumatra, Borneo, Japan, and Amboyna. The Japanese collection was
especially interesting, containing both the fine Carabi of northern
countries, and the gorgeous Buprestidae and Longicorns of the tropics.
The doctor made the voyage to Jeddo by land from Nagasaki, and is well
acquainted with the character, manners, and customs of the people of
Japan, and with the geology, physical features, and natural history
of the country. He showed me collections of cheap woodcuts printed in
colours, which are sold at less than a farthing each, and comprise an
endless variety of sketches of Japanese scenery and manners. Though
rude, they are very characteristic, and often exhibit touches of great
humour. He also possesses a large collection of coloured sketches of the
plants of Japan, made by a Japanese lady, which are the most masterly
things I have ever seen. Every stem, twig, and leaf is produced by
single touches of the brush, the character and perspective of very
complicated plants being admirably given, and the articulations of stem
and leaves shown in a most scientific manner.

Having made arrangements to stay for three weeks at a small hut on a
newly cleared plantation in the interior of the northern half of the
island, I with some difficulty obtained a boat and men to take me
across the water--for the Amboynese are dreadfully lazy. Passing up the
harbour, in appearance like a fine river, the clearness of the water
afforded me one of the most astonishing and beautiful sights I have
ever beheld. The bottom was absolutely hidden by a continuous series of
corals, sponges, actiniae, and other marine productions of magnificent
dimensions, varied forms, and brilliant colours. The depth varied from
about twenty to fifty feet, and the bottom was very uneven, rocks and
chasms and little hills and valleys, offering a variety of stations for
the growth of these animal forests. In and out among them, moved numbers
of blue and red and yellow fishes, spotted and banded and striped in
the most striking manner, while great orange or rosy transparent medusae
floated along near the surface. It was a sight to gaze at for hours, and
no description can do justice to its surpassing beauty and interest. For
once, the reality exceeded the most glowing accounts I had ever read of
the wonders of a coral sea. There is perhaps no spot in the world richer
in marine productions, corals, shells and fishes, than the harbour of
Amboyna.

From the north side of the harbour, a good broad path passes through
swamp, clearing and forest, over hill and valley, to the farther side
of the island; the coralline rock constantly protruding through the deep
red earth which fills all the hollows, and is more or less spread over
the plains and hill-sides. The forest vegetation is here of the most
luxuriant character; ferns and palms abound, and the climbing rattans
were more abundant than I had ever seen them, forming tangled festoons
over almost every large forest tree. The cottage I was to occupy was
situated in a large clearing of about a hundred acres, part of which
was already planted with young cacao-trees and plantains to shade them,
while the rest was covered with dead and half-burned forest trees; and
on one side there was a tract where the trees had been recently felled
and were not yet burned. The path by which I had arrived continued along
one side of this clearing, and then again entering the virgin forest
passed over hill and dale to the northern aide of the island.

My abode was merely a little thatched hut, consisting of an open
verandah in front and a small dark sleeping room behind. It was raised
about five feet from the ground, and was reached by rude steps to the
centre of the verandah. The walls and floor were of bamboo, and it
contained a table, two bamboo chairs, and a couch. Here I soon made
myself comfortable, and set to work hunting for insects among the
more recently felled timber, which swarmed with fine Curculionidae,
Longicorns, and Buprestidae, most of them remarkable for their elegant
forms or brilliant colours, and almost all entirely new to me. Only the
entomologist can appreciate the delight with which I hunted about for
hours in the hot sunshine, among the branches and twigs and bark of the
fallen trees, every few minutes securing insects which were at that time
almost all rare or new to European collections.

In the shady forest paths were many fine butterflies, most conspicuous
among which was the shining blue Papilio ulysses, one of the princes of
the tribe, though at that time so rare in Europe, I found it absolutely
common in Amboyna, though not easy to obtain in fine condition, a large
number of the specimens being found when captured to have the wings torn
or broken. It flies with a rather weak undulating motion, and from its
large size, its tailed wings and brilliant colour, is one of the most
tropical-looking insects the naturalist can gaze upon.

There is a remarkable contrast between the beetles of Amboyna and those
of Macassar, the latter generally small and obscure, the former large
and brilliant. On the whole, the insects here most resemble those of the
Aru islands, but they are almost always of distinct species, and when
they are most nearly allied to each other, the species of Amboyna are
of larger size and more brilliant colours, so that one might be led to
conclude that in passing east and west into a less favourable soil and
climate, they had degenerated into less striking forms.

