Frontispiece.

[See Page 134.]

MOUNT SALAK, FROM THE HÔTEL BELLE VUE, AT BUITENZORG.

A VISIT TO JAVA

WITH AN ACCOUNT OF
THE FOUNDING OF SINGAPORE

BY
W. BASIL WORSFOLD.

LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON,
Publishers in Ordinary to her Majesty the Queen.
1893.
(All rights reserved.)

PREFACE.

In writing these pages I have had before me a double purpose. First, to present to the general reader an account of what seemed to me to be a singularly interesting country, and one which, while being comparatively little known, has yet certain direct claims upon the attention of Englishmen. Secondly, to provide a book which, without being a guide book, would at the same time give information practically useful to the English and Australian traveller.

In sending this book to the press I have to acknowledge the courtesy of the editors of the Field and of Land and Water. To the former I am indebted for permission to make use of an unusually interesting quotation from Mr. Charles Ledger's letter to the Field on the subject of cinchona introduction, and also to include a short article of my own on "Horse-racing in Java" in Chapter XII. The latter has kindly allowed me to reproduce an account of my visit to the Buitenzorg Gardens, published in Land and Water.

My general indebtedness to standard works, such as Raffles' "Java," and Mr. Wallace's "Malay Archipelago," and also to those gentlemen who, like Dr. Treub, most kindly placed their information at my disposal in Java, is, I hope, sufficiently expressed in the text.

Professor Rhys Davids has very kindly read over the proof sheets of the chapter on the Hindu Temples; and I take this opportunity of acknowledging my sense of his courtesy in so doing, and my indebtedness to him for several valuable suggestions.

The spelling of the Javanese names and words has been a matter of some difficulty. The principle I have finally adopted is this. While adopting the Dutch spelling for the names of places and in descriptions of the natives, and thus preserving the forms which the traveller will find in railway time tables and in the Dutch accounts of the island, I have returned to the English spelling in narrative passages, and in those chapters where the reader is brought into contact with previous English works. But I have found it impossible to avoid occasional inconsistencies. In my account of the literature of the island I have kept to the Dutch titles of Javanese works as closely as possible; but I have modified the transliteration in accordance with the usages of English oriental scholars.

W. B. W.

1, Pump Court, Temple, E.C.,
November, 1892.

A JAVANESE ACTRESS.

CONTENTS.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

MOHAMMEDAN ARMOUR.

CHAPTER I.
HISTORICAL ACCOUNT UP TO THE PRESENT DAY.

Hindus—​Mohammedans—​Portuguese—​English—​Dutch—​ Legal basis of Dutch possession—​British occupation—​ Return of Dutch—​Culture system—​Eruption of Mount Krakatoa.

In the centre of that region of countless islands termed not inaptly the "Summer of the World," midmost of the Sunda group of which Sumatra lies to the west, and Flores to the east, with the fury of the tropical sun tempered by a physical formation which especially exposes it to the cooling influence of the ocean, lies the island of Java. Rich in historic remains of a bygone Hindu supremacy, when the mild countenance of Buddha gazed upon obedient multitudes, in memorials of Mohammedan, Portuguese, and Dutch seafaring enterprises, it is a country singularly alluring to the student and antiquarian. Nor is its present life less interesting. Densely populated by a simple and refined native race, who live for the most part in the midst of mountain glories and tropical verdure, itself the best example of a rival and successful system of colonization, modern Java is no mere tourist's country, but one which possesses, and always has possessed, special attractions for the man of science and the political student.

From an immense mass of native tradition the main outlines of the history of the island can be disentangled with sufficient certainty.

Javanese tradition universally speaks of a personage called Saka, variously termed warrior, priest, and god, to whom is attributed the introduction of the arts of civilization, and whose advent marks the opening year of the native chronology. The first year of Saka corresponds to the seventy-eighth of the Christian era. There can be no doubt as to the region from which this extraneous civilization came. Native tradition and the vast religious monuments of the eastern and central districts alike point to an Indian colonization and supremacy; for the temples of Java bear the stamp of a culture and of an artistic and architectural genius superior to that possessed by a race, the sole record of whose national existence is contained in the meagre tradition of an immigration from the western lands about the Red Sea.

Sir Stamford Raffles, in his exhaustive history of Java, gives the names and dates of the Hindu monarchs, with an account of their conquests and administrations. But the native chronicles require to be carefully sifted, and to be supported by the record of the antiquarian remains, which supply an unfailing basis for, at any rate, the main outlines of the period. The oldest inscriptions are found on the west side of Buitenzorg, on river stones, and at Bekasi, on the east side of Batavia; they are written in Sanskrit characters of the oldest period, and, by comparison with the inscriptions of British India, indicate the existence of Hindu civilization in Java during the fourth and fifth centuries after Christ. The oldest dated inscription in Java (and in the Archipelago) is one bearing date 654 of Saka (A.D. 732). This is now in the museum at Batavia. It contains twelve verses in the Sanskrit tongue, and is about four feet in length by two in width, and about ten inches in depth.

The magnificent temple of Boro-Boedoer, of which Mr. Wallace[1] says, "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," and which will be separately described with the other religious monuments, was probably erected in the eighth or ninth century. It marks the highest point in the Hindu supremacy, and the time when the influence of Buddhism was supreme. At any rate, we have the witness of Fa Hian, a Chinese traveller, who visited the island in the fifteenth century, to the effect that at this later period "the Brahmins were still very numerous, but the law of Buddha was no longer respected."

The earliest European visitors tell us nothing of the two Hindu kingdoms, Pajajaran and Majapahit, so celebrated in the chronicles. They speak only of Sunda and its port Bantam; and they mention a certain prince, Fateléhan, as completing the Mohammedan conquest in 1524. Raffles, however, following the chronicles, focusses the overthrow of the Hindu supremacy in the capture of the city of Majapahit in 1478 A.D. In spite of the traditions which speak of a long period of fighting, it is probable that the conversion of the Javanese to the new religion was gradual and peaceable, being in the main the result of commerce. The temples, the head-quarters of the old religion, show no traces of violence. They were destroyed, says Dr. Leemans,[2] simply by "carelessness, disuse, and nature," not by a sanguinary war. Long before the Prince Fateléhan conquered the western kingdom of Sunda in 1524, Arab merchants had spread the principles of Islamism among the Javanese. It was just at the time of the establishment of the Mohammedan power that the first Europeans made their way to the island. Portuguese writers say that their people, after the conquest of Malacca in 1511, entered into relations with the inhabitants of Bantam, through Samian, a prince of Sunda, who had formerly lived at Malacca. Lemé, a Portuguese sent by Albuquerque, Captain of Malacca, made a treaty with this Samian, and obtained permission to build a fortress at Bantam on condition that the prince and his subjects were protected from the Moors. In the realization of this object, an expedition was sent by the Portuguese king under command of Francesco de Sa; but before it reached the prince Bantam had been taken by treason, and the Mohammedan power established under Fateléhan. Henceforward the native rulers were Mohammedans, and the list of these sovereigns given by Raffles extends from A.D. 1477 to A.D. 1815.

[Page 6.]

A PORTUGUESE HOUSE, BATAVIA.

The Portuguese were followed by the Dutch and English after some considerable interval. The first Dutch fleet, under the command of Admiral Houtman, sailed for Bantam in the year 1595. The prince, who was then at war with the Portuguese, allowed them to establish a factory there, and thus the first Dutch settlement in the East Indies was formed. Not long after, the English East India Company (immediately after their incorporation by Queen Elizabeth in 1601) despatched a force under Captain Lancaster. He succeeded in establishing friendly relations with the prince, who sent a letter to the English queen, which is still extant among the state records. This is noticeable as being the first settlement of the East India Company; and as showing that Hindustan, which now means India for most people, was not the original "India" of the company. In the subsequent quarrels between the natives and the Dutch, the English assisted the former so successfully that at one time the Dutch had to enter into a convention with the native chiefs and the English commander, by which they agreed to surrender their fort at Jakatra and evacuate the island. On the conclusion of peace, however, between the Dutch and English in Europe, and on the arrival of reinforcements under Jan Pietersen Koen, they changed their plans, and, instead of retiring from the island, proceeded to lay the foundations of an extensive settlement at Jakatra.

In the following year (1621) the name of Batavia was given to the settlement, and from this period onwards the Dutch continually increased their influence in the island, until in 1749 a deed containing a formal abdication of the sovereignty of the country was secured from the dying susunan (or Mohammedan emperor). In this the unfortunate prince "abdicates for himself and his heirs the sovereignty of the country, conferring the same on the Dutch East India Company, and leaving it to them to dispose of in future, to any person they might think competent to govern it for the benefit of the company and of Java."[3] It is by virtue of this deed that the Dutch East India Company, and subsequently the Dutch Colonial Government, became practically landlord of the whole island. Since the Government assumed possession of the soil they have gradually bought up the previously existing rights of the native princes, and in return have guaranteed them certain revenues, which have now become in most cases mere official salaries. Among the rights which the Government secured, by thus becoming landlord of the island, was that of receiving one-fifth part both of the produce and of the labour of the Javan peasants. This fact—that the mass of the Javan natives owed, as it were, feudal services to the Government—explains the comparative ease with which, nearly a century later, the culture system was introduced.

The English settlement at Bantam was withdrawn in 1683, and no effort was made to interfere with the Dutch until the year 1811, when, owing to the conquests of Napoleon in Europe, the island had become a mere French province. In that year a British force reduced Java and its dependencies. During the short period of British occupation (1811-1816) extensive reforms were introduced by Sir Stamford Raffles, the lieutenant-governor. These reforms had for their object the improvement of the condition of the mass of Javan natives, and the liberation of the industries of the island from the restrictions placed upon them by the monopolist policy of the Dutch. Whatever may be the verdict of history as to the practical value of these proposals, the attempt to carry them out has at least left behind such a tradition of British justice as to cause a feeling of profound respect towards the English to be almost universally entertained in the island to this day.

In the settlement effected by the Treaty of London, in 1814, the British Government retained the Cape and Ceylon among the Dutch possessions acquired by conquest in the Napoleonic wars, but Java and its dependencies were restored to their former masters. A right of protectorate, however, over the neighbouring island of Sumatra belonged to the British crown until the year 1872, when it was surrendered in return for equivalent rights on the Gold Coast of Africa. This concession has proved a veritable damnosa hereditas to the Government of Netherlands India. The attempt to enforce the newly acquired rights over the Sumatrans resulted in the outbreak of the Atchinese war in 1873, an event which has involved the island of Java in serious financial difficulties, and imperilled the prestige of Holland in the East.

A great part of the special interest which attaches to Java is derived from the fact that it has been the scene of an interesting financial experiment. The history of the introduction of the culture system, and of its gradual abandonment in recent years, is so interesting as to require a separate chapter to itself, and it is only necessary to mention here just so much as is essential for the purposes of a historical sketch. The author of the proposal was General Van den Bosch, who became Governor-General in 1830. The system continued in full operation until the year 1871, when the Home Government passed an Act providing for the gradual abandonment of the Government sugar plantations. By the year 1890 sugar, by far the most important of the Javan industries, was practically freed from Government interference. At the present time it is in debate whether or not the coffee industry should be similarly treated.

This short historical sketch would be incomplete without some mention of an appalling and unique event in the history of the island. On the 27th of August, 1883, the green-clad island of Krakatoa, which rises for some three thousand feet out of the waters which separate Sumatra from Java—the Straits of Sunda—was the scene of a most terrific volcanic discharge. Whole towns were destroyed in both islands; but even more striking than the loss of human life and property is the fact, now satisfactorily established, that the discharge of ashes was so great as to cause a series of extraordinarily brilliant sunsets all over the world, while the force of the tidal wave was such as to affect the level of the water in the river Thames. In travelling from Batavia to Singapore, I was fortunate enough to meet with an officer in the employ of the Netherlands India Steamship Company, who was able to give me an actual narrative of his personal experience of this wonderful eruption. Mr. S—— was at that time second engineer on the steamship Governor-General Lowden, belonging to the same company. I cannot do better than close this chapter with his narrative.

