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Title: The Malay Archipelago, Volume 1

Author: Alfred Russel Wallace

Release date: February 1, 2001 [eBook #2530]
Most recently updated: February 8, 2013

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MALAY
ARCHIPELAGO, VOLUME 1 ***

THE MALAY ARCHIPELAGO,
VOLUME I. (of II.)

By Alfred Russel Wallace

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

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

To CHARLES DARWIN,

AUTHOR OF "THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES,"

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

CONTENTS

PREFACE.

THE MALAY ARCHIPELAGO.

CHAPTER I. PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.

CHAPTER II. SINGAPORE.

CHAPTER III. MALACCA AND MOUNT OPHIR.

CHAPTER IV. BORNEO—THE ORANGUTAN.

CHAPTER V. BORNEO—JOURNEY INTO THE
INTERIOR.

CHAPTER VI. BORNEO—THE DYAKS.

CHAPTER VII. JAVA,

CHAPTER VIII. SUMATRA.

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

CHAPTER X. BALI AND LOMBOCK.

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

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

CHAPTER XIII. TIMOR.

CHAPTER XIV. THE NATURAL HISTORY OF THE
TIMOR GROUP.

CHAPTER XV. CELEBES.

CHAPTER XVI. CELEBES.

CHAPTER XVII. CELEBES.

CHAPTER XVIII. NATURAL HISTORY OF CELEBES.

CHAPTER XIX. BANDA.

CHAPTER XX. AMBOYNA.

Next Volume

PREFACE.
My readers will naturally ask why I have delayed writing this book for
six years after my return; and I feel bound to give them full satisfaction on
this point.
When I reached England in the spring of 1862, I found myself
surrounded by a room full of packing cases containing the collections that I
had, from time to time, sent home for my private use. These comprised
nearly three thousand bird-skins of about one thousand species, at least
twenty thousand beetles and butterflies of about seven thousand species,
and some quadrupeds and land shells besides. A large proportion of these I
had not seen for years, and in my then weakened state of health, the
unpacking, sorting, and arranging of such a mass of specimens occupied a
long time.
I very soon decided that until I had done something towards naming and
describing the most important groups in my collection, and had worked out
some of the more interesting problems of variation and geographical
distribution (of which I had had glimpses while collecting them), I would
not attempt to publish my travels. Indeed, I could have printed my notes and
journals at once, leaving all reference to questions of natural history for a
future work; but, I felt that this would be as unsatisfactory to myself as it
would be disappointing to my friends, and uninstructive to the public.
Since my return, up to this date, I have published eighteen papers in the
"Transactions" or "Proceedings of the Linnean Zoological and
Entomological Societies", describing or cataloguing portions of my
collections, along with twelve others in various scientific periodicals on
more general subjects connected with them.
Nearly two thousand of my Coleoptera, and many hundreds of my
butterflies, have been already described by various eminent naturalists,
British and foreign; but a much larger number remains undescribed. Among
those to whom science is most indebted for this laborious work, I must
name Mr. F. P. Pascoe, late President of the Entomological Society of
London, who had almost completed the classification and description of my

large collection of Longicorn beetles (now in his possession), comprising
more than a thousand species, of which at least nine hundred were
previously undescribed and new to European cabinets.
The remaining orders of insects, comprising probably more than two
thousand species, are in the collection of Mr. William Wilson Saunders,
who has caused the larger portion of them to be described by good
entomologists. The Hymenoptera alone amounted to more than nine
hundred species, among which were two hundred and eighty different kinds
of ants, of which two hundred were new.
The six years' delay in publishing my travels thus enables me to give
what I hope may be an interesting and instructive sketch of the main results
yet arrived at by the study of my collections; and as the countries I have to
describe are not much visited or written about, and their social and physical
conditions are not liable to rapid change, I believe and hope that my readers
will gain much more than they will lose by not having read my book six
years ago, and by this time perhaps forgotten all about it.
I must now say a few words on the plan of my work.
My journeys to the various islands were regulated by the seasons and the
means of conveyance. I visited some islands two or three times at distant
intervals, and in some cases had to make the same voyage four times over.
A chronological arrangement would have puzzled my readers. They would
never have known where they were, and my frequent references to the
groups of islands, classed in accordance with the peculiarities of their
animal productions and of their human inhabitants, would have been hardly
intelligible. I have adopted, therefore, a geographical, zoological, and
ethnological arrangement, passing from island to island in what seems the
most natural succession, while I transgress the order in which I myself
visited them, as little as possible.
I divide the Archipelago into five groups of islands, as follows:
I. THE INDO-MALAY ISLANDS: comprising the Malay Peninsula and
Singapore, Borneo, Java, and Sumatra.
II. THE TIMOR GROUP: comprising the islands of Timor, Flores,
Sumbawa, and Lombock, with several smaller ones.
III. CELEBES: comprising also the Sula Islands and Bouton.

IV. THE MOLUCCAN GROUP: comprising Bouru, Ceram, Batchian,
Gilolo, and Morty; with the smaller islands of Ternate, Tidore, Makian,
Kaióa, Amboyna, Banda, Goram, and Matabello.
V. THE PAPUAN GROUP: comprising the great island of New Guinea,
with the Aru Islands, Mysol, Salwatty, Waigiou, and several others. The Ke
Islands are described with this group on account of their ethnology, though
zoologically and geographically they belong to the Moluccas.
The chapters relating to the separate islands of each of these groups are
followed by one on the Natural History of that group; and the work may
thus be divided into five parts, each treating one of the natural divisions of
the Archipelago.
The first chapter is an introductory one, on the Physical Geography of the
whole region; and the last is a general sketch of the races of man in the
Archipelago and the surrounding countries. With this explanation, and a
reference to the maps which illustrate the work, I trust that my readers will
always know where they are, and in what direction they are going.
I am well aware that my book is far too small for the extent of the
subjects it touches upon. It is a mere sketch; but so far as it goes, I have
endeavoured to make it an accurate one. Almost the whole of the narrative
and descriptive portions were written on the spot, and have had little more
than verbal alterations. The chapters on Natural History, as well as many
passages in other parts of the work, have been written in the hope of
exciting an interest in the various questions connected with the origin of
species and their geographical distribution. In some cases I have been able
to explain my views in detail; while in others, owing to the greater
complexity of the subject, I have thought it better to confine myself to a
statement of the more interesting facts of the problem, whose solution is to
be found in the principles developed by Mr. Darwin in his various works.
The numerous illustrations will, it is believed, add much to the interest and
value of the book. They have been made from my own sketches, from
photographs, or from specimens—and such, only subjects that would really
illustrate the narrative or the descriptions, have been chosen.
I have to thank Messrs. Walter and Henry Woodbury, whose acquaintance
I had the pleasure of making in Java, for a number of photographs of
scenery and of natives, which have been of the greatest assistance to me.
Mr. William Wilson Saunders has kindly allowed me to figure the curious

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

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

125,660 specimens of natural history in all.

It now only remains for me to thank all those friends to whom I am
indebted for assistance or information. My thanks are more especially due
to the Council of the Royal Geographical Society, through whose valuable
recommendations I obtained important aid from our own Government and
from that of Holland; and to Mr. William Wilson Saunders, whose kind and
liberal encouragement in the early portion of my journey was of great
service to me. I am also greatly indebted to Mr. Samuel Stevens (who acted
as my agent), both for the care he took of my collections, and for the
untiring assiduity with which he kept me supplied, both with useful
information and with whatever necessaries I required.
I trust that these, and all other friends who have been in any way
interested in my travels and collections, may derive from the perusal of my
book, some faint reflexion of the pleasures I myself enjoyed amid the
scenes and objects it describes.

THE MALAY ARCHIPELAGO.

CHAPTER I. PHYSICAL GEOGRAPHY.
From a look at a globe or a map of the Eastern hemisphere, we shall
perceive between Asia and Australia a number of large and small islands
forming a connected group distinct from those great masses of land, and
having little connection with either of them. Situated upon the Equator, and
bathed by the tepid water of the great tropical oceans, this region enjoys a
climate more uniformly hot and moist than almost any other part of the
globe, and teems with natural productions which are elsewhere unknown.
The richest of fruits and the most precious of spices are Indigenous here. It
produces the giant flowers of the Rafflesia, the great green-winged
Ornithoptera (princes among the butterfly tribes), the man-like Orangutan,
and the gorgeous Birds of Paradise. It is inhabited by a peculiar and
interesting race of mankind—the Malay, found nowhere beyond the limits
of this insular tract, which has hence been named the Malay Archipelago.
To the ordinary Englishman this is perhaps the least known part of the
globe. Our possessions in it are few and scanty; scarcely any of our
travellers go to explore it; and in many collections of maps it is almost
ignored, being divided between Asia and the Pacific Islands. It thus happens
that few persons realize that, as a whole, it is comparable with the primary
divisions of the globe, and that some of its separate islands are larger than
France or the Austrian Empire. The traveller, however, soon acquires
different ideas. He sails for days or even weeks along the shores of one of
these great islands, often so great that its inhabitants believe it to be a vast
continent. He finds that voyages among these islands are commonly
reckoned by weeks and months, and that their several inhabitants are often
as little known to each other as are the native races of the northern to those
of the southern continent of America. He soon comes to look upon this
region as one apart from the rest of the world, with its own races of men
and its own aspects of nature; with its own ideas, feelings, customs, and
modes of speech, and with a climate, vegetation, and animated life
altogether peculiar to itself.
From many points of view these islands form one compact geographical
whole, and as such they have always been treated by travellers and men of

science; but, a more careful and detailed study of them under various
aspects reveals the unexpected fact that they are divisible into two portions
nearly equal in extent which differ widely in their natural products, and
really form two parts of the primary divisions of the earth. I have been able
to prove this in considerable detail by my observations on the natural
history of the various parts of the Archipelago; and, as in the description of
my travels and residence in the several islands I shall have to refer
continually to this view, and adduce facts in support of it, I have thought it
advisable to commence with a general sketch of the main features of the
Malayan region as will render the facts hereafter brought forward more
interesting, and their bearing upon the general question more easily
understood. I proceed, therefore, to sketch the limits and extent of the
Archipelago, and to point out the more striking features of its geology,
physical geography, vegetation, and animal life.
Definition and Boundaries.—For reasons which depend mainly on the
distribution of animal life, I consider the Malay Archipelago to include the
Malay Peninsula as far as Tenasserim and the Nicobar Islands on the west,
the Philippines on the north, and the Solomon Islands, beyond New Guinea,
on the east. All the great islands included within these limits are connected
together by innumerable smaller ones, so that no one of them seems to be
distinctly separated from the rest. With but few exceptions all enjoy an
uniform and very similar climate, and are covered with a luxuriant forest
vegetation. Whether we study their form and distribution on maps, or
actually travel from island to island, our first impression will be that they
form a connected whole, all the parts of which are intimately related to each
other.
Extent of the Archipelago and Islands.—The Malay Archipelago extends
for more than 4,000 miles in length from east to west, and is about 1,300 in
breadth from north to south. It would stretch over an expanse equal to that
of all Europe from the extreme west far into Central Asia, or would cover
the widest parts of South America, and extend far beyond the land into the
Pacific and Atlantic oceans. It includes three islands larger than Great
Britain; and in one of them, Borneo, the whole of the British Isles might be
set down, and would be surrounded by a sea of forests. New Guinea, though
less compact in shape, is probably larger than Borneo. Sumatra is about
equal in extent to Great Britain; Java, Luzon, and Celebes are each about
the size of Ireland. Eighteen more islands are, on the average, as large as

Jamaica; more than a hundred are as large as the Isle of Wight; while the
isles and islets of smaller size are innumerable.
The absolute extent of land in the Archipelago is not greater than that
contained by Western Europe from Hungary to Spain; but, owing to the
manner in which the land is broken up and divided, the variety of its
productions is rather in proportion to the immense surface over which the
islands are spread, than to the quantity of land which they contain.
Geological Contrasts.—One of the chief volcanic belts upon the globe
passes through the Archipelago, and produces a striking contrast in the
scenery of the volcanic and non-volcanic islands. A curving line, marked
out by scores of active, and hundreds of extinct, volcanoes may be traced
through the whole length of Sumatra and Java, and thence by the islands of
Bali, Lombock, Sumbawa, Flores, the Serwatty Islands, Banda, Amboyna,
Batchian, Makian, Tidore, Ternate, and Gilolo, to Morty Island. Here there
is a slight but well-marked break, or shift, of about 200 miles to the
westward, where the volcanic belt begins again in North Celebes, and
passes by Siau and Sanguir to the Philippine Islands along the eastern side
of which it continues, in a curving line, to their northern extremity. From
the extreme eastern bend of this belt at Banda, we pass onwards for 1,000
miles over a non-volcanic district to the volcanoes observed by Dampier, in
1699, on the north-eastern coast of New Guinea, and can there trace another
volcanic belt through New Britain, New Ireland, and the Solomon Islands,
to the eastern limits of the Archipelago.
In the whole region occupied by this vast line of volcanoes, and for a
considerable breadth on each side of it, earthquakes are of continual
recurrence, slight shocks being felt at intervals of every few weeks or
months, while more severe ones, shaking down whole villages, and doing
more or less injury to life and property, are sure to happen, in one part or
another of this district, almost every year. On many of the islands the years
of the great earthquakes form the chronological epochs of the native
inhabitants, by the aid of which the ages of their children are remembered,
and the dates of many important events are determined.
I can only briefly allude to the many fearful eruptions that have taken
place in this region. In the amount of injury to life and property, and in the
magnitude of their effects, they have not been surpassed by any upon
record. Forty villages were destroyed by the eruption of Papandayang in

Java, in 1772, when the whole mountain was blown up by repeated
explosions, and a large lake left in its place. By the great eruption of
Tomboro in Sumbawa, in 1815, 12,000 people were destroyed, and the
ashes darkened the air and fell thickly upon the earth and sea for 300 miles
around. Even quite recently, since I left the country, a mountain which had
been quiescent for more than 200 years suddenly burst into activity. The
island of Makian, one of the Moluccas, was rent open in 1646 by a violent
eruption which left a huge chasm on one side, extending into the heart of
the mountain. It was, when I last visited it in 1860, clothed with vegetation
to the summit, and contained twelve populous Malay villages. On the 29th
of December, 1862, after 215 years of perfect inaction, it again suddenly
burst forth, blowing up and completely altering the appearance of the
mountain, destroying the greater part of the inhabitants, and sending forth
such volumes of ashes as to darken the air at Ternate, forty miles off, and to
almost entirely destroy the growing crops on that and the surrounding
islands.
The island of Java contains more volcanoes, active and extinct, than any
other known district of equal extent. They are about forty-five in number,
and many of them exhibit most beautiful examples of the volcanic cone on
a large scale, single or double, with entire or truncated summits, and
averaging 10,000 feet high.
It is now well ascertained that almost all volcanoes have been slowly
built up by the accumulation of matter—mud, ashes, and lava—ejected by
themselves. The openings or craters, however, frequently shift their
position, so that a country may be covered with a more or less irregular
series of hills in chains and masses, only here and there rising into lofty
cones, and yet the whole may be produced by true volcanic action. In this
manner the greater part of Java has been formed. There has been some
elevation, especially on the south coast, where extensive cliffs of coral
limestone are found; and there may be a substratum of older stratified
rocks; but still essentially Java is volcanic, and that noble and fertile island
—the very garden of the East, and perhaps upon the whole the richest, the
best cultivated, and the best governed tropical island in the world—owes its
very existence to the same intense volcanic activity which still occasionally
devastates its surface.