Of an evening I generally sat reading in the verandah, ready to capture
any insects that were attracted to the light. One night about nine
o'clock, I heard a curious noise and rustling overhead, as if some heavy
animal were crawling slowly over the thatch. The noise soon ceased, and
I thought no more about it and went to bed soon afterwards. The next
afternoon just before dinner, being rather tired with my day's work, I
was lying on the couch with a book in my hand, when gazing upwards I
saw a large mass of something overhead which I had not noticed before.
Looking more carefully I could see yellow and black marks, and thought
it must be a tortoise-shell put up there out of the way between the
ridge-pole and the roof. Continuing to gaze, it suddenly resolved itself
into a large snake, compactly coiled up in a kind of knot; and I could
detect his head and his bright eyes in the very centre of the folds. The
noise of the evening before was now explained. A python had climbed up
one of the posts of the house, and had made his way under the thatch
within a yard of my head, and taken up a comfortable position in the
roof--and I had slept soundly all night directly under him.

I called to my two boys who were skinning birds below and said, "Here's
a big snake in the roof;" but as soon as I had shown it to them they
rushed out of the house and begged me to come out directly. Finding they
were too much afraid to do anything, we called some of the labourers in
the plantation, and soon had half a dozen men in consultation outside.
One of these, a native of Bouru, where there are a great many snakes,
said he would get him out, and proceeded to work in a businesslike
manner. He made a strong noose of rattan, and with a long pole in the
other hand poked at the snake, who then began slowly to uncoil itself.
He then managed to slip the noose over its head, and getting it well on
to the body, dragged the animal down. There was a great scuffle as the
snake coiled round the chairs and posts to resist his enemy, but at
length the man caught hold of its tail, rushed out of the house (running
so quick that the creature seemed quite confounded), and tried to strike
its head against a tree. He missed however, and let go, and the snake
got under a dead trunk close by. It was again poked out, and again the
Bouru man caught hold of its tail, and running away quickly dashed its
head with a swing against a tree, and it was then easily killed with a
hatchet. It was about twelve feet long and very thick, capable of doing
much mischief and of swallowing a dog or a child.

I did not get a great many birds here. The most remarkable were the fine
crimson lory, Eos rubra--a brush-tongued parroquet of a vivid crimson
colour, which was very abundant. Large flocks of them came about the
plantation, and formed a magnificent object when they settled down upon
some flowering tree, on the nectar of which lories feed. I also obtained
one or two specimens of the fine racquet-tailed kingfisher of Amboyna,
Tanysiptera nais, one of the most singular and beautiful of that
beautiful family. These birds differ from all other kingfishers (which
have usually short tails) by having the two middle tail-feathers
immensely lengthened and very narrowly webbed, but terminated by
a spoon-shaped enlargement, as in the motmots and some of the
humming-birds. They belong to that division of the family termed
king-hunters, living chiefly on insects and small land-molluscs, which
they dart down upon and pick up from the ground, just as a kingfisher
picks a fish out of the water. They are confined to a very limited area,
comprising the Moluccas, New Guinea and Northern Australia. About ten
species of these birds are now known, all much resembling each other,
but yet sufficiently distinguishable in every locality. The Amboynese
species, of which a very accurate representation is here given, is one
of the largest and handsomest. It is full seventeen inches long to the
tips of the tail-feathers; the bill is coral red, the under-surface pure
white, the back and wings deep purple, while the shoulders, head and
nape, and some spots on the upper part of the back and wings, are pure
azure blue; the tail is white, with the feathers narrowly blue-edged,
but the narrow part of the long feathers is rich blue. This was an
entirely new species, and has been well named after an ocean goddess, by
Mr. R. G. Gray.

On Christmas eve I returned to Amboyna, where I stayed about ten days
with my kind friend Dr. Mohnike. Considering that I had been away only
twenty days, and that on five or six of those I was prevented doing
anything by wet weather and slight attacks of fever, I had made a very
nice collection of insects, comprising a much larger proportion of large
and brilliant species than I had ever before obtained in so short a
time. Of the beautiful metallic Buprestidae I had about a dozen handsome
species, yet in the doctor's collection I observed four or five more
very fine ones, so that Amboyna is unusually rich in this elegant group.

During my stay here I had a good opportunity of seeing how Europeans
live in the Dutch colonies, and where they have adopted customs far
more in accordance with the climate than we have done in our tropical
possessions. Almost all business is transacted in the morning between
the hours of seven and twelve, the afternoon being given up to repose,
and the evening to visiting. When in the house during the heat of the
day, and even at dinner, they use a loose cotton dress, only putting on
a suit of thin European-made clothes for out of doors and evening wear.
They often walk about after sunset bareheaded, reserving the black hat
for visits of ceremony. Life is thus made far more agreeable, and the
fatigue and discomfort incident to the climate greatly diminished.
Christmas day is not made much of, but on New Year's day official
and complimentary visits are paid, and about sunset we went to the
Governor's, where a large party of ladies and gentlemen were assembled.
Tea and coffee were handed around, as is almost universal during a
visit, as well as cigars, for on no occasion is smoking prohibited
in Dutch colonies, cigars being generally lighted before the cloth is
withdrawn at dinner, even though half the company are ladies. I here
saw for the first time the rare black lory from New Guinea, Chalcopsitta
atra. The plumage is rather glossy, and slightly tinged with yellowish
and purple, the bill and feet being entirely black.

