Chapter VIII: Buru (1)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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