The great island of Sumatra exhibits, in proportion to its extent, a much
smaller number of volcanoes, and a considerable portion of it has probably
a non-volcanic origin.
To the eastward, the long string of islands from Java, passing by the north
of Timor and away to Banda, are probably all due to volcanic action. Timor
itself consists of ancient stratified rocks, but is said to have one volcano
near its centre.
Going northward, Amboyna, a part of Bouru, and the west end of Ceram,
the north part of Gilolo, and all the small islands around it, the northern
extremity of Celebes, and the islands of Siau and Sanguir, are wholly
volcanic. The Philippine Archipelago contains many active and extinct
volcanoes, and has probably been reduced to its present fragmentary
condition by subsidences attending on volcanic action.
All along this great line of volcanoes are to be found more or less
palpable signs of upheaval and depression of land. The range of islands
south of Sumatra, a part of the south coast of Java and of the islands east of
it, the west and east end of Timor, portions of all the Moluccas, the Ke and
Aru Islands, Waigiou, and the whole south and east of Gilolo, consist in a
great measure of upraised coral-rock, exactly corresponding to that now
forming in the adjacent seas. In many places I have observed the unaltered
surfaces of the elevated reefs, with great masses of coral standing up in
their natural position, and hundreds of shells so fresh-looking that it was
hard to believe that they had been more than a few years out of the water;
and, in fact, it is very probable that such changes have occurred within a
few centuries.
The united lengths of these volcanic belts is about ninety degrees, or one-
fourth of the entire circumference of the globe. Their width is about fifty
miles; but, for a space of two hundred miles on each side of them,
evidences of subterranean action are to be found in recently elevated coral-
rock, or in barrier coral-reefs, indicating recent submergence. In the very
centre or focus of the great curve of volcanoes is placed the large island of
Borneo, in which no sign of recent volcanic action has yet been observed,
and where earthquakes, so characteristic of the surrounding regions, are
entirely unknown. The equally large island of New Guinea occupies another
quiescent area, on which no sign of volcanic action has yet been discovered.
With the exception of the eastern end of its northern peninsula, the large

and curiously-shaped island of Celebes is also entirely free from volcanoes;
and there is some reason to believe that the volcanic portion has once
formed a separate island. The Malay Peninsula is also non-volcanic.
The first and most obvious division of the Archipelago would therefore
be into quiescent and volcanic regions, and it might, perhaps, be expected
that such a division would correspond to some differences in the character
of the vegetation and the forms of life. This is the case, however, to a very
limited extent; and we shall presently see that, although this development of
subterranean fires is on so vast a scale—has piled up chains of mountains
ten or twelve thousand feet high—has broken up continents and raised up
islands from the ocean—yet it has all the character of a recent action which
has not yet succeeded in obliterating the traces of a more ancient
distribution of land and water.
Contrasts of Vegetation.—Placed immediately upon the Equator and
surrounded by extensive oceans, it is not surprising that the various islands
of the Archipelago should be almost always clothed with a forest vegetation
from the level of the sea to the summits of the loftiest mountains. This is the
general rule. Sumatra, New Guinea, Borneo, the Philippines and the
Moluccas, and the uncultivated parts of Java and Celebes, are all forest
countries, except a few small and unimportant tracts, due perhaps, in some
cases, to ancient cultivation or accidental fires. To this, however, there is
one important exception in the island of Timor and all the smaller islands
around it, in which there is absolutely no forest such as exists in the other
islands, and this character extends in a lesser degree to Flores, Sumbawa,
Lombock, and Bali.
In Timor the most common trees are Eucalypti of several species, also
characteristic of Australia, with sandalwood, acacia, and other sorts in less
abundance. These are scattered over the country more or less thickly, but,
never so as to deserve the name of a forest. Coarse and scanty grasses grow
beneath them on the more barren hills, and a luxuriant herbage in the
moister localities. In the islands between Timor and Java there is often a
more thickly wooded country abounding in thorny and prickly trees. These
seldom reach any great height, and during the force of the dry season they
almost completely lose their leaves, allowing the ground beneath them to be
parched up, and contrasting strongly with the damp, gloomy, ever-verdant
forests of the other islands. This peculiar character, which extends in a less

degree to the southern peninsula of Celebes and the east end of Java, is
most probably owing to the proximity of Australia. The south-east
monsoon, which lasts for about two-thirds of the year (from March to
November), blowing over the northern parts of that country, produces a
degree of heat and dryness which assimilates the vegetation and physical
aspect of the adjacent islands to its own. A little further eastward in Timor
and the Ke Islands, a moister climate prevails; the southeast winds blowing
from the Pacific through Torres Straits and over the damp forests of New
Guinea, and as a consequence, every rocky islet is clothed with verdure to
its very summit. Further west again, as the same dry winds blow over a
wider and wider extent of ocean, they have time to absorb fresh moisture,
and we accordingly find the island of Java possessing a less and less arid
climate, until in the extreme west near Batavia, rain occurs more or less all
the year round, and the mountains are everywhere clothed with forests of
unexampled luxuriance.
Contrasts in Depth of Sea.—It was first pointed out by Mr. George
Windsor Earl, in a paper read before the Royal Geographical Society in
1845, and subsequently in a pamphlet "On the Physical Geography of
South-Eastern Asia and Australia", dated 1855, that a shallow sea connected
the great islands of Sumatra, Java, and Borneo with the Asiatic continent,
with which their natural productions generally agreed; while a similar
shallow sea connected New Guinea and some of the adjacent islands to
Australia, all being characterised by the presence of marsupials.
We have here a clue to the most radical contrast in the Archipelago, and
by following it out in detail I have arrived at the conclusion that we can
draw a line among the islands, which shall so divide them that one-half
shall truly belong to Asia, while the other shall no less certainly be allied to
Australia. I term these respectively the Indo-Malayan and the Austro-
Malayan divisions of the Archipelago.
On referring to pages 12, 13, and 36 of Mr. Earl's pamphlet, it will be
seen that he maintains the former connection of Asia and Australia as an
important part of his view; whereas, I dwell mainly on their long continued
separation. Notwithstanding this and other important differences between
us, to him undoubtedly belongs the merit of first indicating the division of
the Archipelago into an Australian and an Asiatic region, which it has been
my good fortune to establish by more detailed observations.

Contrasts in Natural Productions.—To understand the importance of this
class of facts, and its bearing upon the former distribution of land and sea, it
is necessary to consider the results arrived at by geologists and naturalists in
other parts of the world.
It is now generally admitted that the present distribution of living things
on the surface of the earth is mainly the result of the last series of changes
that it has undergone. Geology teaches us that the surface of the land, and
the distribution of land and water, is everywhere slowly changing. It further
teaches us that the forms of life which inhabit that surface have, during
every period of which we possess any record, been also slowly changing.
It is not now necessary to say anything about how either of those changes
took place; as to that, opinions may differ; but as to the fact that the changes
themselves have occurred, from the earliest geological ages down to the
present day, and are still going on, there is no difference of opinion. Every
successive stratum of sedimentary rock, sand, or gravel, is a proof that
changes of level have taken place; and the different species of animals and
plants, whose remains are found in these deposits, prove that corresponding
changes did occur in the organic world.
Taking, therefore, these two series of changes for granted, most of the
present peculiarities and anomalies in the distribution of species may be
directly traced to them. In our own islands, with a very few trifling
exceptions, every quadruped, bird, reptile, insect, and plant, is found also on
the adjacent continent. In the small islands of Sardinia and Corsica, there
are some quadrupeds and insects, and many plants, quite peculiar. In
Ceylon, more closely connected to India than Britain is to Europe, many
animals and plants are different from those found in India, and peculiar to
the island. In the Galapagos Islands, almost every indigenous living thing is
peculiar to them, though closely resembling other kinds found in the nearest
parts of the American continent.
Most naturalists now admit that these facts can only be explained by the
greater or less lapse of time since the islands were upraised from beneath
the ocean, or were separated from the nearest land; and this will be
generally (though not always) indicated by the depth of the intervening sea.
The enormous thickness of many marine deposits through wide areas shows
that subsidence has often continued (with intermitting periods of repose)
during epochs of immense duration. The depth of sea produced by such

subsidence will therefore generally be a measure of time; and in like
manner, the change which organic forms have undergone is a measure of
time. When we make proper allowance for the continued introduction of
new animals and plants from surrounding countries by those natural means
of dispersal which have been so well explained by Sir Charles Lyell and Mr.
Darwin, it is remarkable how closely these two measures correspond.
Britain is separated from the continent by a very shallow sea, and only in a
very few cases have our animals or plants begun to show a difference from
the corresponding continental species. Corsica and Sardinia, divided from
Italy by a much deeper sea, present a much greater difference in their
organic forms. Cuba, separated from Yucatan by a wider and deeper strait,
differs more markedly, so that most of its productions are of distinct and
peculiar species; while Madagascar, divided from Africa by a deep channel
three hundred miles wide, possesses so many peculiar features as to indicate
separation at a very remote antiquity, or even to render it doubtful whether
the two countries have ever been absolutely united.
Returning now to the Malay Archipelago, we find that all the wide
expanse of sea which divides Java, Sumatra, and Borneo from each other,
and from Malacca and Siam, is so shallow that ships can anchor in any part
of it, since it rarely exceeds forty fathoms in depth; and if we go as far as
the line of a hundred fathoms, we shall include the Philippine Islands and
Bali, east of Java. If, therefore, these islands have been separated from each
other and the continent by subsidence of the intervening tracts of land, we
should conclude that the separation has been comparatively recent, since the
depth to which the land has subsided is so small. It is also to be remarked
that the great chain of active volcanoes in Sumatra and Java furnishes us
with a sufficient cause for such subsidence, since the enormous masses of
matter they have thrown out would take away the foundations of the
surrounding district; and this may be the true explanation of the often-
noticed fact that volcanoes and volcanic chains are always near the sea. The
subsidence they produce around them will, in time, make a sea, if one does
not already exist.
But, it is when we examine the zoology of these countries that we find
what we most require—evidence of a very striking character that these great
islands must have once formed a part of the continent, and could only have
been separated at a very recent geological epoch. The elephant and tapir of
Sumatra and Borneo, the rhinoceros of Sumatra and the allied species of

Java, the wild cattle of Borneo and the kind long supposed to be peculiar to
Java, are now all known to inhabit some part or other of Southern Asia.
None of these large animals could possibly have passed over the arms of the
sea which now separate these countries, and their presence plainly indicates
that a land communication must have existed since the origin of the species.
Among the smaller mammals, a considerable portion are common to each
island and the continent; but the vast physical changes that must have
occurred during the breaking up and subsidence of such extensive regions
have led to the extinction of some in one or more of the islands, and in
some cases there seems also to have been time for a change of species to
have taken place. Birds and insects illustrate the same view, for every
family and almost every genus of these groups found in any of the islands
occurs also on the Asiatic continent, and in a great number of cases the
species are exactly identical. Birds offer us one of the best means of
determining the law of distribution; for though at first sight it would appear
that the watery boundaries which keep out the land quadrupeds could be
easily passed over by birds, yet practically it is not so; for if we leave out
the aquatic tribes which are pre-eminently wanderers, it is found that the
others (and especially the Passeres, or true perching-birds, which form the
vast majority) are generally as strictly limited by straits and arms of the sea
as are quadrupeds themselves. As an instance, among the islands of which I
am now speaking, it is a remarkable fact that Java possesses numerous birds
which never pass over to Sumatra, though they are separated by a strait only
fifteen miles wide, and with islands in mid-channel. Java, in fact, possesses
more birds and insects peculiar to itself than either Sumatra or Borneo, and
this would indicate that it was earliest separated from the continent; next in
organic individuality is Borneo, while Sumatra is so nearly identical in all
its animal forms with the peninsula of Malacca, that we may safely
conclude it to have been the most recently dismembered island.
The general result therefore, at which we arrive, is that the great islands
of Java, Sumatra, and Borneo resemble in their natural productions the
adjacent parts of the continent, almost as much as such widely-separated
districts could be expected to do even if they still formed a part of Asia; and
this close resemblance, joined with the fact of the wide extent of sea which
separates them being so uniformly and remarkably shallow, and lastly, the
existence of the extensive range of volcanoes in Sumatra and Java, which
have poured out vast quantities of subterranean matter and have built up

extensive plateaux and lofty mountain ranges, thus furnishing a vera causa
for a parallel line of subsidence—all lead irresistibly to the conclusion that
at a very recent geological epoch, the continent of Asia extended far beyond
its present limits in a south-easterly direction, including the islands of Java,
Sumatra, and Borneo, and probably reaching as far as the present 100-
fathom line of soundings.
The Philippine Islands agree in many respects with Asia and the other
islands, but present some anomalies, which seem to indicate that they were
separated at an earlier period, and have since been subject to many
revolutions in their physical geography.
Turning our attention now to the remaining portion of the Archipelago,
we shall find that all the islands from Celebes and Lombock eastward
exhibit almost as close a resemblance to Australia and New Guinea as the
Western Islands do to Asia. It is well known that the natural productions of
Australia differ from those of Asia more than those of any of the four
ancient quarters of the world differ from each other. Australia, in fact,
stands alone: it possesses no apes or monkeys, no cats or tigers, wolves,
bears, or hyenas; no deer or antelopes, sheep or oxen; no elephant, horse,
squirrel, or rabbit; none, in short, of those familiar types of quadruped
which are met with in every other part of the world. Instead of these, it has
Marsupials only: kangaroos and opossums; wombats and the duckbilled
Platypus. In birds it is almost as peculiar. It has no woodpeckers and no
pheasants—families which exist in every other part of the world; but
instead of them it has the mound-making brush-turkeys, the honeysuckers,
the cockatoos, and the brush-tongued lories, which are found nowhere else
upon the globe. All these striking peculiarities are found also in those
islands which form the Austro-Malayan division of the Archipelago.
The great contrast between the two divisions of the Archipelago is
nowhere so abruptly exhibited as on passing from the island of Bali to that
of Lombock, where the two regions are in closest proximity. In Bali we
have barbets, fruit-thrushes, and woodpeckers; on passing over to Lombock
these are seen no more, but we have abundance of cockatoos, honeysuckers,
and brush-turkeys, which are equally unknown in Bali, or any island further
west. [I was informed, however, that there were a few cockatoos at one spot
on the west of Bali, showing that the intermingling of the productions of
these islands is now going on.] The strait is here fifteen miles wide, so that

we may pass in two hours from one great division of the earth to another,
differing as essentially in their animal life as Europe does from America. If
we travel from Java or Borneo to Celebes or the Moluccas, the difference is
still more striking. In the first, the forests abound in monkeys of many
kinds, wild cats, deer, civets, and otters, and numerous varieties of squirrels
are constantly met with. In the latter none of these occur; but the prehensile-
tailed Cuscus is almost the only terrestrial mammal seen, except wild pigs,
which are found in all the islands, and deer (which have probably been
recently introduced) in Celebes and the Moluccas. The birds which are most
abundant in the Western Islands are woodpeckers, barbets, trogons, fruit-
thrushes, and leaf-thrushes; they are seen daily, and form the great
ornithological features of the country. In the Eastern Islands these are
absolutely unknown, honeysuckers and small lories being the most common
birds, so that the naturalist feels himself in a new world, and can hardly
realize that he has passed from the one region to the other in a few days,
without ever being out of sight of land.
The inference that we must draw from these facts is, undoubtedly, that
the whole of the islands eastwards beyond Java and Borneo do essentially
form a part of a former Australian or Pacific continent, although some of
them may never have been actually joined to it. This continent must have
been broken up not only before the Western Islands were separated from
Asia, but probably before the extreme southeastern portion of Asia was
raised above the waters of the ocean; for a great part of the land of Borneo
and Java is known to be geologically of quite recent formation, while the
very great difference of species, and in many cases of genera also, between
the productions of the Eastern Malay Islands and Australia, as well as the
great depth of the sea now separating them, all point to a comparatively
long period of isolation.
It is interesting to observe among the islands themselves how a shallow
sea always intimates a recent land connexion. The Aru Islands, Mysol, and
Waigiou, as well as Jobie, agree with New Guinea in their species of
mammalia and birds much more closely than they do with the Moluccas,
and we find that they are all united to New Guinea by a shallow sea. In fact,
the 100-fathom line round New Guinea marks out accurately the range of
the true Paradise birds.