The native Amboynese who reside in the city are a strange
half-civilized, half-savage lazy people, who seem to be a mixture of at
least three races--Portuguese, Malay, and Papuan or Ceramese, with an
occasional cross of Chinese or Dutch. The Portuguese element decidedly
predominates in the old Christian population, as indicated by features,
habits, and the retention of many Portuguese words in the Malay, which
is now their language. They have a peculiar style of dress which they
wear among themselves, a close-fitting white shirt with black trousers,
and a black frock or upper shirt. The women seem to prefer a dress
entirely black. On festivals and state occasions they adopt the
swallow-tail coat, chimneypot hat, and their accompaniments, displaying
all the absurdity of our European fashionable dress. Though now
Protestants, they preserve at feasts and weddings the processions and
music of the Catholic Church, curiously mixed up with the gongs and
dances of the aborigines of the country. Their language has still much
more Portuguese than Dutch in it, although they have been in close
communication with the latter nation for more than two hundred and fifty
years; even many names of birds, trees and other natural objects, as
well as many domestic terms, being plainly Portuguese. [The following
are a few of the Portuguese words in common use by the Malay-speaking
natives of Amboyna and the other Molucca islands: Pombo (pigeon);
milo (maize); testa (forehead); horas (hours); alfinete (pin); cadeira
(chair); lenco (handkerchief); fresco (cool); trigo (flour); sono
(sloop); familia (family); histori (talk); vosse (you); mesmo (even);
cunhado (brother-in-law); senhor (sir); nyora for signora (madam). None
of them, however, have the least notion that these words belong to a
European language.] This people seems to have had a marvellous power
of colonization, and a capacity for impressing their national
characteristics on every country they conquered, or in which they
effected a merely temporary settlement. In a suburb of Amboyna there
is a village of aboriginal Malays who are Mahometans, and who speak a
peculiar language allied to those of Ceram, as well as Malay. They are
chiefly fishermen, and are said to be both more industrious and more
honest than the native Christians.

I went on Sunday, by invitation, to see a collection of shells and fish
made by a gentleman of Amboyna. The fishes are perhaps unrivalled for
variety and beauty by those of any one spot on the earth. The celebrated
Dutch ichthyologist, Dr. Blecker, has given a catalogue of seven hundred
and eighty species found at Amboyna, a number almost equal to those of
all the seas and rivers of Europe. A large proportion of them are of the
most brilliant colours, being marked with bands and spots of the purest
yellows, reds, and blues; while their forms present all that strange and
endless variety so characteristic of the inhabitants of the ocean.
The shells are also very numerous, and comprise a number of the finest
species in the world. The Mactras and Ostreas in particular struck me by
the variety and beauty of their colours. Shells have long been an
object of traffic in Amboyna; many of the natives get their living by
collecting and cleaning them, and almost every visitor takes away a
small collection. The result is that many of the commoner-sorts have
lost all value in the eyes of the amateur, numbers of the handsome but
very common cones, cowries, and olives sold in the streets of London for
a penny each, being natives of the distant isle of Amboyna, where they
cannot be bought so cheaply. The fishes in the collection were all well
preserved in clear spirit in hundreds of glass jars, and the shells were
arranged in large shallow pith boxes lined with paper, every specimen
being fastened down with thread. I roughly estimated that there were
nearly a thousand different kinds of shells, and perhaps ten thousand
specimens, while the collection of Amboyna fishes was nearly perfect.

On the 4th of January I left Amboyna for Ternate; but two years later,
in October 1859, I again visited it after my residence in Menado, and
stayed a month in the town in a small house which I hired for the sake
of assorting and packing up a large and varied collection which I had
brought with me from North Celebes, Ternate, and Gilolo. I was obliged
to do this because the mail steamer would have come the following month
by way of Amboyna to Ternate, and I should have been delayed two months
before I could have reached the former place. I then paid my first
visit to Ceram, and on returning to prepare for my second more complete
exploration of that island, I stayed (much against my will) two months
at Paso, on the isthmus which connects the two portions of the island of
Amboyna. This village is situated on the eastern side of the isthmus,
on sandy ground, with a very pleasant view over the sea to the island of
Harúka. On the Amboyna side of the isthmus there is a small river
which has been continued by a shallow canal to within thirty yards of
high-water mark on the other side. Across this small space, which is
sandy and but slightly elevated, all small boats and praus can be easily
dragged, and all the smaller traffic from Ceram and the islands of
Saparúa and Harúka, passes through Paso. The canal is not continued
quite through, merely because every spring-tide would throw up just such
a sand-bank as now exists.