"We were anchored off Telokbetong, in Sumatra, when the chief officer and myself observed a dark line out at sea which bore the appearance of a tidal wave. While we were remarking this, the captain (who was just then taking his bath) rushed on to the bridge, and telegraphed to the engine-room to steam slow ahead up to the anchors. I was engaged in carrying out this order when the wave came up to the ship. First she dropped; then heaved up and down for some five minutes. There were three waves. When I came on deck again, the long pier, which had been crowded with Europeans who had come out of the town (they had experienced a shock of earthquake during the night),—this pier, the houses and offices, had disappeared, in fact, the whole town was gone. A Government steamboat lying at anchor (with steam up) in the bay was landed high on the tops of the palm trees in company with some native boats. That was the first intimation we received that Krakatoa was in eruption, and from that time, eight o'clock, onwards through the day the rumbling thunders never ceased, while the darkness increased to a thick impenetrable covering of smoky vapour. Shortly after this we got under way, and proceeded until the darkness made it impossible to go on further. It was while we were thus enveloped in darkness that the stones and cinders discharged by the mountain began to fall upon the ship. In a short time the canvas awning and the deck were covered with ashes and stones, to the depth of two feet, and all our available men were employed in removing the falling mass, which would otherwise have sunk the ship. We had a large number of natives on board, and a hundred and sixty European soldiers. The latter worked with the energy of despair at their task of clearing the deck, in spite of the twofold danger of being burnt and stunned by the hot falling stones. While we were engraved in this struggle, and enveloped in the sheer blackness of a veritable hell, a new and terrible danger came upon us. This was the approach of the tidal wave caused by the final eruption, which occurred about 12.30 to 1 p.m. The wave reached us at 2 p.m. or thereabouts, and made the ship tumble like a sea-saw. Sometimes she was almost straight on end, at other times she heaved over almost on her beam-ends. We were anchored and steaming up to our anchors as before, and as before we managed to escape destruction. All the passengers and the crew gave themselves up for lost, but there was no panic, and the captain handled the ship splendidly throughout. He received a gold medal from the Government in recognition of his indomitable courage in saving the ship and passengers. Well, you can fancy what it was like when I tell you that the captain was lashed with three ropes alongside the engine-room companion, while I was lashed down below to work the engines. The men were dashed from one side of the engine-room to the other.

"When we reached Angier we found no trace—neither a splinter of wood nor a fraction of stone—of the buildings of that once flourishing seaport. At Batavia the water was so dense from the floating lava (the deposit reached fifteen feet in depth) that we made our way to the shore on planks. Telokbetong was closed for three or four months, and on our return to Achin we could not land our passengers. At Batavia the tidal wave had penetrated almost to the town, where in the lower portion the houses were flooded by the Kali Bezar (great river). Business was suspended except by a few determined spirits who worked on by gaslight, so great was the alarm at the darkness and thunderous noises."

Footnotes:

[1] "Malay Archipelago."

[2] "Bôrô-Boedoer Temples," by Dr. C. Leemans, à Leide 1874.

[3] Raffles' "History."

CHAPTER II.
TRAVELLING AND HOTELS.

Area—Climate—​Permission to travel—​Chief objects of interest—​Means of locomotion—​Language—​Hotels.

Of the many travellers who have written accounts of their visits to Java, not one has been explicit in his directions as to the ways and means of reaching the various interesting objects which he has described. This may partly be accounted for by the fact that there are, indeed, no Titanic difficulties to be encountered. The districts to be traversed are furnished with excellent roads, and in part with railways, contain large and civilized towns, and are inhabited by a peaceable and industrious population. The difficulties, such as they are, can be overcome by the two necessaries for all except the most hackneyed excursions—time and money. In Java the former is, if anything, more important than the latter.

Java—with which is included for all purposes the little island of Madura, lying off its north-eastern coast—is a long narrow island six degrees south of the equator. It is 630 miles long, and averages 100 miles in breadth. Its area is 51,961 square miles, an extent slightly greater than that of England; and the present population reaches a total of twenty-three millions. Like all the islands of the Malay Archipelago, its surface is diversified by great mountains (generally volcanic) and extensive plains. It is poorly supplied with minerals; coal is there, but not in workable quantities; perhaps the only valuable mineral products are the clay, which is made into bricks, earthenware, and porcelain, and the deposits of salt in the Government mines.

On the other hand, the soil is proverbially fertile. The chief products are best exhibited in connection with the four botanical zones into which Junghuhn has divided the island according to elevation:

The climate varies in accordance with these zones. Observations made at Batavia (on the coast), the only place where a record covering a sufficient period has been kept, give a mean of 78.69° for a period of twelve years. The monthly mean shows a variation of only two degrees. The period from April to November, when the south-east trade winds prevail, called the dry or east monsoon, is slightly warmer than the remaining six months which make up the rainy season. The heaviest rainfall is in the months of December, January, and February. The chief characteristic of the climate of Java is, therefore, not so much its heat as its equability: it is rarely wet all day long even in the wet season, and at least one shower may be expected each day in the dry.

In spite of its great heat Java is generally healthy, and, in cases of simple bronchitis, the climate is positively helpful. Of course the mountain districts are preferable to the plains, but in the ordinary routes traversed by travellers there are no conditions to be encountered which are adverse to persons in the enjoyment of ordinary health. Buitenzorg (close to Batavia), the summer residence of the Governor-General, a place which is to Dutch India what Simla is to British India, is especially healthy, being some seven hundred feet above sea-level. Tosari, again, in the eastern part of the island, is a recognized sanatorium. It has a capital hotel, and lies at an elevation of six thousand feet above sea-level. This latter place is easily reached in one day from Soerabaia; and close by is Mount Bromo, one of the most active volcanoes in Java, and one which is always covered with smoke. A three-mile walk will give the visitor an opportunity of seeing the boiling crater—a magnificent spectacle. Mount S'meroe, the highest mountain in Java (12,000 feet), is also in the neighbourhood.

The best time to travel is the dry season, April to November, when the nights are cooler and the weather brighter; and, of course, in travelling by carriage, arrangements should be made to avoid proceeding during the hottest part of the day as much as possible.

The Dutch are nothing if they are not methodical, and in order to travel in Java certain formalities, which at first sight appear somewhat formidable, but which are really matters of form, have to be gone through. Any person intending to remain in the island for more than twenty-four hours must register his name with the police, and give them particulars of his age, birthplace, profession, last place of residence, the ship in which he arrived, and the name of its captain. He thereupon receives a document entitled Toetlakings-kaart ("admission ticket"), which states that the person so named and described arrived at a certain date, "with the intention of residing in Netherlands India," and that he is permitted, "by authority of the ordinance of March 12, 1872, to reside in any of the chief harbours or ports open for general trade, and also at Buitenzorg." It is signed by the Assistant-Resident of Batavia. This "admission-ticket" is not sufficient to authorize the new arrival to travel in the interior. For this purpose a second and still more imposing document must be obtained. This is an extract from the register of "decisions" of the Governor-General, and is to the effect that the petition of the undersigned So-and-so has been read, and "that the Governor-General has been pleased to grant him permission to travel for six months in Java."

If the visitor wishes to enjoy any sport he will require a third document, signed by the Resident, to entitle him to "import the following weapon and ammunition, namely," his gun, "which is intended for his own use." It will be a relief to the reader to know that in my own case the documents confirming the grant of all these privileges were obtained at the cost of half a crown for stamps.

Batavia, the capital of Java and the seat of government of the Dutch possessions in the East, is distant two hundred and fifty miles from Samarang, and four hundred from Soerabaia, the ports which respectively "tap" the populous central and eastern districts. While these two latter towns are connected by rail with each other, communication with Batavia is maintained at present by steamboats and post-carriages, since there is a break of one hundred and twenty miles—from Garoet, the terminus of the western railway, to Tjilatjap, a port on the southern coast—in the trunk line which is eventually to unite the whole island. Batavia, however, in spite of this drawback, is the natural starting-point for the visitor. In the first place, it is the port of call of the principal steamboat companies which connect Java with Australia, British India, China, and Europe; and in the next, being the seat of government and containing the chief political and scientific authorities, it is the centre from which information and assistance of all kinds may be obtained. In particular, I would recommend a visit to the museum of antiquities at Batavia as an introduction to the study not only of the Hindu remains, but also of the native industries and manner of life.

The subjects of special interest in Java may be grouped under five heads—the Hindu antiquities, the native towns, the plantations, tropical plant-life, and sport. In the case of the three latter, the several neighbourhoods required to be visited are easily accessible from Batavia by the western railway. Soekaboemi, the centre of the coffee and cinchona plantations, and the head-quarters of the Planters' Association, is fifty miles distant. Buitenzorg, with its famous botanical gardens, is within an hour and a half's journey. Here, in the various Government gardens and plantations, the plant-life of the whole Malay Archipelago is conveniently exhibited, both in its scientific and industrial aspects, and a strangers' laboratory is specially provided for scientific visitors. The Preanger Regencies—the best place for sport—may be described roughly as occupying the southern half of the western portion of the island. The chief towns of this district—Tjandjoer, Bandong, and Garoet—are all connected with Batavia by the same line of railway. Of these, Tjandjoer is the residence of the native prince, the Regent of Tjandjoer, who is the chief patron of horse-racing in Java.

But the largest of the native towns and those in the neighbourhood of which the most important of the Hindu remains are to be found, such as Soerabaia, Samarang, Solo, Djokja, and Magalang, are situated in the centre and east of the island. As I have before explained, the western and eastern railways are not yet connected, and therefore the railway alone will no longer be sufficient to convey the traveller to his basis of operations. In planning his journey to these towns he will have to weigh the relative advantages of three routes, and to consider the opportunities offered by three means of locomotion—railway, steamboat, and post-carriage.

In another place[4] I have given in detail, with full information as to distances and expenses, the three possible routes to the temples from Batavia, and therefore I need speak here only in general terms.

The principal coast towns can be reached by the steamships of the Netherlands India Company (or its successor), which average about 1000 tons, and are said to be fairly comfortable. As the fares are comparatively high, most people will prefer to avoid the discomforts incidental to a steamboat, augmented by the conditions of the place—natives and strange food. In travelling by road very considerable fatigue must be undergone, and of course the expense is greater than that incurred in travelling by rail or steamboat. Also, as in such travelling smaller towns and less-known districts are traversed, it is especially desirable to have a "boy," or native servant (who can talk English), to communicate with the natives in the Javanese and Sundanese dialects, since in the out-of-the-way districts Malay is not understood. The railways are much the same as elsewhere, except that the rate of travelling is slower and the cost of travelling rather more than usual. As part of the railways are held by private companies, there is a slight variation in both of these particulars on different lines. The construction of railways in Java began in 1875. Ten years later there were 261 miles of private, and 672 miles of Government, railways open for traffic. Since then this extent has been increased, but in 1891 the railway system was still incomplete, by reason of the gap between Garoet and Tjilatjap.

There is another important consideration which will affect the choice of routes and of means of conveyance, and that is the question of language. The natives in the big towns and all servants in hotels and private houses speak Malay, which is the official language for communication between them and the Europeans. There is always supposed to be one man in each native village (or campong) who can speak this language. Malay handbooks are published in Singapore, and although such books cannot be bought, as far as I know, in Batavia, they can often be borrowed; or, failing this, a few necessary phrases can be written down. Such a phrase, for example, as this: Apa nama ini? ("What is the name of this?") will serve to supply the place of many vocabularies. The language, which from its soft sounding has been called "the Italian of the Tropics," is very simple, and seems to consist almost exclusively of nouns (i.e. substantives, adjectives, and pronouns). The verb "to be" and prepositions are often omitted, e.g. Pighi bawa ini Tuan X— = "Go [and] take this [to] Mr. X——" and most substantives can be formed into verbs. Combinations of substantives are used; e.g. Kreta api ("fire-carriages") = "railway." Again, many European words are adopted bodily. In sadoe a Frenchman will easily recognize a corruption of dos-à-dos; ayer brandy (or ayer whisky), literally "water-brandy," will present no difficulties to the average Englishman. "Butter" is mentega, a Portuguese word. The vowels have the same value as in the Continental languages.[5]

It is obvious that the few words and phrases necessary for everyday life can be easily acquired in such a language, and most people will find the process rather amusing than otherwise. If, however, it is desired to escape this trouble, or to gain a more complete knowledge of the ideas of the natives, a "boy" who speaks English can be secured at Batavia, who will act as valet and interpreter.[6] In communicating with the Dutch residents and the European shop-people in the towns, there is no difficulty experienced, since nearly every one can speak English; if not, recourse can be had to French or German.

In addition to obtaining the formal permission to travel already mentioned, in order to see native ceremonies and enjoy big-game shooting, it is necessary to get recommendations to the residents of the native regencies, and in any case it is desirable to have as many private introductions as possible.