It is further to be noted—and this is a very interesting point in connection
with theories of the dependence of special forms of life on external
conditions—that this division of the Archipelago into two regions
characterised by a striking diversity in their natural productions does not in
any way correspond to the main physical or climatal divisions of the
surface. The great volcanic chain runs through both parts, and appears to
produce no effect in assimilating their productions. Borneo closely
resembles New Guinea not only in its vast size and its freedom from
volcanoes, but in its variety of geological structure, its uniformity of
climate, and the general aspect of the forest vegetation that clothes its
surface. The Moluccas are the counterpart of the Philippines in their
volcanic structure, their extreme fertility, their luxuriant forests, and their
frequent earthquakes; and Bali with the east end of Java has a climate
almost as dry and a soil almost as arid as that of Timor. Yet between these
corresponding groups of islands, constructed as it were after the same
pattern, subjected to the same climate, and bathed by the same oceans, there
exists the greatest possible contrast when we compare their animal
productions. Nowhere does the ancient doctrine—that differences or
similarities in the various forms of life that inhabit different countries are
due to corresponding physical differences or similarities in the countries
themselves—meet with so direct and palpable a contradiction. Borneo and
New Guinea, as alike physically as two distinct countries can be, are
zoologically wide as the poles asunder; while Australia, with its dry winds,
its open plains, its stony deserts, and its temperate climate, yet produces
birds and quadrupeds which are closely related to those inhabiting the hot
damp luxuriant forests, which everywhere clothe the plains and mountains
of New Guinea.
In order to illustrate more clearly the means by which I suppose this great
contrast has been brought about, let us consider what would occur if two
strongly contrasted divisions of the earth were, by natural means, brought
into proximity. No two parts of the world differ so radically in their
productions as Asia and Australia, but the difference between Africa and
South America is also very great, and these two regions will well serve to
illustrate the question we are considering. On the one side we have
baboons, lions, elephants, buffaloes, and giraffes; on the other spider-
monkeys, pumas, tapirs, anteaters, and sloths; while among birds, the

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

to have been extending its limits in a southeast direction, first in an
unbroken mass, then separated into islands as we now see it, and almost
coming into actual contact with the scattered fragments of the great
southern land.
From this outline of the subject, it will be evident how important an
adjunct Natural History is to Geology; not only in interpreting the
fragments of extinct animals found in the earth's crust, but in determining
past changes in the surface which have left no geological record. It is
certainly a wonderful and unexpected fact that an accurate knowledge of the
distribution of birds and insects should enable us to map out lands and
continents which disappeared beneath the ocean long before the earliest
traditions of the human race. Wherever the geologist can explore the earth's
surface, he can read much of its past history, and can determine
approximately its latest movements above and below the sea-level; but
wherever oceans and seas now extend, he can do nothing but speculate on
the very limited data afforded by the depth of the waters. Here the naturalist
steps in, and enables him to fill up this great gap in the past history of the
earth.
One of the chief objects of my travels was to obtain evidence of this
nature; and my search after such evidence has been rewarded by great
success, so that I have been able to trace out with some probability the past
changes which one of the most interesting parts of the earth has undergone.
It may be thought that the facts and generalizations here given would have
been more appropriately placed at the end rather than at the beginning of a
narrative of the travels which supplied the facts. In some cases this might be
so, but I have found it impossible to give such an account as I desire of the
natural history of the numerous islands and groups of islands in the
Archipelago, without constant reference to these generalizations which add
so much to their interest. Having given this general sketch of the subject, I
shall be able to show how the same principles can be applied to the
individual islands of a group, as to the whole Archipelago; and thereby
make my account of the many new and curious animals which inhabit them
both, more interesting and more instructive than if treated as mere isolated
facts.
Contrasts of Races.—Before I had arrived at the conviction that the
eastern and western halves of the Archipelago belonged to distinct primary

regions of the earth, I had been led to group the natives of the Archipelago
under two radically distinct races. In this I differed from most ethnologists
who had before written on the subject; for it had been the almost universal
custom to follow William von Humboldt and Pritchard, in classing all the
Oceanic races as modifications of one type. Observation soon showed me,
however, that Malays and Papuans differed radically in every physical,
mental, and moral character; and more detailed research, continued for
eight years, satisfied me that under these two forms, as types, the whole of
the peoples of the Malay Archipelago and Polynesia could be classified. On
drawing the line which separates these races, it is found to come near to that
which divides the zoological regions, but somewhat eastward of it; a
circumstance which appears to me very significant of the same causes
having influenced the distribution of mankind that have determined the
range of other animal forms.
The reason why exactly the same line does not limit both is sufficiently
intelligible. Man has means of traversing the sea which animals do not
possess; and a superior race has power to press out or assimilate an inferior
one. The maritime enterprise and higher civilization of the Malay races
have enabled them to overrun a portion of the adjacent region, in which
they have entirely supplanted the indigenous inhabitants if it ever possessed
any; and to spread much of their language, their domestic animals, and their
customs far over the Pacific, into islands where they have but slightly, or
not at all, modified the physical or moral characteristics of the people.
I believe, therefore, that all the peoples of the various islands can be
grouped either with the Malays or the Papuans; and that these two have no
traceable affinity to each other. I believe, further, that all the races east of
the line I have drawn have more affinity for each other than they have for
any of the races west of that line; that, in fact, the Asiatic races include the
Malays, and all have a continental origin, while the Pacific races, including
all to the east of the former (except perhaps some in the Northern Pacific),
are derived, not from any existing continent, but from lands which now
exist or have recently existed in the Pacific Ocean. These preliminary
observations will enable the reader better to apprehend the importance I
attach to the details of physical form or moral character, which I shall give
in describing the inhabitants of many of the islands.

CHAPTER II. SINGAPORE.
(A SKETCH OF THE TOWN AND ISLAND AS SEEN DURING
SEVERAL VISITS FROM 1854 TO 1862.)
FEW places are more interesting to a traveller from Europe than the town
and island of Singapore, furnishing, as it does, examples of a variety of
Eastern races, and of many different religions and modes of life. The
government, the garrison, and the chief merchants are English; but the great
mass of the population is Chinese, including some of the wealthiest
merchants, the agriculturists of the interior, and most of the mechanics and
labourers. The native Malays are usually fishermen and boatmen, and they
form the main body of the police. The Portuguese of Malacca supply a large
number of the clerks and smaller merchants. The Klings of Western India
are a numerous body of Mahometans, and, with many Arabs, are petty
merchants and shopkeepers. The grooms and washermen are all Bengalees,
and there is a small but highly respectable class of Parsee merchants.
Besides these, there are numbers of Javanese sailors and domestic servants,
as well as traders from Celebes, Bali, and many other islands of the
Archipelago. The harbour is crowded with men-of-war and trading vessels
of many European nations, and hundreds of Malay praus and Chinese junks,
from vessels of several hundred tons burthen down to little fishing boats
and passenger sampans; and the town comprises handsome public buildings
and churches, Mahometan mosques, Hindu temples, Chinese joss-houses,
good European houses, massive warehouses, queer old Kling and China
bazaars, and long suburbs of Chinese and Malay cottages.
By far the most conspicuous of the various kinds of people in Singapore,
and those which most attract the stranger's attention, are the Chinese, whose
numbers and incessant activity give the place very much the appearance of
a town in China. The Chinese merchant is generally a fat round-faced man
with an important and business-like look. He wears the same style of
clothing (loose white smock, and blue or black trousers) as the meanest
coolie, but of finer materials, and is always clean and neat; and his long tail
tipped with red silk hangs down to his heels. He has a handsome warehouse
or shop in town and a good house in the country. He keeps a fine horse and

gig, and every evening may be seen taking a drive bareheaded to enjoy the
cool breeze. He is rich—he owns several retail shops and trading schooners,
he lends money at high interest and on good security, he makes hard
bargains, and gets fatter and richer every year.
In the Chinese bazaar are hundreds of small shops in which a
miscellaneous collection of hardware and dry goods are to be found, and
where many things are sold wonderfully cheap. You may buy gimlets at a
penny each, white cotton thread at four balls for a halfpenny, and
penknives, corkscrews, gunpowder, writing-paper, and many other articles
as cheap or cheaper than you can purchase them in England. The
shopkeeper is very good-natured; he will show you everything he has, and
does not seem to mind if you buy nothing. He bates a little, but not so much
as the Klings, who almost always ask twice what they are willing to take. If
you buy a few things from him, he will speak to you afterwards every time
you pass his shop, asking you to walk in and sit down, or take a cup of tea;
and you wonder how he can get a living where so many sell the same
trifling articles.
The tailors sit at a table, not on one; and both they and the shoemakers
work well and cheaply. The barbers have plenty to do, shaving heads and
cleaning ears; for which latter operation they have a great array of little
tweezers, picks, and brushes. In the outskirts of the town are scores of
carpenters and blacksmiths. The former seem chiefly to make coffins and
highly painted and decorated clothes-boxes. The latter are mostly gun-
makers, and bore the barrels of guns by hand out of solid bars of iron. At
this tedious operation they may be seen every day, and they manage to
finish off a gun with a flintlock very handsomely. All about the streets are
sellers of water, vegetables, fruit, soup, and agar-agar (a jelly made of
seaweed), who have many cries as unintelligible as those of London. Others
carry a portable cooking-apparatus on a pole balanced by a table at the other
end, and serve up a meal of shellfish, rice, and vegetables for two or three
halfpence—while coolies and boatmen waiting to be hired are everywhere
to be met with.
In the interior of the island the Chinese cut down forest trees in the
jungle, and saw them up into planks; they cultivate vegetables, which they
bring to market; and they grow pepper and gambir, which form important
articles of export. The French Jesuits have established missions among

these inland Chinese, which seem very successful. I lived for several weeks
at a time with the missionary at Bukit-tima, about the centre of the island,
where a pretty church has been built and there are about 300 converts.
While there, I met a missionary who had just arrived from Tonquin, where
he had been living for many years. The Jesuits still do their work
thoroughly as of old. In Cochin China, Tonquin, and China, where all
Christian teachers are obliged to live in secret, and are liable to persecution,
expulsion, and sometimes death, every province—even those farthest in the
interior—has a permanent Jesuit mission establishment constantly kept up
by fresh aspirants, who are taught the languages of the countries they are
going to at Penang or Singapore. In China there are said to be near a million
converts; in Tonquin and Cochin China, more than half a million. One
secret of the success of these missions is the rigid economy practised in the
expenditure of the funds. A missionary is allowed about £30. a year, on
which he lives in whatever country he may be. This renders it possible to
support a large number of missionaries with very limited means; and the
natives, seeing their teachers living in poverty and with none of the luxuries
of life, are convinced that they are sincere in what they teach, and have
really given up home and friends and ease and safety, for the good of
others. No wonder they make converts, for it must be a great blessing to the
poor people among whom they labour to have a man among them to whom
they can go in any trouble or distress, who will comfort and advise them,
who visits them in sickness, who relieves them in want, and who they see
living from day-to-day in danger of persecution and death—entirely for
their sakes.
My friend at Bukit-tima was truly a father to his flock. He preached to
them in Chinese every Sunday, and had evenings for discussion and
conversation on religion during the week. He had a school to teach their
children. His house was open to them day and night. If a man came to him
and said, "I have no rice for my family to eat today," he would give him half
of what he had in the house, however little that might be. If another said, "I
have no money to pay my debt," he would give him half the contents of his
purse, were it his last dollar. So, when he was himself in want, he would
send to some of the wealthiest among his flock, and say, "I have no rice in
the house," or "I have given away my money, and am in want of such and
such articles." The result was that his flock trusted and loved him, for they

felt sure that he was their true friend, and had no ulterior designs in living
among them.
The island of Singapore consists of a multitude of small hills, three or
four hundred feet high, the summits of many of which are still covered with
virgin forest. The mission-house at Bukit-tima was surrounded by several of
these wood-topped hills, which were much frequented by woodcutters and
sawyers, and offered me an excellent collecting ground for insects. Here
and there, too, were tiger pits, carefully covered over with sticks and leaves,
and so well concealed, that in several cases I had a narrow escape from
falling into them. They are shaped like an iron furnace, wider at the bottom
than the top, and are perhaps fifteen or twenty feet deep so that it would be
almost impossible for a person unassisted to get out of one. Formerly a
sharp stake was stuck erect in the bottom; but after an unfortunate traveller
had been killed by falling on one, its use was forbidden. There are always a
few tigers roaming about Singapore, and they kill on an average a
Chinaman every day, principally those who work in the gambir plantations,
which are always made in newly-cleared jungle. We heard a tiger roar once
or twice in the evening, and it was rather nervous work hunting for insects
among the fallen trunks and old sawpits when one of these savage animals
might be lurking close by, awaiting an opportunity to spring upon us.
Several hours in the middle of every fine day were spent in these patches
of forest, which were delightfully cool and shady by contrast with the bare
open country we had to walk over to reach them. The vegetation was most
luxuriant, comprising enormous forest trees, as well as a variety of ferns,
caladiums, and other undergrowth, and abundance of climbing rattan palms.
Insects were exceedingly abundant and very interesting, and every day
furnished scores of new and curious forms.
In about two months I obtained no less than 700 species of beetles, a
large proportion of which were quite new, and among them were 130
distinct kinds of the elegant Longicorns (Cerambycidae), so much esteemed
by collectors. Almost all these were collected in one patch of jungle, not
more than a square mile in extent, and in all my subsequent travels in the
East I rarely if ever met with so productive a spot. This exceeding
productiveness was due in part no doubt to some favourable conditions in
the soil, climate, and vegetation, and to the season being very bright and
sunny, with sufficient showers to keep everything fresh. But it was also in a

great measure dependent, I feel sure, on the labours of the Chinese wood-
cutters. They had been at work here for several years, and during all that
time had furnished a continual supply of dry and dead and decaying leaves
and bark, together with abundance of wood and sawdust, for the
nourishment of insects and their larvae. This had led to the assemblage of a
great variety of species in a limited space, and I was the first naturalist who
had come to reap the harvest they had prepared. In the same place, and
during my walks in other directions, I obtained a fair collection of
butterflies and of other orders of insects, so that on the whole I was quite
satisfied with these—my first attempts to gain a knowledge of the Natural
History of the Malay Archipelago.

CHAPTER III. MALACCA AND MOUNT
OPHIR.
(JULY TO SEPTEMBER, 1854.)