I had been informed that the fine butterfly Ornithoptera priamus
was plentiful here, as well as the racquet-tailed kingfisher and the
ring-necked lory. I found, however, that I had missed the time for the
former, and birds of all kinds were very scarce, although I obtained a
few good ones, including one or two of the above-mentioned rarities.
I was much pleased to get here the fine long-armed chafer, Euchirus
longimanus. This extraordinary insect is rarely or never captured except
when it comes to drink the sap of the sugar palms, where it is found by
the natives when they go early in the morning to take away the bamboos
which have been filled during the night. For some time one or two were
brought me every day, generally alive. They are sluggish insects, and
pull themselves lazily along by means of their immense forelegs. A
figure of this and other Moluccan beetles is given in the 27th CHAPTER
of this work.

I was kept at Paso by an inflammatory eruption, brought on by the
constant attacks of small acari-like harvest-bugs, for which the forests
of Ceram are famous, and also by the want of nourishing food while in
that island. At one time I was covered with severe boils. I had them on
my eye, cheek, armpits, elbows, back, thighs, knees, and ankles, so that
I was unable to sit or walk, and had great difficulty in finding a side
to lie upon without pain. These continued for some weeks, fresh ones
coming out as fast as others got well; but good living and sea baths
ultimately cured them.

About the end of January Charles Allen, who had been my assistant in
Malacca and Borneo, again joined me on agreement for three years; and as
soon as I got tolerably well, we had plenty to do laying in stores and
making arrangements for our ensuing campaign. Our greatest difficulty
was in obtaining men, but at last we succeeded in getting two each. An
Amboyna Christian named Theodorus Matakena, who had been some time with
me and had learned to skin birds very well, agreed to go with Allen,
as well as a very quiet and industrious lad named Cornelius, whom I
had brought from Menado. I had two Amboynese, named Petrus Rehatta, and
Mesach Matakena; the latter of whom had two brothers, named respectively
Shadrach and Abednego, in accordance with the usual custom among these
people of giving only Scripture names to their children.

During the time I resided in this place, I enjoyed a luxury I have never
met with either before or since--the true bread-fruit. A good deal of it
has been planted about here and in the surrounding villages, and almost
every day we had opportunities of purchasing some, as all the boats
going to Amboyna were unloaded just opposite my door to be dragged
across the isthmus. Though it grows in several other parts of the
Archipelago, it is nowhere abundant, and the season for it only lasts a
short time. It is baked entire in the hot embers, and the inside scooped
out with a spoon. I compared it to Yorkshire pudding; Charles Allen said
it was like mashed potatoes and milk. It is generally about the size of
a melon, a little fibrous towards the centre, but everywhere else quite
smooth and puddingy, something in consistence between yeast-dumplings
and batter-pudding. We sometimes made curry or stew of it, or fried it
in slices; but it is no way so good as simply baked. It may be eaten
sweet or savory. With meat and gravy it is a vegetable superior to any
I know, either in temperate or tropical countries. With sugar, milk,
butter, or treacle, it is a delicious pudding, having a very slight and
delicate but characteristic flavour, which, like that of good bread and
potatoes, one never gets tired of. The reason why it is comparatively
scarce is that it is a fruit of which the seeds are entirely aborted by
cultivation, and the tree can therefore only be propagated by cuttings.
The seed-bearing variety is common all over the tropics, and though the
seeds are very good eating, resembling chestnuts, the fruit is quite
worthless as a vegetable. Now that steam and Ward's cases render the
transport of young plants so easy, it is much to be wished that the best
varieties of this unequalled vegetable should be introduced into our
West India islands, and largely propagated there. As the fruit will keep
some time after being gathered, we might then be able to obtain this
tropical luxury in Covent Garden Market.

Although the few months I at various times spent in Amboyna were not
altogether very profitable to me in the way of collections, it will
always remain as a bright spot in the review of my Eastern travels,
since it was there that I first made the acquaintance of those glorious
birds and insects which render the Moluccas classic ground in the
eyes of the naturalist, and characterise its fauna as one of the most
remarkable and beautiful upon the globe. On the 20th of February I
finally quitted Amboyna for Ceram and Waigiou, leaving Charles Allen to
go by a Government boat to Wahai on the north coast of Ceram, and thence
to the unexplored island of Mysol.


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