But, however well supplied with such recommendations they may be, all travellers are sure to be more or less dependent on hotels. In Java, as in other tropical countries, the hotels are large one or two storied buildings, with rows of rooms opening upon broad verandahs screened with bamboo blinds, and arranged round courtyards planted with trees. The general living-room and the dining-room have one or more sides open to the air, and are arranged with a view to coolness. The style of cooking in Dutch India is different from that in British India, and has one special peculiarity the—rice table, which will be described hereafter; and of course there are minor differences, depending upon the conditions of the place and society. To persons who are prepared to enjoy life (and this is the spirit in which one should travel), the little eccentricities and deficiencies will be a source of amusement, and give additional zest to the travelling experience. But no invalid or dyspeptic should enter the portals of a Javan hotel. As for accommodation, suites of rooms can be engaged, but the ordinary traveller has a large bedroom with the proportion of the verandah belonging to it; this latter is fitted with a bamboo screen, table and chairs, and a hanging lamp, and is for all intents and purposes a sitting-room. The bedroom also is furnished with a view of securing coolness; the floor is covered with matting, and the furniture is not very luxurious; its chief feature is a tremendous bedstead. Now, a Javan bedstead is quite sui generis, and requires a ground plan. The ordinary size is six feet square. It is completely covered with mosquito curtains, and has no clothes, the broad expanse being broken by two pillows for the head and a long bolster (called a Dutch wife) which lies at right angles to the pillows. This latter is one of the numerous contrivances for securing coolness. The ordinary routine of hotel life is much the same as elsewhere in the island. At half-past six a coolie comes to the door and awakes you, bringing tea or coffee when you want it. Some time subsequently you proceed in pyjamas, or (if a lady) in a kabaia (or loose jacket) and sarong (native dress) to the bath-room, which is an important feature in every Eastern hotel. Generally speaking, it is not so very much removed from what Mr. Ruskin would desire. It is a large room with bare walls and a marble floor, on which is placed a cistern or jar of water, from which water is taken with a hand-bucket and poured over the bather, who stands upon a wooden framework. The water runs away from the edges of the room, but I never felt quite sure that it didn't come back again afterwards. The walls are sometimes decorated with mirrors, and there is often an arrangement for a shower-bath. But very generally the bather has nothing but bare walls and a huge earthen jar such as Aladdin and the forty thieves would use at Drury Lane. At Singapore this same arrangement obtains, and there it is related that a young midshipman, going to the bath-room and being confronted by a bare interior with nothing but the big jar in the middle of it, very naturally concluded that this was the bath. He quickly stripped and got into it; but once in he found it impossible to get out again. After vain endeavours, he rolled the big jar over bodily, and, smashing it on the floor, triumphantly emerged from the fragments. His friends afterwards pointed out to him that there was a hand-bucket there, and enlightened him as to its uses.

Breakfast consists of light breads, eggs, cold meat in thin strips, and fruit, and is served about nine. After breakfast any serious business should be accomplished before the great heat of the day sets in. At 12.30 rice-table (or tiffin) commences. This is a serious meal, and must carry you on till eight o'clock in the evening. The first dish, or rather series of dishes, is that from which the meal takes its name—rice-table. In partaking of this the visitor first places some boiled rice upon a soup plate, and then on the top of it as many portions of some eight or ten dishes which are immediately brought as he cares to take—omelette, curry, chicken, fish, macaroni, spice-pudding, etc.; and, lastly, he selects some strange delicacies from an octagonal dish with several kinds of prepared vegetables, pickled fish, etc., in its nine compartments. After this comes a salad, some solid meat (such as beefsteak), sweets, and fruit. Finger-glasses are always provided, and one notices that the salt is always moist, and also that it is not customary to provide spoons for that article. At four, or thereabouts, tea is brought to your room. This serves to rouse you from your siesta, and you then proceed (being by this time again in pyjamas) to take your second bath. After that, European garments are worn, and it is cool enough either for driving or walking. The dinner, which is served at eight, is much like an ordinary à la Russe dinner, except that there are rather more small vegetable dishes than is customary elsewhere.

In the Hôtel der Nederlanden at Batavia (and there are plenty of others like it) there is something of the life which is described as belonging to the baths in ancient Roman watering-places. Imagine a long courtyard, with deep verandahs, trees only screening you from the opposite side; around you men in pyjamas, with their feet resting on the arms of their easy-chairs, smoking or taking various iced drinks from long glasses; ladies dressed in the beautiful native garment (the sarong) and the lace-trimmed white jacket (the kabaia), promenading with children. Opposite you is a little Dutch maiden, whose golden hair and white skin contrasts with the dark complexion of her baboe, or nurse. She is dressed in a flowing white robe, and is putting on her stockings in the most negligé attitude, for it is now time to go out—4 p.m.—while her mother stands by and scolds her. Everywhere coolies are squatting on the ground in their bright garments, or standing busied with the ordinary duties of service, and baboes are playing with their little charges. You are yourself dressed in such a way that you would probably feel uncomfortable were you discovered so dressed in your dressing-room at home; but here you feel perfectly at ease—such is the magical effect of climate—whether promenading in your loose garments or reclining in your easy-chair and gazing coolly upon the occupants of the carriages which cross the courtyard. Or perhaps you are engaged in a chaffing-match with one of the native vendors—Chinese, Malay, or Javanese—who are ever ready to persuade you to buy the commonest trifles at the most fancy prices.

The native servants are very quick and willing to do the visitor's commands; indeed, disasters generally arise from an excess of diligence on their part. For instance, in a damp climate it is an excellent general rule for your "boy" to keep your clothes aired by laying them in the sun two or three times a week; but it is a trifle embarrassing to a modest and impecunious person to see the whole of his wardrobe exhibited urbi et orbi in front of his room on the verandah. The pyjamas, suspended in airy fashion, floating in the wind; the coats and trousers hung up on strips of wood so that their full extent is exposed to the sun and air; the pair of pumps, on which only last night he had congratulated himself as looking quite smart by gaslight, now standing confessed in all the unseemliness of bulging sides and torn lining; even the domestic slippers too. Yet such was the scene which met my gaze as I returned from breakfast at nine o'clock in the courtyard of the Hotel Belle Vue at Buitenzorg. Trop de zèle, I thought.

CHINESE BARBER.

Footnotes:

[4] [Appendix.]

[5] The combination oe is pronounced ū (or oo).

[6] The cost of such a "boy" is very small (labour being one thing which is cheap in the island). He is paid from 16 to 18 florins (12 florins = £1) a month; and when travelling it is usual to give him a half-florin a day for food, otherwise the hotel charge for servants, one florin a day, must be paid.

CHAPTER III.
THE SYSTEM OF GOVERNMENT AND THE NATIVES.

Dutch possessions in the East—​Government—​Army and navy—​Administration—​Development of natives—​Raden Saleh—​Native dress—​Cooking and houses—​Rice cultivation—​Amusements—​Marriage ceremony.

The Netherlands India, as the Dutch possessions in the East are officially styled, includes the whole of the Malay Archipelago, with the exception of the Philippine Islands belonging to Spain, part of Borneo in the possession of the North Borneo Company, and the eastern half of New Guinea, which is shared by Germany and England. The total area is officially stated to be 719,674 square miles, and the total population 29,765,031. It is administered by a Governor-General, a Government secretary, and a Council of State consisting of five members, who are appointed from among the chief Dutch residents in the island of Java. As all matters of general policy are controlled by the Secretary for the Colonies, who is a member of the Home Government, the functions of the Colonial Government are mainly executive and consultative. So close is the connection that the colonial estimates for revenue and expenditure have to receive the approval of the Home Government before they can be carried out. Moreover, the various Government officials scattered through the Archipelago are responsible to the Secretary for the Colonies. There are colleges established both in Holland and in Batavia in which the young men intended for the colonial service can receive a suitable training.

The physical sanction upon which the Dutch authority rests is an army of thirty thousand men, composed of Dutch, Germans, Swiss, Italians, and natives, but officered exclusively by Dutchmen, and a navy of fifty ships. Of these troops, a large proportion (amounting in 1891 to 16,537) are native. The head-quarters of the army is fixed at Batavia. There are barracks at Weltevreden, and at Meester Cornelis in the capital, and additional accommodation has been recently provided at Buitenzorg. The fleet is stationed at Soerabaia, a town which possesses the best harbour in Java, and which is conveniently situated at the other end of the island. There are, however, a few ships always stationed at Batavia. The greater proportion of the fleet is composed of the ships of the Netherlands Indian navy, which is permanently stationed in the Archipelago; but there are among them some ships belonging to the Dutch navy, which are relieved every three years.

At the present time, the chief occupation of the colonial forces is the establishment of the Dutch authority in Sumatra. Since 1874 the natives of Achin have successfully resisted the Dutch, and the Achin war has proved so costly and so disastrous, that the Home Government have ordered the operations of the troops to be confined to such as are purely defensive. Acting under these instructions, the colonial forces have retired behind a chain of forts, and all attempts to advance into the interior have been abandoned. Last year (1891), Baron Mackay, the Secretary for the Colonies, was able to assure the States General that "excellent results were expected from the blockade system," now adopted, and that the Achinese were already beginning to feel the inconvenience of being cut off from their supplies of necessaries, such as opium and tobacco. Java is by far the most important of the islands of the Malay Archipelago. Its population is four times that of the total population of the remaining Dutch possessions in the East. This population is divided as follows (1890):—

With the exception of the Chinese, the great retail traders of the Malay countries, almost the entire population of the island is "native." This term includes various branches of the Malay race, of which the chiefs are the Javanese and Sundanese, occupying respectively the east and west of the island. Separate dialects are also spoken by the people of Bantam and Madura. There is little to distinguish the two chief races, except that the Javanese are more warlike and spirited than the Sundanese, who are somewhat more dull and almost entirely agricultural. Speaking generally, the native population of Java is but little inferior in intelligence to the native population of India, while in some respects—in particular, in the readiness shown by the native princes to assimilate European learning and customs, and in a certain artistic sensibility manifested by the whole people—they resemble the inhabitants of Japan.

The majority of the Javanese natives are employed in the cultivation of rice; in work on plantations, sugar, coffee, cinchona, and tea; and in various lesser industries, such as the making of mats and weaving of sarongs. They are also by no means unskilful as workers in clay, wood, and metals, and as artisans generally, and are successfully employed by the Government in working the railways and post and telegraph services.

[Page 43.]

PALACE OF A NATIVE PRINCE.

For purposes of administration the island is divided into twenty-four residencies. Each residency is further divided into districts, and finally into campongs, or townships. It will be remembered that when, at the end of the eighteenth century, the Dutch Government took over the island from the East India Company, they received possession of the soil, subject only to such limitations as the company had already imposed upon their ownership. Since that time the Colonial Government has pursued a policy in Java similar to that pursued by the British in India, by which the native princes have been gradually induced to part with their territorial rights and privileges, and to accept in return proportionate monetary compensations. At the same time the services of these "princes" have been utilized in the work of government. As a result of this latter, the sums paid originally as incomes equivalent to the revenues derived from the rights surrendered have now come to be of the nature of official salaries. Most of these regents, as the native princes are called, receive from two to three thousand florins a year; but some one or two, such as the Sultan of Djokja, and the Regent of Bandong, receive as much as seventy or eighty thousand florins. The Dutch have wisely employed as much as possible the social organization which they found in existence, and native authorities and institutions have been supplemented by European officials. In each residency there is, therefore, a double set of officials, European and native. First of all, there is the Resident, who resides at the chief town, and is the head of all officials, European and native. Under him there are Assistant-Residents, contrôleurs, and assistant-contrôleurs. The contrôleur is an official more especially connected with the Government plantations, and the regulation of the industrial relations between the planters and the peasants, or coolies, is an important duty which he fulfils. The Regent is the head of the native officials, but of course inferior in authority to the Resident, whom he calls his "Elder Brother." Under him is an officer called a patih, and then wedanas, assistant-wedanas, and ultimately the village chiefs, or loerahs. In addition to these there is a further official called a jaksa, who ranks above the wedanas, and receives information of any offences committed. In the villages the loerahs act as policemen, but in the towns there are regular native policemen, called oppas, who also attend on the wedanas. In each residency there is a court of justice, consisting of a president, who is a paid legal official, a clerk of the court, and a pangoeloe, or priest, for administering oaths. In this court the jaksa sits as native assessor to the European judge-president. There are superior courts at the three great towns, Batavia, Samarang, and Soerabaia, and a supreme court at Batavia. Murder and crimes of violence are generally rare, but small thieving is common throughout the island.

The religion of the Javanese is Mohammedanism; although Brahmanism still survives in some of the islands of the Archipelago, it has entirely disappeared from Java. Until recent years the Colonial Government have discouraged any efforts directed towards the conversion of the natives to Christianity. The quietism of the Mohammedan creed was regarded as better adapted to supply their religious needs than the doctrines of the missionaries.