BIRDS and most other kinds of animals being scarce at Singapore, I left
it in July for Malacca, where I spent more than two months in the interior,
and made an excursion to Mount Ophir. The old and picturesque town of
Malacca is crowded along the banks of the small river, and consists of
narrow streets of shops and dwelling houses, occupied by the descendants
of the Portuguese, and by Chinamen. In the suburbs are the houses of the
English officials and of a few Portuguese merchants, embedded in groves of
palms and fruit-trees, whose varied and beautiful foliage furnishes a
pleasing relief to the eye, as well as most grateful shade.
The old fort, the large Government House, and the ruins of a cathedral
attest the former wealth and importance of this place, which was once as
much the centre of Eastern trade as Singapore is now. The following
description of it by Linschott, who wrote two hundred and seventy years
ago, strikingly exhibits the change it has undergone:
"Malacca is inhabited by the Portuguese and by natives of the country,
called Malays. The Portuguese have here a fortress, as at Mozambique, and
there is no fortress in all the Indies, after those of Mozambique and Ormuz,
where the captains perform their duty better than in this one. This place is
the market of all India, of China, of the Moluccas, and of other islands
around about—from all which places, as well as from Banda, Java,
Sumatra, Siam, Pegu, Bengal, Coromandel, and India—arrive ships which
come and go incessantly, charged with an infinity of merchandises. There
would be in this place a much greater number of Portuguese if it were not
for the inconvenience, and unhealthiness of the air, which is hurtful not only
to strangers, but also to natives of the country. Thence it is that all who live
in the country pay tribute of their health, suffering from a certain disease,
which makes them lose either their skin or their hair. And those who escape
consider it a miracle, which occasions many to leave the country, while the

ardent desire of gain induces others to risk their health, and endeavour to
endure such an atmosphere. The origin of this town, as the natives say, was
very small, only having at the beginning, by reason of the unhealthiness of
the air, but six or seven fishermen who inhabited it. But the number was
increased by the meeting of fishermen from Siam, Pegu, and Bengal, who
came and built a city, and established a peculiar language, drawn from the
most elegant modes of speaking of other nations, so that in fact the
language of the Malays is at present the most refined, exact, and celebrated
of all the East. The name of Malacca was given to this town, which, by the
convenience of its situation, in a short time grew to such wealth, that it does
not yield to the most powerful towns and regions around about. The natives,
both men and women, are very courteous and are reckoned the most skillful
in the world in compliments, and study much to compose and repeat verses
and love-songs. Their language is in vogue through the Indies, as the French
is here."
At present, a vessel over a hundred tons hardly ever enters its port, and
the trade is entirely confined to a few petty products of the forests, and to
the fruit, which the trees, planted by the old Portuguese, now produce for
the enjoyment of the inhabitants of Singapore. Although rather subject to
fevers, it is not at present considered very unhealthy.
The population of Malacca consists of several races. The ubiquitous
Chinese are perhaps the most numerous, keeping up their manners,
customs, and language; the indigenous Malays are next in point of numbers,
and their language is the Lingua-franca of the place. Next come the
descendants of the Portuguese—a mixed, degraded, and degenerate race,
but who still keep up the use of their mother tongue, though ruefully
mutilated in grammar; and then there are the English rulers, and the
descendants of the Dutch, who all speak English. The Portuguese spoken at
Malacca is a useful philological phenomenon. The verbs have mostly lost
their inflections, and one form does for all moods, tenses, numbers, and
persons. Eu vai, serves for "I go," "I went," or, "I will go." Adjectives, too,
have been deprived of their feminine and plural terminations, so that the
language is reduced to a marvellous simplicity, and, with the admixture of a
few Malay words, becomes rather puzzling to one who has heard only the
pure Lusitanian.

In costume these several peoples are as varied as in their speech. The
English preserve the tight-fitting coat, waistcoat, and trousers, and the
abominable hat and cravat; the Portuguese patronise a light jacket, or, more
frequently, shirt and trousers only; the Malays wear their national jacket and
sarong (a kind of kilt), with loose drawers; while the Chinese never depart
in the least from their national dress, which, indeed, it is impossible to
improve for a tropical climate, whether as regards comfort or appearance.
The loosely-hanging trousers, and neat white half-shirt half-jacket, are
exactly what a dress should be in this low latitude.
I engaged two Portuguese to accompany me into the interior; one as a
cook, the other to shoot and skin birds, which is quite a trade in Malacca. I
first stayed a fortnight at a village called Gading, where I was
accommodated in the house of some Chinese converts, to whom I was
recommended by the Jesuit missionaries. The house was a mere shed, but it
was kept clean, and I made myself sufficiently comfortable. My hosts were
forming a pepper and gambir plantation, and in the immediate
neighbourhood were extensive tin-washings, employing over a thousand
Chinese. The tin is obtained in the form of black grains from beds of
quartzose sand, and is melted into ingots in rude clay furnaces. The soil
seemed poor, and the forest was very dense with undergrowth, and not at all
productive of insects; but, on the other hand, birds were abundant, and I
was at once introduced to the rich ornithological treasures of the Malayan
region.
The very first time I fired my gun I brought down one of the most curious
and beautiful of the Malacca birds, the blue-billed gaper (Cymbirhynchus
macrorhynchus), called by the Malays the "Rainbird." It is about the size of
a starling, black and rich claret colour with white shoulder stripes, and a
very large and broad bill of the most pure cobalt blue above and orange
below, while the iris is emerald green. As the skins dry the bill turns dull
black, but even then the bird is handsome. When fresh killed, the contrast of
the vivid blue with the rich colours of the plumage is remarkably striking
and beautiful. The lovely Eastern trogons, with their rich-brown backs,
beautifully pencilled wings, and crimson breasts, were also soon obtained,
as well as the large green barbets (Megalaema versicolor)—fruit-eating
birds, something like small toucans, with a short, straight bristly bill, and
whose head and neck are variegated with patches of the most vivid blue and
crimson. A day or two after, my hunter brought me a specimen of the green

gaper (Calyptomena viridis), which is like a small cock-of-the-rock, but
entirely of the most vivid green, delicately marked on the wings with black
bars. Handsome woodpeckers and gay kingfishers, green and brown
cuckoos with velvety red faces and green beaks, red-breasted doves and
metallic honeysuckers, were brought in day after day, and kept me in a
continual state of pleasurable excitement. After a fortnight one of my
servants was seized with fever, and on returning to Malacca, the same
disease, attacked the other as well as myself. By a liberal use of quinine, I
soon recovered, and obtaining other men, went to stay at the Government
bungalow of Ayer-panas, accompanied by a young gentleman, a native of
the place, who had a taste for natural history.
At Ayer-panas we had a comfortable house to stay in, and plenty of room
to dry and preserve our specimens; but, owing to there being no industrious
Chinese to cut down timber, insects were comparatively scarce, with the
exception of butterflies, of which I formed a very fine collection. The
manner in which I obtained one fine insect was curious, and indicates how
fragmentary and imperfect a traveller's collection must necessarily be. I was
one afternoon walking along a favourite road through the forest, with my
gun, when I saw a butterfly on the ground. It was large, handsome, and
quite new to me, and I got close to it before it flew away. I then observed
that it had been settling on the dung of some carnivorous animal. Thinking
it might return to the same spot, I next day after breakfast took my net, and
as I approached the place was delighted to see the same butterfly sitting on
the same piece of dung, and succeeded in capturing it. It was an entirely
new species of great beauty, and has been named by Mr. Hewitson—
Nymphalis calydona. I never saw another specimen of it, and it was only
after twelve years had elapsed that a second individual reached this country
from the northwestern part of Borneo.
Having determined to visit Mount Ophir, which is situated in the middle
of the peninsula about fifty miles east of Malacca, we engaged six Malays
to accompany us and carry our baggage. As we meant to stay at least a
week at the mountain, we took with us a good supply of rice, a little biscuit,
butter and coffee, some dried fish and a little brandy, with blankets, a
change of clothes, insect and bird boxes, nets, guns and ammunition. The
distance from Ayer-panas was supposed to be about thirty miles.

Our first day's march lay through patches of forest, clearings, and Malay
villages, and was pleasant enough. At night we slept at the house of a Malay
chief, who lent us a verandah, and gave us a fowl and some eggs. The next
day the country got wilder and more hilly. We passed through extensive
forests, along paths often up to our knees in mud, and were much annoyed
by the leeches for which this district is famous. These little creatures infest
the leaves and herbage by the side of the paths, and when a passenger
comes along they stretch themselves out at full length, and if they touch any
part of his dress or body, quit their leaf and adhere to it. They then creep on
to his feet, legs, or other part of his body and suck their fill, the first
puncture being rarely felt during the excitement of walking. On bathing in
the evening we generally found half a dozen or a dozen on each of us, most
frequently on our legs, but sometimes on our bodies, and I had one who
sucked his fill from the side of my neck, but who luckily missed the jugular
vein. There are many species of these forest leeches. All are small, but some
are beautifully marked with stripes of bright yellow. They probably attach
themselves to deer or other animals which frequent the forest paths, and
have thus acquired the singular habit of stretching themselves out at the
sound of a footstep or of rustling foliage. Early in the afternoon we reached
the foot of the mountain, and encamped by the side of a fine stream, whose
rocky banks were overgrown with ferns. Our oldest Malay had been
accustomed to shoot birds in this neighbourhood for the Malacca dealers,
and had been to the top of the mountain, and while we amused ourselves
shooting and insect hunting, he went with two others to clear the path for
our ascent the next day.
Early next morning we started after breakfast, carrying blankets and
provisions, as we intended to sleep upon the mountain. After passing a little
tangled jungle and swampy thickets through which our men had cleared a
path, we emerged into a fine lofty forest pretty clear of undergrowth, and in
which we could walk freely. We ascended steadily up a moderate slope for
several miles, having a deep ravine on our left. We then had a level plateau
or shoulder to cross, after which the ascent was steeper and the forest
denser until we came out upon the "Padang-batu," or stone field, a place of
which we had heard much, but could never get anyone to describe
intelligibly. We found it to be a steep slope of even rock, extending along
the mountain side farther than we could see. Parts of it were quite bare, but
where it was cracked and fissured there grew a most luxuriant vegetation,

among which the pitcher plants were the most remarkable. These wonderful
plants never seem to succeed well in our hot-houses, and are there seen to
little advantage. Here they grew up into half climbing shrubs, their curious
pitchers of various sizes and forms hanging abundantly from their leaves,
and continually exciting our admiration by their size and beauty. A few
coniferae of the genus Dacrydium here first appeared, and in the thickets
just above the rocky surface we walked through groves of those splendid
ferns Dipteris Horsfieldii and Matonia pectinata, which bear large spreading
palmate fronds on slender stems six or eight feet high. The Matonia is the
tallest and most elegant, and is known only from this mountain, and neither
of them is yet introduced into our hot-houses.
It was very striking to come out from the dark, cool, and shady forest in
which we had been ascending since we started, on to this hot, open rocky
slope where we seemed to have entered at one step from a lowland to an
alpine vegetation. The height, as measured by a sympiesometer, was about
2,800 feet. We had been told we should find water at Padang-batu as we
were exceedingly thirsty; but we looked about for it in vain. At last we
turned to the pitcher-plants, but the water contained in the pitchers (about
half a pint in each) was full of insects, and otherwise uninviting. On tasting
it, however, we found it very palatable though rather warm, and we all
quenched our thirst from these natural jugs. Farther on we came to forest
again, but of a more dwarf and stunted character than below; and alternately
passing along ridges and descending into valleys, we reached a peak
separated from the true summit of the mountain by a considerable chasm.
Here our porters gave in, and declared they could carry their loads no
further; and certainly the ascent to the highest peak was very precipitous.
But on the spot where we were there was no water, whereas it was well
known that there was a spring close to the summit, so we determined to go
on without them, and carry with us only what was absolutely necessary. We
accordingly took a blanket each, and divided our food and other articles
among us, and went on with only the old Malay and his son.
After descending into the saddle between the two peaks we found the
ascent very laborious, the slope being so steep, as often to necessitate hand-
climbing. Besides a bushy vegetation the ground was covered knee-deep
with mosses on a foundation of decaying leaves and rugged rock, and it was
a hard hour's climb to the small ledge just below the summit, where an
overhanging rock forms a convenient shelter, and a little basin collects the

trickling water. Here we put down our loads, and in a few minutes more
stood on the summit of Mount Ophir, 4,000 feet above the sea. The top is a
small rocky platform covered with rhododendrons and other shrubs. The
afternoon was clear, and the view fine in its way—ranges of hill and valley
everywhere covered with interminable forest, with glistening rivers winding
among them.
In a distant view a forest country is very monotonous, and no mountain I
have ever ascended in the tropics presents a panorama equal to that from
Snowdon, while the views in Switzerland are immeasurably superior. When
boiling our coffee I took observations with a good boiling-point
thermometer, as well as with the sympiesometer, and we then enjoyed our
evening meal and the noble prospect that lay before us. The night was calm
and very mild, and having made a bed of twigs and branches over which we
laid our blankets, we passed a very comfortable night. Our porters had
followed us after a rest, bringing only their rice to cook, and luckily we did
not require the baggage they left behind them. In the morning I caught a
few butterflies and beetles, and my friend got a few land-shells; and we
then descended, bringing with us some specimens of the ferns and pitcher-
plants of Padang-batu.
The place where we had first encamped at the foot of the mountain being
very gloomy, we chose another in a kind of swamp near a stream overgrown
with Zingiberaceous plants, in which a clearing was easily made. Here our
men built two little huts without sides that would just shelter us from the
rain; we lived in them for a week, shooting and insect-hunting, and roaming
about the forests at the foot of the mountain. This was the country of the
great Argus pheasant, and we continually heard its cry. On asking the old
Malay to try and shoot one for me, he told me that although he had been for
twenty years shooting birds in these forests he had never yet shot one, and
had never even seen one except after it had been caught. The bird is so
exceedingly shy and wary, and runs along the ground in the densest parts of
the forest so quickly, that it is impossible to get near it; and its sober colours
and rich eye-like spots, which are so ornamental when seen in a museum,
must harmonize well with the dead leaves among which it dwells, and
render it very inconspicuous. All the specimens sold in Malacca are caught
in snares, and my informant, though he had shot none, had snared plenty.

The tiger and rhinoceros are still found here, and a few years ago
elephants abounded, but they have lately all disappeared. We found some
heaps of dung, which seemed to be that of elephants, and some tracks of the
rhinoceros, but saw none of the animals. However, we kept a fire up all
night in case any of these creatures should visit us, and two of our men
declared that they did one day see a rhinoceros. When our rice was finished,
and our boxes full of specimens, we returned to Ayer-Panas, and a few days
afterwards went on to Malacca, and thence to Singapore. Mount Ophir has
quite a reputation for fever, and all our friends were astonished at our
recklessness in staying so long at its foot; but none of us suffered in the
least, and I shall ever look back with pleasure to my trip as being my first
introduction to mountain scenery in the Eastern tropics.
The meagreness and brevity of the sketch I have here given of my visit to
Singapore and the Malay Peninsula is due to my having trusted chiefly to
some private letters and a notebook, which were lost; and to a paper on
Malacca and Mount Ophir which was sent to the Royal Geographical
Society, but which was neither read nor printed owing to press of matter at
the end of a session, and the MSS. of which cannot now be found. I the less
regret this, however, as so many works have been written on these parts;
and I always intended to pass lightly over my travels in the western and
better known portions of the Archipelago, in order to devote more space to
the remoter districts, about which hardly anything has been written in the
English language.