Of late years, however, a more generous policy has prevailed. As the mass of the Javanese regard the native princes as traitors and apostates, the Arab priests and hadjis have come to be recognized as the popular leaders. It is they, and not the princes, who now form the dangerous element. The priests are jealous of European influence, and are ready to incite the natives to revolt if occasion offers, but in any outbreak the native princes are the first to be attacked. A revolt in Bantam had occurred some twelve months before the date of my visit (1890). In return for some injustice, the Resident and his wife and children were put to death by mutilation. The village in which this took place was near Serang, the capital town of Bantam, and only seventy miles from Batavia, and military assistance was obtained from both of these places. The troops from Serang arrived in time to find the body of the Resident's wife still heaving with the action of breathing. Fifty or sixty of the natives were brought to justice for this murder, and six of the ringleaders were shot. I was told that there were numerous secret societies existing in the country, controlled by the Mohammedan authorities in Arabia, and absolutely hidden beyond the reach of the Government.[7]

The question of the moral and mental development of the Javanese natives is one which has lately been much discussed, both in Java and in Holland, and the result has been that the Colonial Government is now fairly pledged to a humanitarian policy. The large sum annually appropriated in the colonial budget to the purposes of public instruction, is a sufficient evidence of the reality of the desire now manifested by the Dutch to give the natives of Java full opportunities for the education and training necessary for technical and industrial progress. There can be no doubt as to the capacity of the natives to benefit by such advantages. When D'Almeida visited the island thirty years ago, he paid a visit to Raden Saleh, a native artist, who had been sent to Holland to be educated there at the expense of the Colonial Government. He had lived for twenty-three years in Europe, residing both in that country and in Germany, and following the profession of an artist. He was chiefly distinguished as an animal-painter, and made such progress in art that he was commissioned by the late Prince Consort to paint two pictures for him, illustrative of Javan life and scenery. Raden Saleh subsequently returned to his native country, and D'Almeida found him residing in an artistically furnished house with large and beautiful gardens near Batavia. In the course of this visit he was asked whether there were any other Javan artists who had attained similar proficiency. He replied, "Café et sucre, sucre et café, sont tout-ce qu'on parle ici. C'est vraiment un air triste pour un artiste."

The artistic perception inborn in the Javan natives is nowhere more clearly manifested than in the colour and form of their dress. Nothing impresses the visitor more quickly or more pleasantly than the gay and graceful groups which throng the streets or roads. The light cottons and silken cloths which the natives wear are admirably suited to the climate, and an exquisite taste seems to govern the selection of colours and the fashion of wearing their garments. Both men and women alike wear the sarong, a long decorated cloth wound round the lower limbs and fastened at the waist; over this the former wear a badjoe, or short open jacket, and the latter a kabaia, or cloak, closed at the waist by a silver pin (peniti), and reaching down almost to the bottom of the sarong. Over the right shoulder is gracefully flung a long scarf called a slendang, used by mothers to carry their babies, and by the men as a belt when they are engaged in any active work. A square cloth (kain kapala) is worn on the head by men; it is folded in half diagonally, and then folded over and round the head until it looks much like a turban. On the top of this a wide straw hat (variously shaped) is carried, to protect the wearer against the sun. The women, on the contrary, wear nothing but their glossy black hair, or carry a bamboo umbrella if they wish for a similar protection.

The native weapons are the bamboo spear, and the short wavy sword called a kriss; but the only arm they carry nowadays is a golok, or straight piece of iron with a handle and sheath, used for lopping off boughs and cutting wood. The better class of natives use European furniture, but the ordinary peasants and artisans, who live in a bamboo cottage, use nothing but a single bed on which the whole family sleep, and a chest for clothes, both made, like the house, of bamboo.

KOMPOR.
[Page 51.]

WOMAN COOKING RICE.

The staple diet is rice and dried fish, with vegetables and fruits: cakes and pastry are rare luxuries, and purchased at the market or from itinerant vendors. The cooking arrangements are very simple. Nearly everything is cooked in a priok, or frying-pan, which is heated over a kompor, or stove of earthenware, or on bricks on a flat stove raised from the ground. In both cases charcoal is burnt, being made to burn brightly by a fan. The rice (which is to them what bread is to us) is not boiled, but steamed. A copper vessel (dang-dang) is filled with hot water, and the rice is then placed in a cone-shaped bamboo basket (koekoesan), which is placed point downwards into the vessel and covered with a bamboo or earthenware top (kekep). The dang-dang is then placed over the fire either in the kompor or on the bricks.

Rice culture is the natural pursuit of the Javanese or Sundanese native. Coffee, sugar, and tea he cultivates on compulsion for wages with which to pay his taxes. Now the land of Java is divided into two classes, land capable of being inundated by streams or rivers called sawah, and land not so inundated called tegal, or gaga. On the latter only the less important crops, such as mountain rice or Indian corn, are grown. On sawah land the rice is grown in terraces, which are so arranged that, without any machinery for raising or cisterns for storing the water, a perfectly natural and perpetual supply is gained from the high mountains, which serve here the same useful purpose that the great river Nile does in Egypt. The small fields are worked with the patjoel, a sort of hoe, and the large with the plough (wloekoe), and then inundated. After ten or fifteen days they are hoed again, so that any places not reached by the plough or hoe may be laboured, and the intervening banks kept free from weeds and consequently made porous. The large sawahs are also harrowed with the garoe; and, finally, small trenches are cut for the water to flow from one terrace to another. When the earth has thus been worked into a mass of liquid mud, the young plants are transplanted from the beds in which they have been sown about a month previously, and carefully placed in this soft mud. Inundation is necessary until the rice is nearly ripe, which is naturally about August or September. It is reaped with a short knife called ani-ani, with which the reaper cuts off each separate ear with a few inches of the stem; and the ears are then threshed by being placed in a hollow tree trunk and there stamped with a toemboekan, a heavy piece of wood with a broad end. The lands are ploughed, harrowed, and weeded by the men, but the transplanting, reaping, and threshing is done by women.

A curious circumstance in rice-cultivation is the fact that side by side the crops may be seen in each of the separate stages, planting and reaping often going on simultaneously. Beside the rice, a crop of beans or sweet potatoes is grown in the year, and the flooded terraces are also utilized as fish-tanks, in which gold-fish are grown to the length of a foot and a half and then eaten. They are brought to the market in water, and so kept fresh, and, if not sold, are of course returned to their "pastures" again.

The sawah plough is an interesting study. It is made in three pieces—the pole (tjatjadan); the handle (patjek), which fits into the iron-shod share (singkal). To this is attached a crosspiece or yoke (depar), fitted with a pair of long pegs coming over the necks of the oxen or buffaloes, and a crosspiece hanging under their necks and fastened to the yoke by native cord. The ploughman holds the tail of the plough with the left and the rod-whip (petjoet) with the right hand. He drives and directs the big lumbering beasts by words or by a touch of the rod. To make them go "straight on," he calls out, Gio gio kalen; "Turn to the right" is Ghir ngivo; "To the left," Ghir nengen; "Stop" is His his; and whenever they (or horses) incur the displeasure of their drivers, they are invariably brought to a better mind by hearing an unpronounceable exclamation something like Uk uk.

[Page 54.]

A BULLOCK CART.

Another natural industry in which the Javanese are particularly skilful is the making of mats. There are many varieties. A light sort of floor-covering is made from the leaves of the wild pine-apple (pandan); a stronger kind is the tika Bogor, or Buitenzorg matting, which is made from the bark of a species of palm, and which is used to cover walls and ceilings. Beside these, matting is made from rushes and from the cane imported from Palembang, in Sumatra; while for the walls of the houses a heavy matting of bamboo strips is used. The weaving of sarongs is practised by the women all over Java, and the cooking and household utensils, made both in copper and earthenware, indicate by their forms a considerable taste. The Javanese carpenters are also very clever, and both they and the Malays are skilful in imitating any European designs which are handed to them. In spite, however, of this natural aptitude for higher industries, the great mass of the native population are compelled by the present commercial system to remain mere peasants. Even so the cheapness and simplicity of the means of life prevent them from being a joyless race. A plantation cooly generally has two days in the week on which he does no work.

The public feasts are numerous, the chief being the Taon Baru, or New Year, which falls at the end of the fasting month, which varies from year to year. In 1890 it lasted from April 21 to May 21. During this month the chiefs and the better class abstain from eating or smoking from sunrise to sunset. Every village has its market once a week or thereabouts, and after this there is generally a wayang, or puppet show, and some mild amusement. The wayang is the most important of the native amusements; for the theatre is a rare luxury, and confined chiefly to the towns or to the courts of the native princes. It is a very simple business—far beneath a punch-and-judy show in point of art, but the audience watch the puerile display for five or six hours without intermission. The theatre consists of pantomimic representations, with which is mingled a ballet, the basis of which is ancient tradition. The following story (which I have condensed from D'Almeida's book) is a specimen. A certain King Praboe Sindolo of Mendang Kamolan, feeling tired of the vanities of the world, retired to a hut, where he lived in prayer and fasting. While thus living he was visited by a tempter, who sought to rekindle his desire for the good things of this life. Thereupon Praboe sent for a large bird and four vestal virgins to defend him against the evil spirit. By a miracle he transformed himself into a flower, around which the vestal virgins danced. By chance, however, a princess passed that way, and, seeing a vase with beautiful flowers therein, she chose and gathered one, which she carried to her home. This she placed in water, when, to her surprise, it suddenly was transformed into a young and graceful man. Even as she had cared for him did Praboe care for her, and forthwith he became her lover, and cared nothing any longer for the fasting and the cave.

Much of the Javan festivity is connected with the marriage ceremony, which is always an occasion of feasting, greater or less, in proportion to the wealth of the bride and bridegroom. There is a procession and music, but the actual ceremony is very simple, although the accessory festivities appear to be capable of almost indefinite extension. Barrington D'Almeida, who visited the island in 1861, thus describes the scene[8] which he witnessed in a house filled with guests:—

"On either side of the front room, on white[58] Samarang mats, were seated the elders of the village, priests, various friends, relations, and acquaintances, all squatted cross-legged. Cups of tea, à la Chinoise—that is, without milk or sugar—were placed on handsome trays before each guest, as well as betel nuts, cakes, a quantity of rokos, and other native delicacies.... Followed by several of the guests, we entered another room, which was very gaudily decorated, and furnished with a low bed, the curtains of which were of white calico, ornamented with lace, gold, silver, beads, and coloured bits of silk. At the foot of this bed was a platform, raised about half a foot from the ground, on which was spread a spotless white mat, with several bronze trays containing cakes, etc. Whilst we were inspecting this apartment we were startled by the din of voices, followed by the sound of music, which, from its peculiar character, was too near to be agreeable. 'The bride is come,' said Drahman. The crowd was so great that it was some minutes before we could catch a glimpse of her. Our curiosity was at length gratified, while they were pouring water [59]upon her small naked feet. After this ceremony an elderly man, who, I was informed, was one of her relatives, carried her in his arms to the inner room, and placed her on the platform, where she sat down on the left side of the bridegroom, who had followed her in. She had a rather pleasing expression, but was much disfigured by a yellow dye, with which her face, neck, shoulders, and arms were covered, and which effectually concealed her blushes.

"Her dress was very simple, consisting of a long sarong of fine batek, passing under both arms and across the chest, so that, though her shoulders were quite naked, her bosom was modestly covered. This garment reached nearly down to the young bride's ankles, and was confined round the waist by a silver 'pinding.' Her hair was arranged in the usual Javanese style, with the addition that on the knob at the back of the head rested a kind of crown made of beads and flowers.

"On the left side of the girl sat an old, haggard-looking woman, the waksie, or bridesmaid, on [60]whose shoulders, according to the wedding etiquette of the Javanese, rests no small share of the responsibility.... She is expected to adorn the bride in the most attractive manner, so as to please her husband and the assembled guests; and she superintends all the ceremonies during the celebration of the wedding.... The bridegroom, like his bride, was yellow-washed down to the waist; his eyebrows were blackened and painted to a point; he wore a variegated batek sarong, fastened round the waist with a bright silk scarf, through the folds of which glittered the gilt hilt of a kriss. His hair fell on his back in long thick masses, whilst a conical-shaped hat, made of some material resembling patent leather, was placed on the top of his head. On one side of him was seated his waksie, or best man, a boy dressed very much like himself. I was told that the parents of the young couple were absent, as, according to the usual custom in this country, their presence is not expected at the wedding ceremony."

It is interesting to know that the ceremony by which the marriage tie is dissolved is as simple as the marriage ceremony is elaborate. All that is necessary is the consent of the parties; no discredit is involved nor any suffering incurred, and the Arab priest performs the divorce service for a sum so trifling as half a florin! Probably the cheapness of food, and the ease with which life can be supported generally in such a country and climate, is the cause of this laxity of the marriage tie. As a Mohammedan, a Javan peasant is permitted to have as many as four wives, but he can rarely afford more than one, or two at the most.

A SAWAH PLOUGH.

Footnotes:

[7] At the time of writing I have come across the following paragraph in the Java news column of the Singapore Free Press for February 23, 1892: "The Nieuwsblad notes the arrival of a Turk from Singapore in the Stentor, who is suspected of having the intention to stir up the natives of Java. The police are paying attention to him."

[8] "Life in Java."

CHAPTER IV.
BATAVIA.

Tanjong Priok—​Sadoes—​Batavia—​Business quarter—​Telephoning—​Chinese Campong—​Weltevreden—​ Waterloo Plain—​Peter Elberfeld's house—​Raffles and Singapore.

When the prosperity of the Dutch East India Company was at its height, the city of Batavia[9] was justly entitled the "Queen of the East." Apart from the fact that this place was the centre and head-quarters of the company, it was the emporium through which the whole commerce of the East passed to and from Europe. The Dutch possessions of Ceylon, the Cape of Good Hope, and the Moluccas depended for their supplies on Java. Not only were the European imports, iron, broadcloth, glass-ware, velvets, wines, gold lace, furniture, and saddlery destined for these settlements received here in the first instance, but similar imports intended for China, Cochin, Japan, and the Malay islands were also reshipped from this port into the native boats which conveyed them to those several countries. Similarly, the wealth of China and the East was first collected upon the wharfs of Batavia before it was finally despatched to the various ports of Europe and America.

Since the foundation of the town, the seashore has silted up to such an extent that the original harbour of Batavia, in which the Dutch East Indiamen of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries lay at anchor, has been abandoned, and a new port has been constructed at a point six miles to the eastward. The harbour works at Tanjong Priok, as the present port of Batavia is called, and the railway which connects the port and town of Batavia, are one among many improvements set on foot in the island since the inauguration of a public-works policy by the Colonial Government in 1875. Ocean steamships of 4000 and 5000 tons burden can now be berthed at these wharfs, and there is a constant and convenient service of trains between the port and the town. Even to-day the presence of superannuated Dutch warships and quaint craft from China and the Malay islands relieves the monotony of the vast hulls of the steamships of the British India, the Messageries Maritimes, and the Netherlands India Companies.

I was agreeably surprised at the size and convenience of the station at Tanjong Priok. The booking clerk, who was, I think, a Chinaman, seemed to know the ways of strangers, and I and my fellow-passengers had no difficulty in taking tickets for Batavia. The line passed through groves of cocoa-nut palms, intersected with canals. Everything was quaint and interesting, the canal boats, the buffalo ploughs, the gaily-feathered birds,—all revealed a new and delightful phase of life and nature. We were immensely struck with the appearance of a native cutting grass. He had a hooked blade of steel fastened to a long handle, forming an instrument not unlike a cleek or other golf-stick. This he slowly swung round his head, and each time it touched the ground cleared about three inches of grass. The thing looked too absurd. We all wanted to get out and ask him how long he expected to be mowing that strip of grass by the canal-side.

While I was on board ship I had been fortunate enough to borrow a Malay phrase-book from a man who had visited the Archipelago before, and during the voyage to Batavia I had amused myself with copying out some of the phrases and committing them to memory. On landing I found these few phrases extremely useful, and I mention the fact by way of encouragement, and in case any other traveller should be inclined similarly to beguile the tedium of the voyage. He will have his reward.

When Mr. Wallace visited Java in 1861, he tells us he found no conveyances in Batavia except "handsome two-horse carriages," costing something under a sovereign a day. He justly complains of the expensiveness of these vehicles, and also of the cost of the post-carriages which then formed the sole means of locomotion in the interior of the island. To-day things are greatly improved. To say nothing of the railway system which connects the large towns in the east and west, Batavia is provided with an excellent tramway, and with a capital supply of small vehicles called sadoes.

[Page 67.]

THE KING'S PLAIN, BATAVIA.

The sadoe is the hansom of Java. It is a small two-wheeled carriage, in which the seats are placed back to back (hence the name, which is a corruption of dos-à-dos), and which is furnished with a square top to keep off the sun. It is drawn by one (or two) of the sturdy little horses bred in the island. At a pinch these vehicles will hold four, but two is enough. Ordinarily the driver sits in front, and the "fare" in the more luxurious seat behind. Thus weighted the country-breds go at a very smart pace; nor is there any complaint to be made in respect of the drivers. They are generally very civil, and their charges are very moderate.

I was told a story which illustrates the docility of the sadoe drivers, and the cleverness with which they can trace and identify their "fares."

An English officer from Singapore, whom we will call Brown, was visiting Batavia, and had occasion, in the course of his visit, to drive in a sadoe from the old town to a friend's house in Weltevreden. For some reason or other he became annoyed with the driver, and, having ejected him, proceeded to drive himself. As it was night, he soon became entangled in the maze of streets. At last he reached the large open space called the King's Plain. He was now close to his destination. The only difficulty was to get rid of the sadoe. In order to do this he drove into the middle of the plain. He waited until the horse began to graze quietly, and then "made tracks" as quickly as might be for his friend's compound. Ultimately he returned to his hotel. The first thing Brown saw, when he got up the next morning, was sadoe, driver, and horse waiting outside his verandah in the courtyard. He grew pale with thoughts of the police; but no, the driver only wanted his fare, which was two florins. Having received this, he retired smiling and contented.

There was a crowd of these sadoes waiting outside the station at Batavia, in one of which I made my way to the Hôtel der Nederlanden.

Batavia may be divided (like all Gaul) into three parts. First, there is the business quarter, the oldest, where the houses are tall and built in the style still prevalent in the warm countries of Europe, with balconies and verandahs and widely projecting eaves, and where the streets are narrow. Then there is the Chinese Campong, which, with the adjacent streets, occupies the central portion of the town, containing the bulk of the population closely packed in their curious dwellings. And, lastly, there is Weltevreden, the Dutch town, where the officials, the military, and the merchants reside. The town is traversed from end to end by the railway, which passes through from Tanjong Priok to Buitenzorg and Bandong; and by the tramway, which runs from the town gate in the north to the statue of Meester Cornelis in the south. It is also divided by the stream called the Kali Bezar, or Great River, and intersected by numerous canals. The pavements are of red brick, and the roads covered with a reddish dust; indeed, the prevailing tone of the whole place is a warm red-brown, varied by salmon-pink and green masonry, and generously interspersed with bright yellow, deep crimson, and olive-green foliage, though not unfrequently a spreading waringin tree or a group of feathery palms overtops the general mass. Additional colour is given by the natives, who are clothed in light cottons and silken stuffs of delicate tones and graceful shapes, carried with an easy carelessness and unfailing novelty of combination. Sometimes they are gathered into dark brown masses round the base of some one of the many bridges which span the river or canals, prepared for the luxury of the tropics—an afternoon bathe.

[Page 70.]

BRIDGE LEADING TO THE PAZER BAROE, BATAVIA.

All three quarters are possessed of a separate beauty. The elaborately carved pediments and ponderous doors, the heavy balconies and eaves of the houses, give an old-world quaintness to the first, which is enhanced by the crowd of many-shaped and variously coloured boats that line the quays that front the offices on either side of the Great River. Nothing could be more delightful than the setting of the red-tiled roofs, with their dragon-decorated ridges and parapets, on the wooden trellis fronts and canvas blinds of the Chinese houses. Weltevreden, too, is not without attractions. The broad porticoes of dazzling white, with their Ionic columns and marble floors, are often set in a fair surrounding of green trees. The compounds and gardens are always verdant, and sometimes radiant with bright-leaved shrubs and flowers. Especially the broad green-covered squares and the wide roads arched with noble trees speak of coolness and repose in a hot and weary land. On the outskirts of the town, along the country roads, where the cocoa palm and banana plantations begin, are the bamboo cottages of the Sundanese natives.

But it is after nightfall that this place becomes a veritable fairyland. The open porticoes of the Dutch houses are seen to be thronged with gaily dressed people, the ladies often still wearing the sarong, and looking like Æneas' mother—

"Proved to be a goddess by her stately tread,"

and in harmony with the pillars and pediments about them. Everywhere lights gleam through foliage, and ever and again, through an air instinct with electric movement and heavy with perfumes, strains of music reach the ear from the open doorways, or are wafted in the distance from one of the numerous military bands, which are ever "discoursing sweet music" to the society of the capital. In the centre of the town the native streets look, to the European eye, like a perpetual festival. Outside the doors are gathered in groups the various inhabitants—Chinese, Malay, or Sundanese, some clanging cymbals and other strange instruments of music, others seated round fires, eating baked cakes or fruits and other frugal dainties. Meanwhile the streets are alive with the rush of numerous cahars[10] and sadoes, drawn by the agile native pony, and with itinerant vendors, who, bearing their baskets suspended from their shoulders by the pikulan, or cross-piece, each with a lamp fixed to the rearmost basket, flit to and fro noiselessly on their bare feet.

The business quarter, like the "city" in London, is thronged with merchants and carriages, carts and coolies, and all the machinery of commerce, in the daytime, and entirely deserted at night. The merchants keep their offices open from nine till five, and, in spite of the great heat, work all through the day, with the exception of an hour or so for "tiffin." By this arrangement the early morning and late afternoon, the only time when open-air exercise is possible, is left available for riding or walking. In spite of the romantic exterior of the place, Batavia is not ill-supplied with modern improvements. The tramway system, in which smoke and heat are avoided by the use of a central boiler from which steam is taken for the different locomotives, is especially well suited to the requirements of the climate. The telephone, again, is in constant use both in offices and private houses, although the confusion of languages—Malay, Dutch, and English—makes it a little difficult sometimes to work it. I remember once asking the landlord of the Hôtel der Nederlanden to telephone to a man in the town that I was intending to go to Buitenzorg on the following morning, and the terrible difficulty I had to get him to convey my name to the clerk at the other end. After ringing up the central office (which is worked by Malays) and getting the connection he wanted, he said—

"Mr. X——?"

"No."

"Mr. X—— is not there" (to me).

"All right," I said; "tell the clerk to tell Mr. X——"

But the telephone was now shut off, and the process of connecting had to be gone through again.

"Tell Mr. X—— What is your name?"

"Worsfold," I said.

"Versfolt?"

"Yes."

"Tell Mr. X—— that Mynheer Versfolt——"

"Who?" (from the other end).

"Mynheer Versfolt."

"Who?"

"Versfolt."

"Who?"

"How you spell it?" (to me).

I spelt it.

"Mynheer V-e-a-s-f-o-l-t. Veasfolt, Veasfolt, Veasfolt."

Here he appealed to a Dutch gentleman who could speak English, and wrote down the name, W-o-r-s-f-o-l-d.

"Tell Mr. X—— that Mynheer—— Listen, I will spell it—W-o-r," etc.

"Oh, never mind; tell him that the Englishman is going to Buitenzorg to-morrow."

"The English gentleman is going to Buitenzorg to-morrow."

"What Englishman?"

"Mynheer Veasfolt."

"Who?"

"Mynheer Veasfold. I will spell it—W-o-r," etc.

"Yes; what about him?"

"Tell Mr. X—— that Mynheer Veasfolt——"

"Who?"

"Oh, never mind," I said; "Mr. X—— will understand."

But the polite landlord was not satisfied. "It is no trouble; I will tell him."

Then I went away in haste, as the process had already occupied half an hour, and I was telephoning to avoid delay. Five minutes later I passed the bureau. The landlord was still at that wretched instrument. I hurried by without daring to look up, fearing that I should be appealed to again. I dared not even ask whether the message ever reached the office or not.

Beside the town gate—a massive stone arch, with two large iron images on either side, remnants of early victories over the kings of Bantam—there are two buildings of interest in this (business) quarter of the town, the stadthaus, or town hall, and the town church. The former is just such an old Dutch edifice as might be seen in any of the towns of Holland, standing in a tree-planted space. In it are the offices of the Resident and the police authorities. The landraad, or county court, also holds its sittings here; and on the stone terrace in front of the building, the town guard (a native force armed with lances or picks, and therefore called "pickiniers") are generally to be seen drilling. The town church is across the river, on the road to Tanjong Priok. It is given up to a half-caste congregation, but its walls are lined with memorial tablets of former governors, and there are some interesting monuments outside. According to a wooden tablet within, it was built between the years 1693 and 1695 by Pieter Van Hoorn. It contains some handsome silver candelabra and a richly gilt pulpit, and in the vestry there are some handsome old chairs.

The native quarter is remarkable for the picturesque medley of its people and their houses. There are also in the Chinese Campong many fine private houses, which are furnished with courtyards, and elaborately finished. In the decorations of the roof the favourite form of the Chinese dragon is constantly repeated, and extraordinary effects are produced by a sort of mosaic work, with which the spaces over the doorways and windows are filled, and which has a shiny surface almost like majolica ware.