CHAPTER IV. BORNEO—THE ORANGUTAN.
I ARRIVED at Sarawak on November 1st, 1854, and left it on January
25th, 1856. In the interval I resided at many different localities, and saw a
good deal of the Dyak tribes as well as of the Bornean Malays. I was
hospitably entertained by Sir James Brooke, and lived in his house
whenever I was at the town of Sarawak in the intervals of my journeys. But
so many books have been written about this part of Borneo since I was
there, that I shall avoid going into details of what I saw and heard and
thought of Sarawak and its ruler, confining myself chiefly to my
experiences as a naturalist in search of shells, insects, birds and the
Orangutan, and to an account of a journey through a part of the interior
seldom visited by Europeans.
The first four months of my visit were spent in various parts of the
Sarawak River, from Santubong at its mouth up to the picturesque
limestone mountains and Chinese gold-fields of Bow and Bede. This part of
the country has been so frequently described that I shall pass it over,
especially as, owing to its being the height of the wet season, my collections
were comparatively poor and insignificant.
In March 1865 I determined to go to the coalworks which were being
opened near the Simunjon River, a small branch of the Sadong, a river east
of Sarawak and between it and the Batang-Lupar. The Simunjon enters the
Sadong River about twenty miles up. It is very narrow and very winding,
and much overshadowed by the lofty forest, which sometimes almost meets
over it. The whole country between it and the sea is a perfectly level forest-
covered swamp, out of which rise a few isolated hills, at the foot of one of
which the works are situated. From the landing-place to the hill a Dyak road
had been formed, which consisted solely of tree-trunks laid end to end.
Along these the barefooted natives walk and carry heavy burdens with the
greatest ease, but to a booted European it is very slippery work, and when
one's attention is constantly attracted by the various objects of interest
around, a few tumbles into the bog are almost inevitable. During my first
walk along this road I saw few insects or birds, but noticed some very
handsome orchids in flower, of the genus Coelogyne, a group which I

afterwards found to be very abundant, and characteristic of the district. On
the slope of the hill near its foot a patch of forest had been cleared away,
and several rude houses erected, in which were residing Mr. Coulson the
engineer, and a number of Chinese workmen. I was at first kindly
accommodated in Mr. Coulson's house, but finding the spot very suitable
for me and offering great facilities for collecting, I had a small house of two
rooms and a verandah built for myself. Here I remained nearly nine months,
and made an immense collection of insects, to which class of animals I
devoted my chief attention, owing to the circumstances being especially
favourable.
In the tropics a large proportion of the insects of all orders, and especially
of the large and favourite group of beetles, are more or less dependent on
vegetation, and particularly on timber, bark, and leaves in various stages of
decay. In the untouched virgin forest, the insects which frequent such
situations are scattered over an immense extent of country, at spots where
trees have fallen through decay and old age, or have succumbed to the fury
of the tempest; and twenty square miles of country may not contain so
many fallen and decayed trees as are to be found in any small clearing. The
quantity and the variety of beetles and of many other insects that can be
collected at a given time in any tropical locality, will depend, first upon the
immediate vicinity of a great extent of virgin forest, and secondly upon the
quantity of trees that for some months past have been, and which are still
being cut down, and left to dry and decay upon the ground.
Now, during my whole twelve years' collecting in the western and eastern
tropics, I never enjoyed such advantages in this respect as at the Simunjon
coalworks. For several months from twenty to fifty Chinamen and Dyaks
were employed almost exclusively in clearing a large space in the forest,
and in making a wide opening for a railroad to the Sadong River, two miles
distant. Besides this, sawpits were established at various points in the
jungle, and large trees were felled to be cut up into beams and planks. For
hundreds of miles in every direction a magnificent forest extended over
plain and mountain, rock and morass, and I arrived at the spot just as the
rains began to diminish and the daily sunshine to increase; a time which I
have always found the most favourable season for collecting. The number
of openings, sunny places, and pathways were also an attraction to wasps
and butterflies; and by paying a cent each for all insects that were brought

me, I obtained from the Dyaks and the Chinamen many fine locusts and
Phasmidae, as well as numbers of handsome beetles.
When I arrived at the mines, on the 14th of March, I had collected in the
four preceding months, 320 different kinds of beetles. In less than a
fortnight I had doubled this number, an average of about 24 new species
every day. On one day I collected 76 different kinds, of which 34 were new
to me. By the end of April I had more than a thousand species, and they
then went on increasing at a slower rate, so that I obtained altogether in
Borneo about two thousand distinct kinds, of which all but about a hundred
were collected at this place, and on scarcely more than a square mile of
ground. The most numerous and most interesting groups of beetles were the
Longicorns and Rhynchophora, both pre-eminently wood-feeders. The
former, characterised by their graceful forms and long antenna, were
especially numerous, amounting to nearly three hundred species, nine-
tenths of which were entirely new, and many of them remarkable for their
large size, strange forms, and beautiful colouring. The latter correspond to
our weevils and allied groups, and in the tropics are exceedingly numerous
and varied, often swarming upon dead timber, so that I sometimes obtained
fifty or sixty different kinds in a day. My Bornean collections of this group
exceeded five hundred species.
My collection of butterflies was not large; but I obtained some rare and
very handsome insects, the most remarkable being the Ornithoptera
Brookeana, one of the most elegant species known. This beautiful creature
has very long and pointed wings, almost resembling a sphinx moth in
shape. It is deep velvety black, with a curved band of spots of a brilliant
metallic-green colour extending across the wings from tip to tip, each spot
being shaped exactly like a small triangular feather, and having very much
the effect of a row of the wing coverts of the Mexican trogon, laid upon
black velvet. The only other marks are a broad neck-collar of vivid crimson,
and a few delicate white touches on the outer margins of the hind wings.
This species, which was then quite new and which I named after Sir James
Brooke, was very rare. It was seen occasionally flying swiftly in the
clearings, and now and then settling for an instant at puddles and muddy
places, so that I only succeeded in capturing two or three specimens. In
some other parts of the country I was assured it was abundant, and a good
many specimens have been sent to England; but as yet all have been males,
and we are quite unable to conjecture what the female may be like, owing to

the extreme isolation of the species, and its want of close affinity to any
other known insect.
One of the most curious and interesting reptiles which I met with in
Borneo was a large tree-frog, which was brought me by one of the Chinese
workmen. He assured me that he had seen it come down in a slanting
direction from a high tree, as if it flew. On examining it, I found the toes
very long and fully webbed to their very extremity, so that when expanded
they offered a surface much larger than the body. The forelegs were also
bordered by a membrane, and the body was capable of considerable
inflation. The back and limbs were of a very deep shining green colour, the
undersurface and the inner toes yellow, while the webs were black, rayed
with yellow. The body was about four inches long, while the webs of each
hind foot, when fully expanded, covered a surface of four square inches,
and the webs of all the feet together about twelve square inches. As the
extremities of the toes have dilated discs for adhesion, showing the creature
to be a true tree frog, it is difficult to imagine that this immense membrane
of the toes can be for the purpose of swimming only, and the account of the
Chinaman, that it flew down from the tree, becomes more credible. This is,
I believe, the first instance known of a "flying frog," and it is very
interesting to Darwinians as showing that the variability of the toes which
have been already modified for purposes of swimming and adhesive
climbing, have been taken advantage of to enable an allied species to pass
through the air like the flying lizard. It would appear to be a new species of
the genus Rhacophorus, which consists of several frogs of a much smaller
size than this, and having the webs of the toes less developed.
During my stay in Borneo I had no hunter to shoot for me regularly, and,
being myself fully occupied with insects, I did not succeed in obtaining a
very good collection of the birds or Mammalia, many of which, however,
are well known, being identical with species found in Malacca. Among the
Mammalia were five squirrels,and two tigercats—the Gymnurus Rafflesii,
which looks like a cross between a pig and a polecat, and the Cynogale
Bennetti—a rare, otter-like animal, with very broad muzzle clothed with
long bristles.
One of my chief objects in coming to stay at Simunjon was to see the
Orangutan (or great man-like ape of Borneo) in his native haunts, to study
his habits, and obtain good specimens of the different varieties and species

of both sexes, and of the adult and young animals. In all these objects I
succeeded beyond my expectations, and will now give some account of my
experience in hunting the Orangutan, or "Mias," as it is called by the
natives; and as this name is short, and easily pronounced, I shall generally
use it in preference to Simia satyrus, or Orangutan.
Just a week after my arrival at the mines, I first saw a Mias. I was out
collecting insects, not more than a quarter of a mile from the house, when I
heard a rustling in a tree near, and, looking up, saw a large red-haired
animal moving slowly along, hanging from the branches by its arms. It
passed on from tree to tree until it was lost in the jungle, which was so
swampy that I could not follow it. This mode of progression was, however,
very unusual, and is more characteristic of the Hylobates than of the Orang.
I suppose there was some individual peculiarity in this animal, or the nature
of the trees just in this place rendered it the most easy mode of progression.
About a fortnight afterwards I heard that one was feeding in a tree in the
swamp just below the house, and, taking my gun, was fortunate enough to
find it in the same place. As soon as I approached, it tried to conceal itself
among the foliage; but, I got a shot at it, and the second barrel caused it to
fall down almost dead, the two balls having entered the body. This was a
male, about half-grown, being scarcely three feet high. On April 26th, I was
out shooting with two Dyaks, when we found another about the same size.
It fell at the first shot, but did not seem much hurt, and immediately
climbed up the nearest tree, when I fired, and it again fell, with a broken
arm and a wound in the body. The two Dyaks now ran up to it, and each
seized hold of a hand, telling me to cut a pole, and they would secure it. But
although one arm was broken and it was only a half-grown animal, it was
too strong for these young savages, drawing them up towards its mouth
notwithstanding all their efforts, so that they were again obliged to leave go,
or they would have been seriously bitten. It now began climbing up the tree
again; and, to avoid trouble, I shot it through the heart.
On May 2nd, I again found one on a very high tree, when I had only a
small 80-bore gun with me. However, I fired at it, and on seeing me it
began howling in a strange voice like a cough, and seemed in a great rage,
breaking off branches with its hands and throwing them down, and then
soon made off over the tree-tops. I did not care to follow it, as it was

swampy, and in parts dangerous, and I might easily have lost myself in the
eagerness of pursuit.
On the 12th of May I found another, which behaved in a very similar
manner, howling and hooting with rage, and throwing down branches. I
shot at it five times, and it remained dead on the top of the tree, supported
in a fork in such a manner that it would evidently not fall. I therefore
returned home, and luckily found some Dyaks, who came back with me,
and climbed up the tree for the animal. This was the first full-grown
specimen I had obtained; but it was a female, and not nearly so large or
remarkable as the full-grown males. It was, however, 3 ft. 6 in. high, and its
arms stretched out to a width of 6 ft. 6 in. I preserved the skin of this
specimen in a cask of arrack, and prepared a perfect skeleton, which was
afterwards purchased for the Derby Museum.
Only four days afterwards some Dyaks saw another Mias near the same
place, and came to tell me. We found it to be a rather large one, very high
up on a tall tree. At the second shot it fell rolling over, but almost
immediately got up again and began to climb. At a third shot it fell dead.
This was also a full-grown female, and while preparing to carry it home, we
found a young one face downwards in the bog. This little creature was only
about a foot long, and had evidently been hanging to its mother when she
first fell. Luckily it did not appear to have been wounded, and after we had
cleaned the mud out of its mouth it began to cry out, and seemed quite
strong and active. While carrying it home it got its hands in my beard, and
grasped so tightly that I had great difficulty in getting free, for the fingers
are habitually bent inwards at the last joint so as to form complete hooks. At
this time it had not a single tooth, but a few days afterwards it cut its two
lower front teeth. Unfortunately, I had no milk to give it, as neither Malays,
Chinese nor Dyaks ever use the article, and I in vain inquired for any
female animal that could suckle my little infant. I was therefore obliged to
give it rice-water from a bottle with a quill in the cork, which after a few
trials it learned to suck very well. This was very meagre diet, and the little
creature did not thrive well on it, although I added sugar and cocoa-nut milk
occasionally, to make it more nourishing. When I put my finger in its mouth
it sucked with great vigour, drawing in its cheeks with all its might in the
vain effort to extract some milk, and only after persevering a long time
would it give up in disgust, and set up a scream very like that of a baby in
similar circumstances.

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

made the little orphan quite happy; and so it seemed for some time, until it
began to remember its lost parent, and try to suck. It would pull itself up
close to the skin, and try about everywhere for a likely place; but, as it only
succeeded in getting mouthfuls of hair and wool, it would be greatly
disgusted, and scream violently, and, after two or three attempts, let go
altogether. One day it got some wool into its throat, and I thought it would
have choked, but after much gasping it recovered, and I was obliged to take
the imitation mother to pieces again, and give up this last attempt to
exercise the little creature.
After the first week I found I could feed it better with a spoon, and give it
a little more varied and more solid food. Well-soaked biscuit mixed with a
little egg and sugar, and sometimes sweet potatoes, were readily eaten; and
it was a never-failing amusement to observe the curious changes of
countenance by which it would express its approval or dislike of what was
given to it. The poor little thing would lick its lips, draw in its cheeks, and
turn up its eyes with an expression of the most supreme satisfaction when it
had a mouthful particularly to its taste. On the other hand, when its food
was not sufficiently sweet or palatable, it would turn the mouthful about
with its tongue for a moment as if trying to extract what flavour there was,
and then push it all out between its lips. If the same food was continued, it
would set up a scream and kick about violently, exactly like a baby in a
passion.
After I had had the little Mias about three weeks, I fortunately obtained a
young hare-lip monkey (Macacus cynomolgus), which, though small, was
very active, and could feed itself. I placed it in the same box with the Mias,
and they immediately became excellent friends, neither exhibiting the least
fear of the other. The little monkey would sit upon the other's stomach, or
even on its face, without the least regard to its feelings. While I was feeding
the Mias, the monkey would sit by, picking up all that was spilt, and
occasionally putting out its hands to intercept the spoon; and as soon as I
had finished would pick off what was left sticking to the Mias' lips, and
then pull open its mouth and see if any still remained inside; afterwards
lying down on the poor creature's stomach as on a comfortable cushion. The
little helpless Mias would submit to all these insults with the most
exemplary patience, only too glad to have something warm near it, which it
could clasp affectionately in its arms. It sometimes, however, had its
revenge; for when the monkey wanted to go away, the Mias would hold on

as long as it could by the loose skin of its back or head, or by its tail, and it
was only after many vigorous jumps that the monkey could make his
escape.
It was curious to observe the different actions of these two animals,
which could not have differed much in age. The Mias, like a very young
baby, lying on its back quite helpless, rolling lazily from side to side,
stretching out all four hands into the air, wishing to grasp something, but
hardly able to guide its fingers to any definite object; and when dissatisfied,
opening wide its almost toothless mouth, and expressing its wants by a most
infantine scream. The little monkey, on the other hand, in constant motion,
running and jumping about wherever it pleased, examining everything
around it, seizing hold of the smallest object with the greatest precision,
balancing itself on the edge of the box or running up a post, and helping
itself to anything eatable that came in its way. There could hardly be a
greater contrast, and the baby Mias looked more baby-like by the
comparison.
When I had had it about a month, it began to exhibit some signs of
learning to run alone. When laid upon the floor it would push itself along by
its legs, or roll itself over, and thus make an unwieldy progression. When
lying in the box it would lift itself up to the edge into almost an erect
position, and once or twice succeeded in tumbling out. When left dirty, or
hungry, or otherwise neglected, it would scream violently until attended to,
varied by a kind of coughing or pumping noise very similar to that which is
made by the adult animal. If no one was in the house, or its cries were not
attended to, it would be quiet after a little while, but the moment it heard a
footstep would begin again harder than ever.
After five weeks it cut its two upper front teeth, but in all this time it had
not grown the least bit, remaining both in size and weight the same as when
I first procured it. This was no doubt owing to the want of milk or other
equally nourishing food. Rice-water, rice, and biscuits were but a poor
substitute, and the expressed milk of the cocoa-nut which I sometimes gave
it did not quite agree with its stomach. To this I imputed an attack of
diarrhoea from which the poor little creature suffered greatly, but a small
dose of castor-oil operated well, and cured it. A week or two afterwards it
was again taken ill, and this time more seriously. The symptoms were
exactly those of intermittent fever, accompanied by watery swellings on the