Weltevreden has many handsome buildings, and some which are interesting. Most of them are grouped round the two great squares or parks, the King's Plain and the Waterloo Plain. The former is lined by four magnificent avenues of tamarind trees (Poinciana regia), which form a graceful arch of small-leaved foliage, broken here and there by a still wider-spreading waringin tree. On the west side stands the museum, which contains a very perfect collection of the antiquities and industries of the island. There is also a library, and new buildings are in course of erection. It is governed by a directory, which consists in full of eleven members, who have power to fill up any vacancies which may occur. There is a president, a vice-president, a secretary, and a librarian. This latter gentleman is generally to be found at the museum, and a little conversation with him, and a few hours spent in the ethnological and antiquarian sections, form the very best commencement of a tour through the island. Directly opposite the museum is the Weltevreden station and the great black dome of the Dutch church. This latter is noticeable as being the place where the few people who do go to church in Batavia attend, and where marriages are solemnized after the preliminary ceremony at the registrar's.

[Page 78.]

THE WATERLOO PLAIN, BATAVIA.

The Waterloo Plain is not nearly so large as the King's Plain. On two sides it is lined by officers' bungalows; and the east side is occupied by a large pile of Government offices, called the Palace, and by the military club, the Concordia. In front of these buildings there are some prettily laid out gardens, in the centre of which is a statue of Jan Pietersen Van Koen, the first Dutch Governor of Batavia. In the centre of the plain is the monumental pillar from which it takes its name. It consists of a round column with a square base, some forty feet in height, surmounted by a Belgian lion. On the base the following inscription is to be read in plain Roman characters and excellent Latin:—

"In æternam, celeberrimæ diei duodecimæ ante Kalendas Julii mdcccxv, memoriam, quo, fortitudine et strenuitate Belgarum eorumque inclyti ducis Wilhelmi, Frederici, Georgi Ludovici, principis arausiaci, post atrocissimum in campis Waterlooæ prœlium stratis et undique fugatis Gallorum legionibus Pax orbis reluxit...." [William Frederick Charles, Vice-king of India, erected this monument in the year 1827.] "To the perpetual memory of that most famous day, June 20, 1815, on which, by the resolution and activity of the Belgians and their famous General, William Frederich George Ludovic, Prince of Luxemburg, after a terrible conflict on the plains of Waterloo, when the battalions of [80]the French had been routed and scattered on every side, the peace of the world dawned once more."

Most people will admit that the facts of the famous victory are scarcely detailed with sufficient accuracy by the inscription. And, indeed, the American gentleman who accompanied me on my visit remarked that "he guessed the lion at the top was on the whole inferior in size to the lyin' at the bottom of the pillar."

Just outside this plain, and opposite one of the small bridges which leads into the native street termed Pazer Baroe, is the theatre, which is the most picturesque of the modern buildings of Batavia.

In the main road which leads through that part of the town which covers the site of the original Sundanese capital, Jakatra (meaning "the work of victory"), there is a desolate-looking house which the visitor will do well to include in his archæological investigations. Over the walled-up entrance of this house the remains of a skull spiked on a pike are still to be seen. Underneath is a tablet with the following inscription:—

"In consequence of the detested memory of Peter Elberfeld, who was punished for treason, no one shall be permitted to build in wood or stone, or to plant anything whatsoever, in these grounds from this time forth for evermore. Batavia, April 22, 1722."[11]

This Peter Elberfeld was one of the many natives who conspired from time to time against the Dutch. According to Raffles, the Dutch administration of Java was distinguished from the very first by a "haughty assumption of superiority, for the purpose of overawing the credulous simplicity of the natives, and a most extraordinary timidity, which led them to suspect treachery and danger in quarters where they were least to be apprehended." But large allowances must be made for the precarious position of a handful of Europeans living in the midst of a hostile and numerous population. In the case of the conspiracy in question, the historical outlines of the story are tinctured by an element of romance.

Peter Elberfeld was a half-caste who had acquired considerable wealth, but who was possessed by an intense hatred of the Dutch. Uniting the native princes in a league, he formed a conspiracy to extirpate the entire white population of the island by concerted massacres. When his plans were fully formed and ready for execution, an unexpected circumstance revealed the plot and brought destruction upon the chiefs of the conspiracy. Elberfeld had a niece living with him, who, so far from sharing her uncle's hatred of the Dutch race, had secretly fallen in love with a young Dutch officer. Knowing her uncle's aversion to their foreign masters and jealousy of their power, she did not dare to ask for his consent to the marriage. At last she arranged to elope with her lover. On the night previous to that fixed upon for this event she was unable to sleep, from a feeling of remorse at conduct which seemed ungrateful to one who had at least been indulgent and affectionate to her. As she stood upon the verandah, looking out upon the darkness of the night, she became conscious that some persons, unseen in the darkness, were moving around her. She made her way in alarm to her uncle's chamber, but found it empty. She then went to the dining-room. The door of this room was shut, but, bending down, she perceived that the room itself was filled with people, and listened to their whispered consultations. Overwhelmed with horror at the cruel nature of the conspiracy, and at the terrible ceremonies by which they bound themselves at the same time to mutual loyalty and vengeance on their enemies, she yet hesitated to betray her uncle. Finally love for her betrothed prevailed, and she communicated the particulars of the conspiracy to him. He at once informed the Dutch authorities. On the following night—the night fixed for the elopement—Elberfeld's house was surrounded, and the conspirators were captured as they were on the point of departing to their various stations. Most of the native princes were punished by mutilation, but Elberfeld was reserved for a signal vengeance. Each of his arms and legs were tied respectively to one of four horses, which were then driven by lashes of whips in four different directions. Finally his head was severed from the trunk of his body and impaled. To this day it remains a ghastly memorial of the turbulent past. The most unsatisfactory part of the story is the fact that the girl who had made such sacrifices in her lover's behalf was after all not permitted to be his bride.

The population of Batavia is, in round numbers, 110,000. Of these 7000 are Europeans. In respect of total population it is inferior to Soerabaia, the eastern capital, which has 140,000 inhabitants. There are, however, fewer Europeans at Soerabaia than at Batavia. Samarang, which ranks third in size, has a population of 70,000.

Sir Stamford Raffles, who was Governor of Java during the short period of English occupation, was so impressed with the commercial importance of Batavia, that he persuaded the British Government, upon the cession of the island, to found a rival port on the opposite side of the Straits of Malacca. Singapore, the town due to this act of political foresight, is built upon a small island at the extremity of the Malay peninsula. Although it is almost exactly on the equator, it enjoys a more temperate climate than its older rival. It also possesses vastly superior accommodation for shipping. While Batavia, owing to the silting of the river already mentioned, is now some miles from the sea, Singapore possesses two commodious harbours, and has far outstripped the older town in commercial importance. There is a monument marking the spot where Lady Raffles was buried in the green glades of the gardens at Buitenzorg; but the statue of Sir Stamford Raffles looks forth to the sea from the centre of the broad grass-clad esplanade of Singapore.

Footnotes:

[9] "Not many years later (i.e. than 1602, the date of Wolfert's victory over the Portuguese Admiral Mendoza), at the distance of a dozen leagues from Bantam, a congenial swamp was fortunately discovered in a land whose volcanic peaks rose two miles in the air, and here a town duly laid out with canals and bridges, and trim gardens and stagnant pools, was baptized by the ancient and well-beloved name of Good Meadow, or Batavia, which it bears to this day" (Motley, "United Netherlands").

[10] Native carriage much like the sadoe, but never used by Europeans.

[11] I have taken this inscription as I found it translated in D'Almeida's "Life in Java," from which I have also abridged the story.

CHAPTER V.
THE HINDU TEMPLES.

The temple remains generally—​The connection between Buddha and Brahma—​The Boro-Boedoer—​Loro-Jonggrang.

Of the temple ruins of Java, considered generally, Mr. Wallace says, "It will take most persons by surprise to learn that they far surpass those of Central America, perhaps even those of India."[12] Yet it is only recently that these great works have been recovered to the world. A Dutch engineer who was sent to construct a fort at Klaten, in 1797, found that a number of architectural remains existed in the neighbourhood of Brambanan, of which no account had been given. The natives, it appeared, regarded them as the work of some local deity, and, indeed, were in the habit of worshipping one conspicuous statue. He also found much difficulty in sufficiently clearing the ruins of the overgrowth of vegetation, so as to get an adequate view. Eventually he succeeded in making some rough sketches of them. In the year following the English occupation (1812), Colonel Colin MacKenzie visited Brambanan, and made an accurate survey of the ruins in that neighbourhood, which he sketched and described. At the instance of the Governor, Sir Stamford Raffles, Captain Butler was then sent to make drawings of the buildings, and to report upon them. This was the first methodical exploration of the Hindu ruins in Java; but it was only partial, and related almost exclusively to the Brambanan neighbourhood. A quarter of a century later, when the discovery of photography had made an exact reproduction of the sculptures possible, the Dutch Government instituted an exhaustive survey of the Boro-Boedoer temple. In July, 1845, M. Shaefer was commissioned to execute photographs of the bas-reliefs, but he was only partially successful. Two years later, an engineer, M. F. C. Wilsen, was sent out from Holland, and, after giving satisfactory proofs of his skill, definitely appointed in 1849, by a decree of the Council of Netherlands India, to make drawings of the bas-reliefs and statues of this temple. He was assisted by M. Schönburg Mulder. They commenced in April, 1849, and completed the whole of the task they had undertaken in the year 1853. M. Mulder's drawings proved, however, to be useless, and a new assistant, M. Mieling, was appointed. After various troubles, the drawings were finally completed in 1871, and the letterpress and plates published in 1874. This great literary work, consisting of several hundreds of large lithographed plans and drawings of sculptures and statues, with a complete account written by Dr. C. Leemans, director of the Public Museum at Leiden, was produced under the direction of the Dutch Minister of the Colonies. But even this splendid account of the Boro-Boedoer temple is not complete; since the date of its publication a new series of bas-reliefs have been discovered, and are being gradually photographed. In connection with the temples of Brambanan and Kalasan, also, new and interesting discoveries are being made from year to year. Indeed, images and sculptured stones are continually found all over the island. At Gunong Praü, forty miles south-west of Samarang, and further east, at Kediri and in Malang, there are large tracts of ruins; but the most imposing and interesting for the traveller are to be found in the centre of the island, in the neighbourhood of Magalang and Djokja, in positions indicated by the accompanying map. I shall endeavour first to give the reader a general idea of the extent and nature of these remains, and then, after a few remarks on the connection between Buddha and Brahma, to describe more at length the Boro-Boedoer temple, and that of Loro-Jonggrang, near Brambanan, the former of which is Buddhistic, and the latter Brahmanic, or Saivite.

[View larger image]

[Page 89.]

At Boro-Boedoer, ten miles from Magalang, there are the remains of the vast temple of that name; and about a mile distant, on the nearer bank of the Prago river, is the small and externally insignificant temple of Mendoet. Inside this latter is a vaulted chamber, the roof of which springs from walls twenty feet in height, and rises to sixty feet in the centre, covering a fine statue of Buddha.

At Brambanan, a village near Djokja, there is a large mass of ruins, of which the most important are the temple of Loro-Jonggrang and a group of small temples called Tjandi Sewoe, or Thousand Temples. In the neighbourhood of the former ruins there are six large and fourteen small temples, twenty separate buildings in all. The ruins of the latter group cover a space of six hundred, square feet, and contain many splendid colossal figures. They are arranged in five regular parallelograms, consisting of an outer row of eighty-four temples, a second of seventy-six, a third of sixty-four, a fourth of forty-four, and a fifth (forming an inner-parallelogram) of twenty-eight. The centre is occupied by a large cruciform temple, ornamented with sculpture, and surrounded by flights of steps. All of these remains are greatly marred by the luxurious growths of tropical vegetation which cover them.

Half a mile further are the Tjandi Kali Bening, or Temples of Kalasan. Here there is a very fine and well-preserved temple, seventy-two square feet in extent, of which Mr. Wallace says that it is "covered with sculptures of Hindu mythology that surpass any that exist in India." There are also other ruins of palaces, halls, and temples in the neighbourhood.[13]

The stones used for the construction of the Boro-Boedoer and other temples in Java, and for the images found throughout the island, are of volcanic origin. They are supplied by the numerous volcanoes in the island, and carried down the sides of the mountains to the plains below in lava streams. To-day such stones are used largely for making roads. There is, however, a little limestone found in the southern districts of the island.

In the Boro-Boedoer, at Mendoet, and in the Tjandi Sewoe, Buddha was worshipped; but in the Temple of Loro-Jonggrang at Brambanan, and in the Temples of Kalasan, Siva (the third person of the Hindu Trinity—Brahma, Vishnu, Siva) was the central object of adoration. As the connection between the religion of Buddha and Brahma has been often misunderstood, a few words on this point may be of service to the reader.

Brahmanism, which was the established worship of the Hindus when Buddha taught, was a religion which admitted of many sects; and Buddha, although his ethical system was independent of Brahmanic theology, recognized the existence of the popular deities. The distinction, then, between Brahmanism and Buddhism is purely arbitrary; the latter is merely a new growth of the former, and they both exist in British India at the present day. In China also there is a similar fusion of religious beliefs, where there are three established cults—those of Brahma, Confucius, and of the Taöists, or nature-worshippers. The Confucian religion is rather a system of ethics than a cult; but the rites of the Buddhist and Taöist temples are attended indiscriminately by the majority of the Chinese, the priests of the separate temples alone confining themselves to the worship of a particular deity. In India, however, the special followers of the two systems do not exhibit an equal liberalism of sentiment; while the worship of Brahma is considered orthodox, the cult of Buddha is regarded as heretical. The Buddhistic temples of Java, coming midway between the oldest Buddhistic temples of India and the modern shrines in Burmah, Ceylon, and Nepaul, the present seats of the cult, supply an interesting lacuna in the antiquities of Buddhism. The Javan form of this religion is especially allied to that of Nepaul. It bears a general resemblance to the Buddhism of Northern India, but is distinct from that of Ceylon and the south. It is not surprising, therefore, that ruins of temples dedicated to the services of both religions should exist side by side, nor that the grosser and more popular Brahmanic forms should have developed more largely than the more spiritual worship of Buddha, both in India to-day and in Java previously to the Mohammedan conquest.

[Page 94.]

GROUND PLAN.

SECTION OF THE BORO-BOEDOER TEMPLE.

The temple of Boro-Boedoer is built upon a slight rounded eminence, the last of a chain of hills on the eastern bank of the river Prago. The entire edifice rests upon an equilateral base of six hundred and twenty feet, situated due N.S.E. and W., and rises gradually in terraces adapted in design to the form of the hill. These consist of two lower terraces which are square in form; four galleries (or passages, with sculptures on either side), which are still rectangular in form, but have twenty angles to admit of their following the rounded contour of the hill; and four terraces, of which the first has twelve angles, while the remaining three are circular, adorned with cupolas, each containing a statue of Buddha; and finally the whole is surmounted by a huge cupola, fifty feet in diameter, in which rests the central figure of Buddha. Access from one terrace to another is gained by four flights of steps, running up the centre of each front, at the several entrances of which are placed two huge lion-monsters. Dr. Leemans, in his account of the building, enumerates five galleries; but in reality there are only four, since the outside of what he calls the first gallery is merely a second basis for the whole structure, as is shown by the nature of its decoration, viz. simple architectural designs and groups of deities. The lower terrace, of which Dr. Leemans only guessed the existence, is now being excavated and photographed section by section. Only one section is kept open at any given time, because the earth is necessary to support the vast mass of stonework which forms the entire building, and it was for this reason, namely, to prevent the structure from breaking up, that this terrace was formerly banked up. It is found that this lower terrace is decorated with sculptures representing ordinary mundane scenes, the world being the basis on which all the higher religious phenomena rest. In the first gallery (Leemans' second), the bas-reliefs represent a continuous selection of scenes from the historical life of Buddha; in the second, there are sculptures of the lesser deities recognized in the Brahmanic worship, such deities having been adopted into the Buddhistic pantheon; in the third the higher deities are represented, where the shrine, and not the deity, is worshipped; in the fourth there are groups of Buddhas; and in the central dome there is the incomplete statue of the Highest Buddha—Adibuddha. This is unfinished by design, in order to indicate that the highest deity cannot be represented by human hands, having no bodily but only a spiritual existence.

"Om, amitaya! measure not with words
Th' Immeasurable; nor sink the string of thought
Into the Fathomless. Who asks doth err,
Who answers, errs. Say nought."

Such is the design of this great religious monument, of which even the bare ruins, in their melancholy magnificence, inspire the mind of the spectator with mingled feelings of wonder and solemnity.

The temple of Loro-Jonggrang is one in which, as at Kalasan, the object of worship was Siva, and not Buddha. This god, as already stated, was the third of the three persons of the Hindu Trinity; the first being Brahma, or the Creator, and the second Vishnu, the Preserver. Siva, the Destroyer, is also the Reproducer, and appears in Java to have been worshipped under three forms: (1) as Mahadeva, or the Great God; (2) as Mahayogi, or the Great Teacher; and (3) as Mahakala, or the Destroyer. Guru (or Goeroe) is an alternative name for Siva Mahayogi, and his statues in this temple are so called. The edifice is greatly inferior in size to that of Boro-Boedoer; it rests upon a rectangular basement having twelve angles, and measuring some eighty feet across in either direction. Like the former temple, its position is almost exactly square with the points of the compass. The basement is ornamented with ordinary religious ornaments, consisting of sacred trees and lions. Above this is a gallery, of which the parapet on the inner side is decorated with scenes taken from the Ramayana (the second of the two great Indian epics), while the opposite wall of the temple is adorned with forms of deities. In the centre or body of the temple are four chambers, one of which—the principal—is itself larger, and contains a larger image than the others. They are each alike approached by flights of steps in the centre of the four sides of the edifice. The deities represented are—in the northern chamber, Durga; in the western, Ganesa; and in both the southern and eastern, Guru. Now, according to the Brahmanic pantheon, Durga (the Goddess) was the mother, and Guru the father, of Ganesa, the elephant-headed God of Wisdom. The connection between Siva and the Rama epic is this. The Ramayana is the history of the incarnation of Vishnu as Rama, and contains an account of the war waged by Rama with the giant Ravana, the demon king of Ceylon. In the poem mention is made of the Vedic god Indra and his Maruts. Subsequently Siva, the world destroyer, was identified with Indra in the form of Rudra, the god of tempests; hence the appropriateness of scenes from this story on a Saivite temple. It only remains to add that the name of the temple, Loro-Jonggrang, is simply the native name given to the particular Durga (or Goddess of Efficient Virtue) represented in the shrine, and means literally the "Maiden with beautiful hips."

Note.—In view of the late appearance of the Adibuddha (probably the tenth century), I have thought it desirable to state that the theory of the general design of the Boro-Boedoer contained in the text is based upon a very interesting conversation which I had with M. Groeneveldt, who is a member of the Council of Netherlands India and Director of the Museum at Batavia. Professor Rhys Davids has pointed out an interesting distinction between the Boro-Boedoer and the Buddhist shrines in India, viz. that, whereas the cupolas at Boro-Boedoer are hollow, the dagabas of British India are always solid. In the [Annex] will be found a detailed account of the various routes and the cost, etc., of travelling from Batavia to the temple districts in the centre and east of Java.

Footnotes:

[12] "Malay Archipelago."

[13] For this general account of the ruins in the neighbourhood of Djokja I am indebted to the accounts of Raffles and Wallace.

ANNEX TO CHAPTER V.
The Routes to the Temples.

Supposing that the traveller has been landed at Batavia, and wishes to visit the ruins in the east of the island, he will have the choice of three routes. First, he may sail by a Netherlands India boat to Samarang (or Soerabaia, if, as often happens from December to February, it is impossible to land at the former place owing to the surf); this occupies about thirty-six hours. There is an excellent hotel at Samarang—the Pavilion—where the night can be spent, and the following day the train will carry him to Amberawa, a distance of 50 miles by rail (or 30 by road). Here the railway stops, and a carriage must be taken to Magalang, the next town (with splendid views of the two volcanoes, Merbaboe and Merapi), which is some 20 miles further on, and where a halt must be made for the night. Ten miles' driving will take him to the Boro-Boedoer; the drive is one of extraordinary beauty. After visiting the Boro-Boedoer and the neighbouring temple of Mendoet, it is usual to return by way of Djokja (25 miles), which is the centre of numerous ruins. If, however, it is intended to travel overland, there are two routes available. The first is the regular posting route along the northern coast; the second lies to the south, and is perhaps more interesting. If the regular route is chosen, the traveller will proceed by rail as far as Bandong, a distance of some 90 miles; and then drive to Cheribon (80 miles), a place on the northern coast; and then, following the coast-line, from Cheribon to Tegal (40 miles); from Tegal to Pekalongan (35 miles); and from Pekalongan to Samarang (68 miles). In all these places there are good hotels, but two horses, and in some places four (as in the last stage, where the road passes over mountains), would be necessary. Such a journey in a carriage would cost (apart from hotel expenses) £20, or, if it were done in a cart (sadoe) and two horses, half that sum.

If he pursues the second route, he will not leave the railway before Garoet. From Garoet he will proceed to Kalipoetjan (100 miles) by carriage; this occupies two days, and Manongyaya (with a hotel) is passed, and Bandar, where there is sleeping-accommodation to be had. From Kalipoetjan he will make his way to Tjilatjap by native canoe, crossing the Kinderzee, a large lagoon, in eight or nine hours, and passing some villages built on piles. There is also a curious cave and some edible swallow-nests to be seen. In travelling by this route it is necessary to take a servant to interpret with the natives. From Tjilatjap the railway runs to Djokja. This town is about 25 miles from the Boro-Boedoer temple; the road is bad, and at times covered with dust to the depth of a foot or more, so that three horses are necessary. Even then the journey occupies four or five hours, although it is quite possible to return on the same day. There is an inn at the small village near the temple, but it is not sufficiently inviting to merit more than a transitory visit; at the same time, there is nothing to prevent the gentlemen of the party from staying the night at Boro-Boedoer if they felt so inclined. From Djokja, of course, the railway extends to Samarang and to Soerabaia. Especially the town of Solo (or Soerakarta), which is the junction where the line branches north or east, is worthy of a visit, as being the best centre for seeing native ceremonies. In conclusion I append a table of distances, means of conveyance, and cost (this latter being approximate only as depending upon individuals).

Note.—The regular hotel charge all through Java is five or six florins a day (= 10s.). Twelve florins = £1.

CHAPTER VI.
BUITENZORG.

Batavian heat—​To Buitenzorg by rail—​Buitenzorg—​ Kotta Batoe—​Buffalo—​Sawah land—​Sketching a Javan cottage.

Once in Java, and a visit to Buitenzorg is a matter of course. In the first place, Buitenzorg is to the Dutch possessions in the East what Simla is to British India; and, in the second, it possesses a strong attraction in its famous Botanical Gardens.

After a week of Batavia, the European or Australian traveller begins to want a change. It is not that there is at any time any extraordinary thermometrical heat to be encountered. It is simply that, not being an orchid, he finds it does not suit him to live in the warm damp atmosphere of a hothouse. What he suffers from most is the want of sleep. Probably he has not learnt to take two solid hours of sleep in the afternoon. He says to himself, "Pooh! this is nothing to the sun in India." He remembers that when he was in Australia the thermometer frequently registered 20° higher than it does here. It is all nonsense to call this a hot country, he thinks. So he hails a sadoe and drives off to the Kali Bezar to see the agent of his steamship company, when he ought to have been dressed in the luxurious freedom of pyjamas, and sleeping peacefully upon his great square bed, with the mosquito curtains securely drawn.

When night comes, the heat is apparently just as intense, and he lies awake, saying bad words about the mosquitoes which buzz around him, until the small hours of the morning. When his "boy" wakes him at six o'clock, he feels as if he had had no sleep at all. All the same it is a little cooler now; so he gets up to enjoy the fresh air outside in the verandah. After he has had his coffee and some bananas or a slice of pomelo, and taken his bath, he feels tolerably alive. This impression is heightened by a gallop over the King's Plain; and by the time he has had his breakfast he feels as "fit as anything." So he hardens his heart and does the same thing again to-day, except that, knowing the uselessness of trying to sleep before the temperature falls after midnight, he plays billiards at the club until he is turned out, and then spends the rest of the evening on a friend's verandah, seated in a long chair, consuming long drinks, and smoking long cigars.

It is not surprising, therefore, that the average globe-trotter finds a week of Batavia about enough at a time. He confides his emotions to his friend, who is a resident. This latter says, "Can't sleep? You should go to Buitenzorg; you'll sleep all night there." So he leaves his heavy luggage behind in the hotel, and packs a bag, jumps into a sadoe, and in less than two hours he finds himself in one of the healthiest climates in the world, and in the midst of surroundings as novel as they are delightful.

The train by which I had arranged to travel to Buitenzorg left the Weltevreden station at the convenient hour of half-past four in the afternoon. It only stopped once, and accomplished the distance in the fairly good time of one hour and twenty minutes. Here, again, as at Tanjong Priok, I was agreeably surprised with the size and convenience of the stations. The railway employés were Chinese and Javanese. The latter were dressed in peaked caps and blue serge coats and trousers, but wore rather unnecessarily waist-clothes and head-bands on the top of their European dress.