feet and head. It lost all appetite for its food, and, after lingering for a week
a most pitiable object, died, after being in my possession nearly three
months. I much regretted the loss of my little pet, which I had at one time
looked forward to bringing up to years of maturity, and taking home to
England. For several months it had afforded me daily amusement by its
curious ways and the inimitably ludicrous expression of its little
countenance. Its weight was three pounds nine ounces, its height fourteen
inches, and the spread of its arms twenty-three inches. I preserved its skin
and skeleton, and in doing so found that when it fell from the tree it must
have broken an arm and a leg, which had, however, united so rapidly that I
had only noticed the hard swellings on the limbs where the irregular
junction of the bones had taken place.
Exactly a week after I had caught this interesting little animal, I
succeeded in shooting a full-grown male Orangutan. I had just come home
from an entomologising excursion when Charles [Charles Allen, an English
lad of sixteen, accompanied me as an assistant] rushed in out of breath with
running and excitement, and exclaimed, interrupted by gasps, "Get the gun,
sir,—be quick,—such a large Mias!" "Where is it?" I asked, taking hold of
my gun as I spoke, which happened luckily to have one barrel loaded with
ball. "Close by, sir—on the path to the mines—he can't get away." Two
Dyaks chanced to be in the house at the time, so I called them to
accompany me, and started off, telling Charley to bring all the ammunition
after me as soon as possible. The path from our clearing to the mines led
along the side of the hill a little way up its slope, and parallel with it at the
foot a wide opening had been made for a road, in which several Chinamen
were working, so that the animal could not escape into the swampy forest
below without descending to cross the road or ascending to get round the
clearings. We walked cautiously along, not making the least noise, and
listening attentively for any sound which might betray the presence of the
Mias, stopping at intervals to gaze upwards. Charley soon joined us at the
place where he had seen the creature, and having taken the ammunition and
put a bullet in the other barrel, we dispersed a little, feeling sure that it must
be somewhere near, as it had probably descended the hill, and would not be
likely to return again.
After a short time I heard a very slight rustling sound overhead, but on
gazing up could see nothing. I moved about in every direction to get a full
view into every part of the tree under which I had been standing, when I

again heard the same noise but louder, and saw the leaves shaking as if
caused by the motion of some heavy animal which moved off to an
adjoining tree. I immediately shouted for all of them to come up and try and
get a view, so as to allow me to have a shot. This was not an easy matter, as
the Mias had a knack of selecting places with dense foliage beneath. Very
soon, however, one of the Dyaks called me and pointed upwards, and on
looking I saw a great red hairy body and a huge black face gazing down
from a great height, as if wanting to know what was making such a
disturbance below. I instantly fired, and he made off at once, so that I could
not then tell whether I had hit him.
He now moved very rapidly and very noiselessly for so large an animal,
so I told the Dyaks to follow and keep him in sight while I loaded. The
jungle was here full of large angular fragments of rock from the mountain
above, and thick with hanging and twisted creepers. Running, climbing, and
creeping among these, we came up with the creature on the top of a high
tree near the road, where the Chinamen had discovered him, and were
shouting their astonishment with open mouths: "Ya Ya, Tuan; Orangutan,
Tuan." Seeing that he could not pass here without descending, he turned up
again towards the hill, and I got two shots, and following quickly, had two
more by the time he had again reached the path, but he was always more or
less concealed by foliage, and protected by the large branch on which he
was walking. Once while loading I had a splendid view of him, moving
along a large limb of a tree in a semi-erect posture, and showing it to be an
animal of the largest size. At the path he got on to one of the loftiest trees in
the forest, and we could see one leg hanging down useless, having been
broken by a ball. He now fixed himself in a fork, where he was hidden by
thick foliage, and seemed disinclined to move. I was afraid he would
remain and die in this position, and as it was nearly evening. I could not
have got the tree cut down that day. I therefore fired again, and he then
moved off, and going up the hill was obliged to get on to some lower trees,
on the branches of one of which he fixed himself in such a position that he
could not fall, and lay all in a heap as if dead, or dying.
I now wanted the Dyaks to go up and cut off the branch he was resting
on, but they were afraid, saying he was not dead, and would come and
attack them. We then shook the adjoining tree, pulled the hanging creepers,
and did all we could to disturb him, but without effect, so I thought it best to
send for two Chinamen with axes to cut down the tree. While the messenger

was gone, however, one of the Dyaks took courage and climbed towards
him, but the Mias did not wait for him to get near, moving off to another
tree, where he got on to a dense mass of branches and creepers which
almost completely hid him from our view. The tree was luckily a small one,
so when the axes came we soon had it cut through; but it was so held up by
jungle ropes and climbers to adjoining trees that it only fell into a sloping
position. The Mias did not move, and I began to fear that after all we should
not get him, as it was near evening, and half a dozen more trees would have
to be cut down before the one he was on would fall. As a last resource we
all began pulling at the creepers, which shook the tree very much, and, after
a few minutes, when we had almost given up all hope, down he came with a
crash and a thud like the fall of a giant. And he was a giant, his head and
body being fully as large as a man's. He was of the kind called by the Dyaks
"Mias Chappan," or "Mias Pappan," which has the skin of the face
broadened out to a ridge or fold at each side. His outstretched arms
measured seven feet three inches across, and his height, measuring fairly
from the top of the head to the heel was four feet two inches. The body just
below the arms was three feet two inches round, and was quite as long as a
man's, the legs being exceedingly short in proportion. On examination we
found he had been dreadfully wounded. Both legs were broken, one hip-
joint and the root of the spine completely shattered, and two bullets were
found flattened in his neck and jaws. Yet he was still alive when he fell. The
two Chinamen carried him home tied to a pole, and I was occupied with
Charley the whole of the next day preparing the skin and boiling the bones
to make a perfect skeleton, which are now preserved in the Museum at
Derby.
About ten days after this, on June 4th, some Dyaks came to tell us that
the day before a Mias had nearly killed one of their companions. A few
miles down the river there is a Dyak house, and the inhabitants saw a large
Orang feeding on the young shoots of a palm by the riverside. On being
alarmed he retreated towards the jungle which was close by, and a number
of the men, armed with spears and choppers, ran out to intercept him. The
man who was in front tried to run his spear through the animal's body, but
the Mias seized it in his hands, and in an instant got hold of the man's arm,
which he seized in his mouth, making his teeth meet in the flesh above the
elbow, which he tore and lacerated in a dreadful manner. Had not the others
been close behind, the man would have been more seriously injured, if not

killed, as he was quite powerless; but they soon destroyed the creature with
their spears and choppers. The man remained ill for a long time, and never
fully recovered the use of his arm.
They told me the dead Mias was still lying where it had been killed, so I
offered them a reward to bring it up to our landing-place immediately,
which they promised to do. They did not come, however, until the next day,
and then decomposition had commenced, and great patches of the hair came
off, so that it was useless to skin it. This I regretted much, as it was a very
fine full-grown male. I cut off the head and took it home to clean, while I
got my men to make a closed fence about five feet high around the rest of
the body, which would soon be devoured by maggots, small lizards, and
ants, leaving me the skeleton. There was a great gash in his face, which had
cut deep into the bone, but the skull was a very fine one, and the teeth were
remarkably large and perfect.
On June 18th I had another great success, and obtained a fine adult male.
A Chinaman told me he had seen him feeding by the side of the path to the
river, and I found him at the same place as the first individual I had shot. He
was feeding on an oval green fruit having a fine red arillus, like the mace
which surrounds the nutmeg, and which alone he seemed to eat, biting off
the thick outer rind and dropping it in a continual shower. I had found the
same fruit in the stomach of some others which I had killed. Two shots
caused this animal to loose his hold, but he hung for a considerable time by
one hand, and then fell flat on his face and was half buried in the swamp.
For several minutes he lay groaning and panting, while we stood close
around, expecting every breath to be his last. Suddenly, however, by a
violent effort he raised himself up, causing us all to step back a yard or two,
when, standing nearly erect, he caught hold of a small tree, and began to
ascend it. Another shot through the back caused him to fall down dead. A
flattened bullet was found in his tongue, having entered the lower part of
the abdomen and completely traversed the body, fracturing the first cervical
vertebra. Yet it was after this fearful wound that he had risen, and begun
climbing with considerable facility. This also was a full-grown male of
almost exactly the same dimensions as the other two I had measured.
On June 21st I shot another adult female, which was eating fruit in a low
tree, and was the only one which I ever killed by a single ball.

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

alternating with tropical rains. Two or three months later two Malays, on the
offer of a dollar, climbed the tree and let down the dried remains. The skin
was almost entirely enclosing the skeleton, and inside were millions of the
pupa-cases of flies and other insects, with thousands of two or three species
of small necrophagous beetles. The skull had been much shattered by balls,
but the skeleton was perfect, except one small wristbone, which had
probably dropped out and been carried away by a lizard.
Three days after I had shot this one and lost it, Charles found three small
Orangs feeding together. We had a long chase after them, and had a good
opportunity of seeing how they make their way from tree to tree by always
choosing those limbs whose branches are intermingled with those of some
other tree, and then grasping several of the small twigs together before they
venture to swing themselves across. Yet they do this so quickly and
certainly, that they make way among the trees at the rate of full five or six
miles an hour, as we had continually to run to keep up with them. One of
these we shot and killed, but it remained high up in the fork of a tree; and,
as young animals are of comparatively little interest, I did not have the tree
cut down to get it.
At this time I had the misfortune to slip among some fallen trees, and
hurt my ankle; and, not being careful enough at first, it became a severe
inflamed ulcer, which would not heal, and kept me a prisoner in the house
the whole of July and part of August. When I could get out again, I
determined to take a trip up a branch of the Simunjon River to Semabang,
where there was said to be a large Dyak house, a mountain with abundance
of fruit, and plenty of Orangs and fine birds. As the river was very narrow,
and I was obliged to go in a very small boat with little luggage, I only took
with me a Chinese boy as a servant. I carried a cask of medicated arrack to
put Mias skins in, and stores and ammunition for a fortnight. After a few
miles, the stream became very narrow and winding, and the whole country
on each side was flooded. On the banks were an abundance of monkeys—
the common Macacus cynomolgus, a black Semnopithecus, and the
extraordinary long-nosed monkey (Nasalis larvatus), which is as large as a
three-year old child, has a very long tail, and a fleshy nose longer than that
of the biggest-nosed man. The further we went on the narrower and more
winding the stream became; fallen trees sometimes blocked up our passage,
and sometimes tangled branches and creepers met completely across it, and
had to be cut away before we could get on. It took us two days to reach

Semabang, and we hardly saw a bit of dry land all the way. In the latter part
of the journey I could touch the bushes on each side for miles; and we were
often delayed by the screw-pines (Pandanus), which grow abundantly in the
water, falling across the stream. In other places dense rafts of floating grass
completely filled up the channel, making our journey a constant succession
of difficulties.
Near the landing-place we found a fine house, 250 feet long, raised high
above the ground on posts, with a wide verandah and still wider platform of
bamboo in front of it. Almost all the people, however, were away on some
excursion after edible birds'-nests or bees'-wax, and there only remained in
the house two or three old men and women with a lot of children. The
mountain or hill was close by, covered with a complete forest of fruit-trees,
among which the Durian and Mangosteen were very abundant; but the fruit
was not yet quite ripe, except a little here and there. I spent a week at this
place, going out everyday in various directions about the mountain,
accompanied by a Malay, who had stayed with me while the other boatmen
returned. For three days we found no Orangs, but shot a deer and several
monkeys. On the fourth day, however, we found a Mias feeding on a very
lofty Durian tree, and succeeded in killing it, after eight shots.
Unfortunately it remained in the tree, hanging by its hands, and we were
obliged to leave it and return home, as it was several miles off. As I felt
pretty sure it would fall during the night, I returned to the place early the
next morning, and found it on the ground beneath the tree. To my
astonishment and pleasure, it appeared to be a different kind from any I had
yet seen; for although a full-grown male, by its fully developed teeth and
very large canines, it had no sign of the lateral protuberance on the face, and
was about one-tenth smaller in all its dimensions than the other adult males.
The upper incisors, however, appeared to be broader than in the larger
species, a character distinguishing the Simia morio of Professor Owen,
which he had described from the cranium of a female specimen. As it was
too far to carry the animal home, I set to work and skinned the body on the
spot, leaving the head, hands, and feet attached, to be finished at home. This
specimen is now in the British Museum.
At the end of a week, finding no more Orangs, I returned home; and,
taking in a few fresh stores, and this time accompanied by Charles, went up
another branch of the river, very similar in character, to a place called
Menyille, where there were several small Dyak houses and one large one.

Here the landing place was a bridge of rickety poles, over a considerable
distance of water; and I thought it safer to leave my cask of arrack securely
placed in the fork of a tree. To prevent the natives from drinking it, I let
several of them see me put in a number of snakes and lizards; but I rather
think this did not prevent them from tasting it. We were accommodated here
in the verandah of the large house, in which were several great baskets of
dried human heads, the trophies of past generations of head-hunters. Here
also there was a little mountain covered with fruit-trees, and there were
some magnificent Durian trees close by the house, the fruit of which was
ripe; and as the Dyaks looked upon me as a benefactor in killing the Mias,
which destroys a great deal of their fruit, they let us eat as much as we
liked; we revelled in this emperor of fruits in its greatest perfection.
The very day after my arrival in this place, I was so fortunate as to shoot
another adult male of the small Orang, the Mias-kassir of the Dyaks. It fell
when dead, but caught in a fork of the tree and remained fixed. As I was
very anxious to get it, I tried to persuade two young Dyaks who were with
me to cut down the tree, which was tall, perfectly straight and smooth-
barked, and without a branch for fifty or sixty feet. To my surprise, they
said they would prefer climbing up it, but it would be a good deal of
trouble, and, after a little talking together, they said they would try. They
first went to a clump of bamboo that stood near, and cut down one of the
largest stems. From this they chopped off a short piece, and splitting it,
made a couple of stout pegs, about a foot long and sharp at one end. Then
cutting a thick piece of wood for a mallet, they drove one of the pegs into
the tree and hung their weight upon it. It held, and this seemed to satisfy
them, for they immediately began making a quantity of pegs of the same
kind, while I looked on with great interest, wondering how they could
possibly ascend such a lofty tree by merely driving pegs in it, the failure of
any one of which at a good height would certainly cause their death. When
about two dozen pegs were made, one of them began cutting some very
long and slender bamboo from another clump, and also prepared some cord
from the bark of a small tree. They now drove in a peg very firmly at about
three feet from the ground, and bringing one of the long bamboos, stood it
upright close to the tree, and bound it firmly to the two first pegs, by means
of the bark cord and small notches near the head of each peg. One of the
Dyaks now stood on the first peg and drove in a third, about level with his
face, to which he tied the bamboo in the same way, and then mounted

another step, standing on one foot, and holding by the bamboo at the peg
immediately above him, while he drove in the next one. In this manner he
ascended about twenty feet; when the upright bamboo was becoming thin,
another was handed up by his companion, and this was joined by tying both
bamboos to three or four of the pegs. When this was also nearly ended, a
third was added, and shortly after, the lowest branches of the tree were
reached, along which the young Dyak scrambled, and soon sent the Mias
tumbling down headlong. I was exceedingly struck by the ingenuity of this
mode of climbing, and the admirable manner in which the peculiar
properties of the bamboo were made available. The ladder itself was
perfectly safe, since if any one peg were loose or faulty, and gave way, the
strain would be thrown on several others above and below it. I now
understood the use of the line of bamboo pegs sticking in trees, which I had
often seen, and wondered for what purpose they could have been put there.
This animal was almost identical in size and appearance with the one I had
obtained at Semabang, and was the only other male specimen of the Simia
morio which I obtained. It is now in the Derby Museum.
I afterwards shot two adult females and two young ones of different ages,
all of which I preserved. One of the females, with several young ones, was
feeding on a Durian tree with unripe fruit; and as soon as she saw us she
began breaking off branches and the great spiny fruits with every
appearance of rage, causing such a shower of missiles as effectually kept us
from approaching too near the tree. This habit of throwing down branches
when irritated has been doubted, but I have, as here narrated, observed it
myself on at least three separate occasions. It was however always the
female Mias who behaved in this way, and it may be that the male, trusting
more to his great strength and his powerful canine teeth, is not afraid of any
other animal, and does not want to drive them away, while the parental
instinct of the female leads her to adopt this mode of defending herself and
her young ones.
In preparing the skins and skeletons of these animals, I was much
troubled by the Dyak dogs, which, being always kept in a state of semi-
starvation, are ravenous for animal food. I had a great iron pan, in which I
boiled the bones to make skeletons, and at night I covered this over with
boards, and put heavy stones upon it; but the dogs managed to remove these
and carried away the greater part of one of my specimens. On another
occasion they gnawed away a good deal of the upper leather of my strong

boots, and even ate a piece of my mosquito-curtain, where some lamp-oil
had been spilt over it some weeks before.
On our return down the stream, we had the fortune to fall in with a very
old male Mias, feeding on some low trees growing in the water. The
country was flooded for a long distance, but so full of trees and stumps that
the laden boat could not be got in among them, and if it could have been we
should only have frightened the Mias away. I therefore got into the water,
which was nearly up to my waist, and waded on until I was near enough for
a shot. The difficulty then was to load my gun again, for I was so deep in
the water that I could not hold the gun sloping enough to pour the powder
in. I therefore had to search for a shallow place, and after several shots
under these trying circumstances, I was delighted to see the monstrous
animal roll over into the water. I now towed him after me to the stream, but
the Malays objected to having the animal put into the boat, and he was so
heavy that I could not do it without their help. I looked about for a place to
skin him, but not a bit of dry ground was to be seen, until at last I found a
clump of two or three old trees and stumps, between which a few feet of
soil had collected just above the water, which was just large enough for us
to drag the animal upon it. I first measured him, and found him to be by far
the largest I had yet seen, for, though the standing height was the same as
the others (4 feet 2 inches), the outstretched arms were 7 feet 9 inches,
which was six inches more than the previous one, and the immense broad
face was 13 1/2 inches wide, whereas the widest I had hitherto seen was
only 11 1/2 inches. The girth of the body was 3 feet 7 1/2 inches. I am
inclined to believe, therefore, that the length and strength of the arms, and
the width of the face continues increasing to a very great age, while the
standing height, from the sole of the foot to the crown of the head, rarely if
ever exceeds 4 feet 2 inches.
As this was the last Mias I shot, and the last time I saw an adult living
animal, I will give a sketch of its general habits, and any other facts
connected with it. The Orangutan is known to inhabit Sumatra and Borneo,
and there is every reason to believe that it is confined to these two great
islands, in the former of which, however, it seems to be much more rare. In
Borneo it has a wide range, inhabiting many districts on the southwest,
southeast, northeast, and northwest coasts, but appears to be chiefly
confined to the low and swampy forests. It seems, at first sight, very
inexplicable that the Mias should be quite unknown in the Sarawak valley,

while it is abundant in Sambas, on the west, and Sadong, on the east. But
when we know the habits and mode of life of the animal, we see a sufficient
reason for this apparent anomaly in the physical features of the Sarawak
district. In the Sadong, where I observed it, the Mias is only found when the
country is low level and swampy, and at the same time covered with a lofty
virgin forest. From these swamps rise many isolated mountains, on some of
which the Dyaks have settled and covered with plantations of fruit trees.
These are a great attraction to the Mias, which comes to feed on the unripe
fruits, but always retires to the swamp at night. Where the country becomes
slightly elevated, and the soil dry, the Mias is no longer to be found. For
example, in all the lower part of the Sadong valley it abounds, but as soon
as we ascend above the limits of the tides, where the country, though still
flat, is high enough to be dry, it disappears. Now the Sarawak valley has
this peculiarity—the lower portion though swampy, is not covered with a
continuous lofty forest, but is principally occupied by the Nipa palm; and
near the town of Sarawak where the country becomes dry, it is greatly
undulated in many parts, and covered with small patches of virgin forest,
and much second-growth jungle on the ground, which has once been
cultivated by the Malays or Dyaks.
Now it seems probable to me that a wide extent of unbroken and equally
lofty virgin forest is necessary to the comfortable existence of these
animals. Such forests form their open country, where they can roam in
every direction with as much facility as the Indian on the prairie, or the
Arab on the desert, passing from tree-top to tree-top without ever being
obliged to descend upon the earth. The elevated and the drier districts are
more frequented by man, more cut up by clearings and low second-growth
jungle—not adapted to its peculiar mode of progression, and where it would
therefore be more exposed to danger, and more frequently obliged to
descend upon the earth. There is probably also a greater variety of fruit in
the Mias district, the small mountains which rise like islands out of it
serving as gardens or plantations of a sort, where the trees of the uplands
are to be found in the very midst of the swampy plains.
It is a singular and very interesting sight to watch a Mias making his way
leisurely through the forest. He walks deliberately along some of the larger
branches in the semi-erect attitude which the great length of his arms and
the shortness of his legs cause him naturally to assume; and the
disproportion between these limbs is increased by his walking on his

knuckles, not on the palm of the hand, as we should do. He seems always to
choose those branches which intermingle with an adjoining tree, on
approaching which he stretches out his long arms, and seizing the opposing
boughs, grasps them together with both hands, seems to try their strength,
and then deliberately swings himself across to the next branch, on which he
walks along as before. He never jumps or springs, or even appears to hurry
himself, and yet manages to get along almost as quickly as a person can run
through the forest beneath. The long and powerful arms are of the greatest
use to the animal, enabling it to climb easily up the loftiest trees, to seize
fruits and young leaves from slender boughs which will not bear its weight,
and to gather leaves and branches with which to form its nest. I have
already described how it forms a nest when wounded, but it uses a similar
one to sleep on almost every night. This is placed low down, however, on a
small tree not more than from twenty to fifty feet from the ground, probably
because it is warmer and less exposed to wind than higher up. Each Mias is
said to make a fresh one for himself every night; but I should think that is
hardly probable, or their remains would be much more abundant; for though
I saw several about the coal-mines, there must have been many Orangs
about every day, and in a year their deserted nests would become very
numerous. The Dyaks say that, when it is very wet, the Mias covers himself
over with leaves of pandanus, or large ferns, which has perhaps led to the
story of his making a hut in the trees.
The Orang does not leave his bed until the sun has well risen and has
dried up the dew upon the leaves. He feeds all through the middle of the
day, but seldom returns to the same tree two days running. They do not
seem much alarmed at man, as they often stared down upon me for several
minutes, and then only moved away slowly to an adjacent tree. After seeing
one, I have often had to go half a mile or more to fetch my gun, and in
nearly every case have found it on the same tree, or within a hundred yards,
when I returned. I never saw two full-grown animals together, but both
males and females are sometimes accompanied by half-grown young ones,
while, at other times, three or four young ones were seen in company. Their
food consists almost exclusively of fruit, with occasionally leaves, buds,
and young shoots. They seem to prefer unripe fruits, some of which were
very sour, others intensely bitter, particularly the large red, fleshy arillus of
one which seemed an especial favourite. In other cases they eat only the
small seed of a large fruit, and they almost always waste and destroy more

than they eat, so that there is a continual rain of rejected portions below the
tree they are feeding on. The Durian is an especial favourite, and quantities
of this delicious fruit are destroyed wherever it grows surrounded by forest,
but they will not cross clearings to get at them. It seems wonderful how the
animal can tear open this fruit, the outer covering of which is so thick and
tough, and closely covered with strong conical spines. It probably bites off a
few of these first, and then, making a small hole, tears open the fruit with its
powerful fingers.
The Mias rarely descends to the ground, except when pressed by hunger,
it seeks succulent shoots by the riverside; or, in very dry weather, has to
search after water, of which it generally finds sufficient in the hollows of
leaves. Only once I saw two half-grown Orangs on the ground in a dry
hollow at the foot of the Simunjon hill. They were playing together,
standing erect, and grasping each other by the arms. It may be safely stated,
however, that the Orang never walks erect, unless when using its hands to
support itself by branches overhead or when attacked. Representations of its
walking with a stick are entirely imaginary.
The Dyaks all declare that the Mias is never attacked by any animal in
the forest, with two rare exceptions; and the accounts I received of these are
so curious that I give them nearly in the words of my informants, old Dyak
chiefs, who had lived all their lives in the places where the animal is most
abundant. The first of whom I inquired said: "No animal is strong enough to
hurt the Mias, and the only creature he ever fights with is the crocodile.
When there is no fruit in the jungle, he goes to seek food on the banks of
the river where there are plenty of young shoots that he likes, and fruits that
grow close to the water. Then the crocodile sometimes tries to seize him,
but the Mias gets upon him, and beats him with his hands and feet, and tears
him and kills him." He added that he had once seen such a fight, and that he
believes that the Mias is always the victor.
My next informant was the Orang Kaya, or chief of the Balow Dyaks, on
the Simunjon River. He said: "The Mias has no enemies; no animals dare
attack it but the crocodile and the python. He always kills the crocodile by
main strength, standing upon it, pulling open its jaws, and ripping up its
throat. If a python attacks a Mias, he seizes it with his hands, and then bites
it, and soon kills it. The Mias is very strong; there is no animal in the jungle
so strong as he."

It is very remarkable that an animal so large, so peculiar, and of such a
high type of form as the Orangutan, should be confined to so limited a
district—to two islands, and those almost the last inhabited by the higher
Mammalia; for, east of Borneo and Java, the Quadrumania, Ruminants,
Carnivora, and many other groups of Mammalia diminish rapidly, and soon
entirely disappear. When we consider, further, that almost all other animals
have in earlier ages been represented by allied yet distinct forms—that, in
the latter part of the tertiary period, Europe was inhabited by bears, deer,
wolves, and cats; Australia by kangaroos and other marsupials; South
America by gigantic sloths and ant-eaters; all different from any now
existing, though intimately allied to them—we have every reason to believe
that the Orangutan, the Chimpanzee, and the Gorilla have also had their
forerunners. With what interest must every naturalist look forward to the
time when the caves and tertiary deposits of the tropics may be thoroughly
examined, and the past history and earliest appearance of the great man-like
apes be made known at length.
I will now say a few words as to the supposed existence of a Bornean
Orang as large as the Gorilla. I have myself examined the bodies of
seventeen freshly-killed Orangs, all of which were carefully measured; and
of seven of them, I preserved the skeleton. I also obtained two skeletons
killed by other persons. Of this extensive series, sixteen were fully adult,
nine being males, and seven females. The adult males of the large Orangs
only varied from 4 feet 1 inch to 4 feet 2 inches in height, measured fairly
to the heel, so as to give the height of the animal if it stood perfectly erect;
the extent of the outstretched arms, from 7 feet 2 inches to 7 feet 8 inches;
and the width of the face, from 10 inches to 13 1/2 inches. The dimensions
given by other naturalists closely agree with mine. The largest Orang
measured by Temminck was 4 feet high. Of twenty-five specimens
collected by Schlegel and Muller, the largest old male was 4 feet 1 inch; and
the largest skeleton in the Calcutta Museum was, according to Mr. Blyth, 4
feet 1 1/2 inch. My specimens were all from the northwest coast of Borneo;
those of the Dutch from the west and south coasts; and no specimen has yet
reached Europe exceeding these dimensions, although the total number of
skins and skeletons must amount to over a hundred.
Strange to say, however, several persons declare that they have measured
Orangs of a much larger size. Temminck, in his Monograph of the Orang,
says that he has just received news of the capture of a specimen 5 feet 3

inches high. Unfortunately, it never seems to have a reached Holland, for
nothing has since been heard of any such animal. Mr. St. John, in his "Life
in the Forests of the Far East," vol. ii. p. 237, tells us of an Orang shot by a
friend of his, which was 5 feet 2 inches from the heel to the top of the head,
the arm 17 inches in girth, and the wrist 12 inches! The head alone was
brought to Sarawak, and Mr. St. John tells us that he assisted to measure
this, and that it was 15 inches broad by 14 long. Unfortunately, even this
skull appears not to have been preserved, for no specimen corresponding to
these dimensions has yet reached England.
In a letter from Sir James Brooke, dated October 1857 in which he
acknowledges the receipt of my Papers on the Orang, published in the
"Annals and Magazine of Natural History," he sends me the measurements
of a specimen killed by his nephew, which I will give exactly as I received
it: "September 3rd, 1867, killed female Orangutan. Height, from head to
heel, 4 feet 6 inches. Stretch from fingers to fingers across body, 6 feet 1
inch. Breadth of face, including callosities, 11 inches." Now, in these
dimensions, there is palpably one error; for in every Orang yet measured by
any naturalist, an expanse of arms of 6 feet 1 inch corresponds to a height
of about 3 feet 6 inches, while the largest specimens of 4 feet to 4 feet 2
inches high, always have the extended arms as much as 7 feet 3 inches to 7
feet 8 inches. It is, in fact, one of the characters of the genus to have the
arms so long that an animal standing nearly erect can rest its fingers on the
ground. A height of 4 feet 6 inches would therefore require a stretch of arms
of at least 8 feet! If it were only 6 feet to that height, as given in the
dimensions quoted, the animal would not be an Orang at all, but a new
genus of apes, differing materially in habits and mode of progression. But
Mr. Johnson, who shot this animal, and who knows Orangs well, evidently
considered it to be one; and we have therefore to judge whether it is more
probable that he made a mistake of two feet in the stretch of the arms, or of
one foot in the height. The latter error is certainly the easiest to make, and it
will bring his animal into agreement, as to proportions and size, with all
those which exist in Europe. How easy it is to be deceived as to the height
of these animals is well shown in the case of the Sumatran Orang, the skin
of which was described by Dr. Clarke Abel. The captain and crew who
killed this animal declared that when alive he exceeded the tallest man, and
looked so gigantic that they thought he was 7 feet high; but that, when he
was killed and lay upon the ground, they found he was only about 6 feet.

Now it will hardly be credited that the skin of this identical animal exists in
the Calcutta Museum, and Mr. Blyth, the late curator, states "that it is by no
means one of the largest size"; which means that it is about 4 feet high!
Having these undoubted examples of error in the dimensions of Orangs,
it is not too much to conclude that Mr. St. John's friend made a similar error
of measurement, or rather, perhaps, of memory; for we are not told that the
dimensions were noted down at the time they were made. The only figures
given by Mr. St. John on his own authority are that "the head was 15 inches
broad by 14 inches long." As my largest male was 13 1/2 broad across the
face, measured as soon as the animal was killed, I can quite understand that
when the head arrived at Sarawak from the Batang-Lupar, after two or three
days' voyage, it was so swollen by decomposition as to measure an inch
more than when it was fresh. On the whole, therefore, I think it will be
allowed, that up to this time we have not the least reliable evidence of the
existence of Orangs in Borneo more than 4 feet 2 inches high.

CHAPTER V. BORNEO—JOURNEY INTO THE
INTERIOR.
(NOVEMBER 1855 TO JANUARY 1856.)