In Java, as elsewhere, the Anglo-Saxon abounded. The occupants of the railway carriage were, with two exceptions, English, like myself. There was a member of the Upper House of one of our colonial legislatures and his wife, the sister of a prominent English politician. With them I was already acquainted. But an English gentleman, who occupied one of the corner seats of the compartment, engaged in reading the Field, was a stranger.

The train passed by rice-fields, plantations of sugar cane, of bananas, and of Indian corn. On either side of us was a rich and highly cultivated country. There were hedgerows as neat as those which separate our English fields; and here and there a fox-hunter would have observed with disgust that barbed wire fences had spread as far as Java. At regular intervals, bamboo cottages with red-tiled roofs had been built for the signalmen. Among the fields were scattered groups of tropical trees, palms, and bamboos; and more than once we caught far-off glimpses of high mountains. The whole landscape was clothed in a supreme verdure.

As we approached the neighbourhood of Buitenzorg, the sky suddenly became overcast. Tremendous masses of dense black clouds rushed up from the horizon, throwing into relief the slopes of the mountains on which the sun was still shining brilliantly, and deepening the verdure of the rice-fields by their shadows. A few minutes of pelting rain and a flash or two of vivid lightning low down on the horizon, and once more the sky was clear and the landscape smiling and peaceful.

The town of Buitenzorg is situated on the slopes of the great volcanic mountain Salak, in 106° 53' 5" east longitude, and 6° 35' 8" south latitude. Although the elevation is only seven hundred feet above sea-level, the heat is never overpowering in the daytime, and the nights are delightfully cool. The mean temperature at noon, as indicated by the thermometer, is 82° Fahrenheit; but in the dry season as much as 88° is sometimes registered. Moreover while on an average there are five months of dry weather in Java and three in Batavia, three weeks without rain is considered unusual in Buitenzorg. The heat of the sun, therefore, is tempered by a rainfall which is not only very heavy, but very uniform; and when Batavia is steaming with moist heat, and the plains of the interior are scorched and dry, in Buitenzorg the gardens are still verdant and the air still tonic.

Besides Salak, which rises to a height of seven thousand feet, there is another and still loftier mountain mass in the immediate neighbourhood of the town. This is the double-peaked Pangerango and Gedé. All three mountains are volcanic. Salak, however, has been silent since the eruption of 1699, and the peak of Pangerango is an extinct volcanic cone; the only sign of activity is the light wreath of smoke which is generally to be seen hanging over the summit of Gedé. The slopes of these great mountains are clothed with a foliage which is kept perennially fresh by the abundant rains. Seen from rising ground, they enrich the landscape with the beauty of their graceful elevations; from the lower levels of the town, and in contrast to the foliage of palm or bamboo, their sheer height is manifested by the intense blueness of the background they afford.

Buitenzorg has long been the favourite resort of the officials and merchants of Batavia. In course of time the train service will no doubt be improved; as it is, busy men run down to see their families, or merely to enjoy the comparative coolness of the air for the "week end," or even for a single night.

The town itself contains a population of four thousand inhabitants. It has an excellent club, a museum, a race-course, and several good hotels. The summer residence of the Governor-General is in the centre of a large and beautifully wooded park, in which a number of deer are kept. It is an extensive building, consisting of an elevated central portion with wings on either side. It is built in the usual classical style affected by the Dutch for their public buildings, and is ornamented with pilasters and pediments. Part of the park is occupied by the famous Botanical Gardens, which form the supreme attraction of the place to the scientific visitor. The Governor-General, as the highest official in the Dutch East Indies, receives a salary of 160,000 florins a year. While this personage is at Buitenzorg he may be frequently observed driving down the great avenue of Kanarie trees in his state coach drawn by four horses. In close connection with the palace (as the Governor-General's residence is called), but at some distance from the town, large and convenient barracks have lately been completed for the better accommodation of the European troops.

I had been told not to omit to visit Batoe Toelis, "the place of the written stone," where there is an ancient inscription, and Kotta Batoe with its celebrated bath presided over by a Chinaman. My first expedition was to this latter place. There were three of us bent upon a swim before breakfast, and in order to save time we took a sadoe. The beauty and extent of the view increased as we ascended the slopes of Mount Salak. When we had driven some three miles we left the sadoe, with strict injunctions to the driver to wait till we returned, and proceeded to accomplish our quest on foot. There were three baths in all, natural basins of rock fed by streams of mountain water, and shaded by the dense foliage of lofty trees. One of them is circular in form, and the water is curiously coloured, by some trick of reflection or refraction, to a dull steely blue. A plunge in the clear cool water was well worth the trifling fee we paid to the celestial, and we returned to our hotel with a famous appetite for breakfast.

It was on the occasion of this drive that I first made the acquaintance of that useful domestic animal, the buffalo (Bos Sondaicus). He is a very "fine and large" animal of a mouse colour, with white legs and a patch of white on his quarters; and has long horns lying back on his neck, where they cannot be the slightest use to him. His Javan masters find him very docile, but he has an awkward way with strangers. He is generally to be found under the care of a small boy, who is seated on his broad back, and who touches him with a rod on this side or that according to the direction which he desires the animal to take. I have already described the simple but effective plough to which he is yoked when working the sawahs,[14] and the methods employed by the natives for the cultivation of rice.

From almost any elevated point it is possible to get views of the sawahs in the neighbourhood of Buitenzorg. The form and extent of the separate fields divided by the water-courses vary with the nature of the country. Each field is itself perfectly level, and is separated by as little as half a foot, or as much as four feet, from those immediately above and beneath it. The slopes of Gedé are covered with such a series of vast and irregular terraces. Seen from Buitenzorg the general effect is not unlike that of the tiers of a theatre, while in the distance the individual terraces show smooth surfaces varying in colour from emerald green to saffron yellow, or flashing with the brightness of still and sunlit waters.

Indeed, there is much to be seen at Buitenzorg with but little expenditure of time or trouble. Close at hand is the Campong, or Chinese town, with its quaint shops and busy market-place. Immediately beneath the hotel numberless bamboo cottages crowded with Javanese peasants can be found for the looking. They lie in the midst of groves of cocoanut palms, hidden away almost as completely as if they were a hundred miles instead of a hundred yards from the Belle Vue.

[Page 114.]

A JAVANESE COTTAGE.

I spent one whole morning sketching a cottage which I found within a stone's throw of the hotel. Without any ceremony, I walked into the midst of the family circle, and seated myself under the shelter of a wood shed. Had I known enough Malay, I should certainly have first asked permission before I ventured upon such an intrusion, for I have found a sketching-book an almost universal passport to civility. As it was, I assumed an air of conscious innocence, which I trusted would soon remove any awkward suspicions which might arise in the mind of the owner of the house, and proceeded to unpack my sketching-traps. I then quickly sketched in the group on the verandah, consisting of the mother and children. Before I had finished they all ran away in alarm, and for the next half-hour the front of the house was entirely deserted. I suppose they made up their minds at last that I was harmless, for they gradually came back and resumed their usual manner of life. The mother was occupied with keeping two small children in order. Besides these, there was a little boy and a girl. This latter was the oldest of the family. She was not so shy as her mother; on the contrary, she arranged herself in a most becoming attitude against the front of the verandah. Every now and then the mother showed her teeth and spoke crossly to the baby, and once when it cried she whipped it with a bit of palm-leaf until it came to a better mind—which it did promptly. After a time, a Chinaman called and had a talk with the lady of the house. I think he wanted a load of firewood. An old lady also came. I could not fathom her business, but, from the interest she manifested in the children, I expect she was a relative of the family.

About noon the father came back with a load of wood. He was a man of the world, and knew all about the performance. After he had looked at the sketch, the children, and finally the mother, all came round my stool and had a good long look at my work. Even so the mother would not let the children dab their toes into my paints, or generally become a nuisance. For this unexpected manifestation of a sense of the fitness of things, I felt grateful to her, and, before I went away, found a way of recompensing the children for the sorrow they must have felt at being compelled to relinquish such a rare opportunity for getting into mischief.

Every morning I found some quaint figure with which to enrich my sketch-book—a sarong-weaver, or a beggar crouching by the wayside, or a Hadji, with his large umbrella and green turban, the latter marking the fact of his having accomplished a pilgrimage to Mecca. But, interesting as were these human studies, my pleasantest recollections of Buitenzorg centre in the visit which I paid to the Botanical Gardens, under the guidance of the curator, Dr. Treub.

My account of this, however, and of the gardens generally, I reserve for the next chapter.

NATIVES SQUATTING.

Footnotes:

[14] In [Chapter III].

CHAPTER VII.
THE BOTANICAL GARDENS.

History of the Buitenzorg gardens—​Teysmann—​ Scheffer—​Three separate branches—​Horticultural garden—​Mountain garden—​Botanical garden—​ Dr. Treub—​Lady Raffles' monument—​Pandanus with aërial roots—​Cyrtostachys renda—​Stelecho-karpus—​ Urostigma—​Brazilian palms—​Laboratories and offices—​Number of men employed—​Scientific strangers.

Among the twenty or thirty tropical gardens established in the colonial possessions of the various European Powers, three stand pre-eminent—those of Calcutta, the Peradenia Gardens in Ceylon, and the Dutch gardens at Buitenzorg. It is only natural that a people so distinguished for horticulture as the Dutch should have turned to account the floral wealth of the Malay Archipelago, perhaps the richest botanical hunting-ground in the world. The Buitenzorg gardens, however, owe their present celebrity more to individual energy than to Government patronage.

Originally established in 1819, in a corner of the park surrounding the residence of the Governor-General, the exigencies of colonial finance subsequently required the withdrawal of almost all the provision originally made, and only a sum sufficient to support a single European gardener was left. The salary of this single official was taken from the funds appropriated to the maintenance of the park. It was to this post that J. E. Teysmann was appointed in 1830. Educated at one of the primary schools in Holland, and originally employed as an under-gardener, he had in that capacity accompanied Governor Van den Bosch to Java. Like our own Moffat (also an under-gardener), Teysmann rose by his energy and devotion to "great honour," and, half a century later, received a remarkable proof of the esteem in which he was held in the scientific world, consisting of an album, within which were inscribed the signatures of the donors—one hundred famous naturalists, ranging from Darwen to Candolle, the Genevan. It bore the inscription—

"Celeberrimo indefessoque J. E. Teysmann cum dimidium per sæculum Archipelagi indici thesaurum botanicum exploravit, mirantes collegæ."

During the period that the gardens ceased to exist as an independent institution—1830 to 1868—Teysmann continued to search throughout the islands of the Archipelago for rare and undiscovered plants with which to enrich them. He also published catalogues embodying the discoveries he had made, and finally arranged the plants and trees upon an excellent system, in which they are grouped in accordance with their natural relationships.

In 1868 the gardens once more became a public institution, with a curator and a recognized revenue. The new curator was Dr. Scheffer, of Utrecht, who in 1876 founded, in addition to the botanical gardens, a school of agriculture with a garden attached to it. This useful institution was subsequently suppressed by the Government, but the garden still survives alongside its parent at Buitenzorg. Dr. Scheffer died in 1880, when only thirty-six years of age. He was succeeded by the present curator, Dr. Treub.

The Dutch Government gardens in Java, known to the scientific world as the Hortus Bogoriensis,[15] and to the official as the Nederlands Plantentuin te Buitenzorg, contain three separate branches—the botanical gardens, a horticultural garden, and a mountain garden. Of these, the last is situated at some distance from the town, on the slopes of Mount Gedé. It occupies seventy-five acres of land at an altitude of between 4000 and 5000 feet, and is provided with a staff of ten natives working under a European gardener. I was told that, while all European, Australian, and Japanese flowers would grow there, it was found impossible to cultivate the fruits of such temperate regions, owing to the difficulty experienced in securing the necessary period of rest. I have since heard that in Fiji the difficulty is overcome by exposing the roots for some months, and thus preventing the sap from rising. Why not adopt this method in Java?

The horticultural garden adjoins the botanical gardens, and occupies forty acres. As already mentioned, it owes its existence to Dr. Scheffer, and it is, of course, devoted to strictly practical objects. Consequently, everything is arranged in such a manner as to make the most of the space. All the paths are at right angles or parallel to each other, and the garden generally is laid out with monotonous regularity. Yet no small part of the success of the Government gardens as an institution depends upon the produce of this department. It has for many years enabled the Government to distribute gratuitously the seeds and plants required for various colonial enterprises. Within its trim beds are contained tea and coffee plants, sugar-canes, caoutchouc and gutta-percha trees, Erythroxylon coca for cocaine, and trees producing tannin and oils. Various medicinal plants are also to be found here, and such as afford useful nourishment for cattle. The necessary labour for this garden is supplied by a head-gardener and seventy natives.