As the wet season was approaching, I determined to return to Sarawak,
sending all my collections with Charles Allen around by sea, while I myself
proposed to go up to the sources of the Sadong River and descend by the
Sarawak valley. As the route was somewhat difficult, I took the smallest
quantity of baggage, and only one servant, a Malay lad named Bujon, who
knew the language of the Sadong Dyaks, with whom he had traded. We left
the mines on the 27th of November, and the next day reached the Malay
village of Gúdong, where I stayed a short time to buy fruit and eggs, and
called upon the Datu Bandar, or Malay governor of the place. He lived in a
large, and well-built house, very dirty outside and in, and was very
inquisitive about my business, and particularly about the coal-mines. These
puzzle the natives exceedingly, as they cannot understand the extensive and
costly preparations for working coal, and cannot believe it is to be used
only as fuel when wood is so abundant and so easily obtained. It was
evident that Europeans seldom came here, for numbers of women skeltered
away as I walked through the village and one girl about ten or twelve years
old, who had just brought a bamboo full of water from the river, threw it
down with a cry of horror and alarm the moment she caught sight of me,
turned around and jumped into the stream. She swam beautifully, and kept
looking back as if expecting I would follow her, screaming violently all the
time; while a number of men and boys were laughing at her ignorant terror.
At Jahi, the next village, the stream became so swift in consequence of a
flood, that my heavy boat could make no way, and I was obliged to send it
back and go on in a very small open one. So far the river had been very
monotonous, the banks being cultivated as rice-fields, and little thatched
huts alone breaking the unpicturesque line of muddy bank crowned with tall
grasses, and backed by the top of the forest behind the cultivated ground. A
few hours beyond Jahi we passed the limits of cultivation, and had the

beautiful virgin forest coming down to the water's edge, with its palms and
creepers, its noble trees, its ferns, and epiphytes. The banks of the river
were, however, still generally flooded, and we had some difficulty in
finding a dry spot to sleep on. Early in the morning we reached Empugnan,
a small Malay village, situated at the foot of an isolated mountain which
had been visible from the mouth of the Simunjon River. Beyond here the
tides are not felt, and we now entered upon a district of elevated forest, with
a finer vegetation. Large trees stretch out their arms across the stream, and
the steep, earthy banks are clothed with ferns and zingiberaceous plants.
Early in the afternoon we arrived at Tabókan, the first village of the Hill
Dyaks. On an open space near the river, about twenty boys were playing at
a game something like what we call "prisoner's base;" their ornaments of
beads and brass wire and their gay-coloured kerchiefs and waist-cloths
showing to much advantage, and forming a very pleasing sight. On being
called by Bujon, they immediately left their game to carry my things up to
the "headhouse,"—a circular building attached to most Dyak villages, and
serving as a lodging for strangers, the place for trade, the sleeping-room of
the unmarried youths, and the general council-chamber. It is elevated on
lofty posts, has a large fireplace in the middle and windows in the roof all
round, and forms a very pleasant and comfortable abode. In the evening it
was crowded with young men and boys, who came to look at me. They
were mostly fine young fellows, and I could not help admiring the
simplicity and elegance of their costume. Their only dress is the long
"chawat," or waist-cloth, which hangs down before and behind. It is
generally of blue cotton, ending in three broad bands of red, blue, and
white. Those who can afford it wear a handkerchief on the head, which is
either red, with a narrow border of gold lace, or of three colours, like the
"chawat." The large flat moon-shaped brass earrings, the heavy necklace of
white or black beads, rows of brass rings on the arms and legs, and armlets
of white shell, all serve to relieve and set off the pure reddish brown skin
and jet-black hair. Add to this the little pouch containing materials for betel-
chewing, and a long slender knife, both invariably worn at the side, and you
have the everyday dress of the young Dyak gentleman.
The "Orang Kaya," or rich man, as the chief of the tribe is called, now
came in with several of the older men; and the "bitchara" or talk
commenced, about getting a boat and men to take me on the next morning.
As I could not understand a word of their language, which is very different

from Malay, I took no part in the proceedings, but was represented by my
boy Bujon, who translated to me most of what was said. A Chinese trader
was in the house, and he, too, wanted men the next day; but on his hinting
this to the Orang Kaya, he was sternly told that a white man's business was
now being discussed, and he must wait another day before his could be
thought about.
After the "bitchara" was over and the old chiefs gone, I asked the young
men to play or dance, or amuse themselves in their accustomed way; and
after some little hesitation they agreed to do so. They first had a trial of
strength, two boys sitting opposite each other, foot being placed against
foot, and a stout stick grasped by both their hands. Each then tried to throw
himself back, so as to raise his adversary up from the ground, either by
main strength or by a sudden effort. Then one of the men would try his
strength against two or three of the boys; and afterwards they each grasped
their own ankle with a hand, and while one stood as firm as he could, the
other swung himself around on one leg, so as to strike the other's free leg,
and try to overthrow him. When these games had been played all around
with varying success, we had a novel kind of concert. Some placed a leg
across the knee, and struck the fingers sharply on the ankle, others beat their
arms against their sides like a cock when he is going to crow, this making a
great variety of clapping sounds, while another with his hand under his
armpit produced a deep trumpet note; and, as they all kept time very well,
the effect was by no means unpleasing. This seemed quite a favourite
amusement with them, and they kept it up with much spirit.
The next morning we started in a boat about thirty feet long, and only
twenty-eight inches wide. The stream here suddenly changes its character.
Hitherto, though swift, it had been deep and smooth, and confined by steep
banks. Now it rushed and rippled over a pebbly, sandy, or rocky bed,
occasionally forming miniature cascades and rapids, and throwing up on
one side or the other broad banks of finely coloured pebbles. No paddling
could make way here, but the Dyaks with bamboo poles propelled us along
with great dexterity and swiftness, never losing their balance in such a
narrow and unsteady vessel, though standing up and exerting all their force.
It was a brilliant day, and the cheerful exertions of the men, the rushing of
the sparkling waters, with the bright and varied foliage, which from either
bank stretched over our heads, produced an exhilarating sensation which
recalled my canoe voyages on the grander waters of South America.

Early in the afternoon we reached the village of Borotói, and, though it
would have been easy to reach the next one before night, I was obliged to
stay, as my men wanted to return and others could not possibly go on with
me without the preliminary talking. Besides, a white man was too great a
rarity to be allowed to escape them, and their wives would never have
forgiven them if, when they returned from the fields, they found that such a
curiosity had not been kept for them to see. On entering the house to which
I was invited, a crowd of sixty or seventy men, women, and children
gathered around me, and I sat for half an hour like some strange animal
submitted for the first time to the gaze of an inquiring public. Brass rings
were here in the greatest profusion, many of the women having their arms
completely covered with them, as well as their legs from the ankle to the
knee. Round the waist they wear a dozen or more coils of fine rattan stained
red, to which the petticoat is attached. Below this are generally a number of
coils of brass wire, a girdle of small silver coins, and sometimes a broad
belt of brass ring armour. On their heads they wear a conical hat without a
crown, formed of variously coloured beads, kept in shape by rings of rattan,
and forming a fantastic but not unpicturesque headdress.
Walking out to a small hill near the village, cultivated as a rice-field, I
had a fine view of the country, which was becoming quite hilly, and towards
the south, mountainous. I took bearings and sketches of all that was visible,
an operation which caused much astonishment to the Dyaks who
accompanied me, and produced a request to exhibit the compass when I
returned. I was then surrounded by a larger crowd than before, and when I
took my evening meal in the midst of a circle of about a hundred spectators
anxiously observing every movement and criticising every mouthful, my
thoughts involuntarily recurred to the lion at feeding time. Like those noble
animals, I too was used to it, and it did not affect my appetite. The children
here were more shy than at Tabókan, and I could not persuade them to play.
I therefore turned showman myself, and exhibited the shadow of a dog's
head eating, which pleased them so much that all the village in succession
came out to see it. The "rabbit on the wall" does not do in Borneo, as there
is no animal it resembles. The boys had tops shaped something like
whipping-tops, but spun with a string.
The next morning we proceeded as before, but the river had become so
rapid and shallow and the boats were all so small, that though I had nothing
with me but a change of clothes, a gun, and a few cooking utensils, two

were required to take me on. The rock which appeared here and there on the
riverbank was an indurated clay-slate, sometimes crystalline, and thrown up
almost vertically. Right and left of us rose isolated limestone mountains,
their white precipices glistening in the sun and contrasting beautifully with
the luxuriant vegetation that elsewhere clothed them. The river bed was a
mass of pebbles, mostly pure white quartz, but with abundance of jasper
and agate, presenting a beautifully variegated appearance. It was only ten in
the morning when we arrived at Budw, and, though there were plenty of
people about, I could not induce them to allow me to go on to the next
village. The Orang Kaya said that if I insisted on having men, of course he
would get them, but when I took him at his word and said I must have them,
there came a fresh remonstrance; and the idea of my going on that day
seemed so painful that I was obliged to submit. I therefore walked out over
the rice-fields, which are here very extensive, covering a number of the
little hills and valleys into which the whole country seems broken up, and
obtained a fine view of hills and mountains in every direction.
In the evening the Orang Kaya came in full dress (a spangled velvet
jacket, but no trousers), and invited me over to his house, where he gave me
a seat of honour under a canopy of white calico and coloured handkerchiefs.
The great verandah was crowded with people, and large plates of rice with
cooked and fresh eggs were placed on the ground as presents for me. A very
old man then dressed himself in bright-coloured cloths and many
ornaments, and sitting at the door, murmured a long prayer or invocation,
sprinkling rice from a basin he held in his hand, while several large gongs
were loudly beaten and a salute of muskets fired off. A large jar of rice
wine, very sour but with an agreeable flavour, was then handed around, and
I asked to see some of their dances. These were, like most savage
performances, very dull and ungraceful affairs; the men dressing themselves
absurdly like women, and the girls making themselves as stiff and
ridiculous as possible. All the time six or eight large Chinese gongs were
being beaten by the vigorous arms of as many young men, producing such a
deafening discord that I was glad to escape to the round house, where I slept
very comfortably with half a dozen smoke-dried human skulls suspended
over my head.
The river was now so shallow that boats could hardly get along. I
therefore preferred walking to the next village, expecting to see something
of the country, but was much disappointed, as the path lay almost entirely

through dense bamboo thickets. The Dyaks get two crops off the ground in
succession; one of rice, and the other of sugar-cane, maize, and vegetables.
The ground then lies fallow eight or ten years, and becomes covered with
bamboos and shrubs, which often completely arch over the path and shut
out everything from the view. Three hours' walking brought us to the village
of Senankan, where I was again obliged to remain the whole day, which I
agreed to do on the promise of the Orang Kaya that his men should next day
take me through two other villages across to Senna, at the head of the
Sarawak River. I amused myself as I best could till evening, by walking
about the high ground near, to get views of the country and bearings of the
chief mountains. There was then another public audience, with gifts of rice
and eggs, and drinking of rice wine. These Dyaks cultivate a great extent of
ground, and supply a good deal of rice to Sarawak. They are rich in gongs,
brass trays, wire, silver coins, and other articles in which a Dyak's wealth
consists; and their women and children are all highly ornamented with bead
necklaces, shells, and brass wire.
In the morning I waited some time, but the men that were to accompany
me did not make their appearance. On sending to the Orang Kaya I found
that both he and another head-man had gone out for the day, and on
inquiring the reason was told that they could not persuade any of their men
to go with me because the journey was a long and fatiguing one. As I was
determined to get on, I told the few men that remained that the chiefs had
behaved very badly, and that I should acquaint the Rajah with their conduct,
and I wanted to start immediately. Every man present made some excuse,
but others were sent for, and by dint of threats and promises, and the
exertion of all Bujon's eloquence, we succeeded in getting off after two
hours' delay.
For the first few miles our path lay over a country cleared for rice-fields,
consisting entirely of small but deep and sharply-cut ridges and valleys
without a yard of level ground. After crossing the Kayan river, a main
branch of the Sadong, we got on to the lower slopes of the Seboran
Mountain, and the path lay along a sharp and moderately steep ridge,
affording an excellent view of the country. Its features were exactly those of
the Himalayas in miniature, as they are described by Dr. Hooker and other
travellers, and looked like a natural model of some parts of those vast
mountains on a scale of about a tenth—thousands of feet being here
represented by hundreds. I now discovered the source of the beautiful

pebbles which had so pleased me in the riverbed. The slatey rocks had
ceased, and these mountains seemed to consist of a sandstone
conglomerate, which was in some places a mere mass of pebbles cemented
together. I might have known that such small streams could not produce
such vast quantities of well-rounded pebbles of the very hardest materials.
They had evidently been formed in past ages, by the action of some
continental stream or seabeach, before the great island of Borneo had risen
from the ocean. The existence of such a system of hills and valleys
reproducing in miniature all the features of a great mountain region, has an
important bearing on the modern theory that the form of the ground is
mainly due to atmospheric rather than to subterranean action. When we
have a number of branching valleys and ravines running in many different
directions within a square mile, it seems hardly possible to impute their
formation, or even their origination, to rents and fissures produced by
earthquakes. On the other hand, the nature of the rock, so easily
decomposed and removed by water, and the known action of the abundant
tropical rains, are in this case, at least, quite sufficient causes for the
production of such valleys. But the resemblance between their forms and
outlines, their mode of divergence, and the slopes and ridges that divide
them, and those of the grand mountain scenery of the Himalayas, is so
remarkable, that we are forcibly led to the conclusion that the forces at
work in the two cases have been the same, differing only in the time they
have been in action, and the nature of the material they have had to work
upon.
About noon we reached the village of Menyerry, beautifully situated on a
spur of the mountain about 600 feet above the valley, and affording a
delightful view of the mountains of this part of Borneo. I here got a sight of
Penrissen Mountain, at the head of the Sarawak River, and one of the
highest in the district, rising to about 6,000 feet above the sea. To the south
the Rowan, and further off the Untowan Mountains in the Dutch territory
appeared equally lofty. Descending from Menyerry we again crossed the
Kayan, which bends round the spur, and ascended to the pass which divides
the Sadong and Sarawak valleys, and which is about 2,000 feet high. The
descent from this point was very fine. A stream, deep in a rocky gorge,
rushed on each side of us, to one of which we gradually descended, passing
over many lateral gullys and along the faces of some precipices by means of
native bamboo bridges. Some of these were several hundred feet long and

fifty or sixty high, a single smooth bamboo four inches diameter forming
the only pathway, while a slender handrail of the same material was often
so shaky that it could only be used as a guide rather than a support.
Late in the afternoon we reached Sodos, situated on a spur between two
streams, but so surrounded by fruit trees that little could be seen of the
country. The house was spacious, clean and comfortable, and the people
very obliging. Many of the women and children had never seen a white man
before, and were very sceptical as to my being the same colour all over, as
my face. They begged me to show them my arms and body, and they were
so kind and good-tempered that I felt bound to give them some satisfaction,
so I turned up my trousers and let them see the colour of my leg, which they
examined with great interest.
In the morning early we continued our descent along a fine valley, with
mountains rising 2,000 or 3,000 feet in every direction. The little river
rapidly increased in size until we reached Senna, when it had become a fine
pebbly stream navigable for small canoes. Here again the upheaved slatey
rock appeared, with the same dip and direction as in the Sadong River. On
inquiring for a boat to take me down the stream, I was told that the Senna
Dyaks, although living on the river-banks, never made or used boats. They
were mountaineers who had only come down into the valley about twenty
years before, and had not yet got into new habits. They are of the same tribe
as the people of Menyerry and Sodos. They make good paths and bridges,
and cultivate much mountain land, and thus give a more pleasing and
civilized aspect to the country than where the people move about only in
boats, and confine their cultivation to the banks of the streams.
After some trouble I hired a boat from a Malay trader, and found three
Dyaks who had been several times with Malays to Sarawak, and thought
they could manage it very well. They turned out very awkward, constantly
running aground, striking against rocks, and losing their balance so as
almost to upset themselves and the boat—offering a striking contrast to the
skill of the Sea Dyaks. At length we came to a really dangerous rapid where
boats were often swamped, and my men were afraid to pass it. Some
Malays with a boatload of rice here overtook us, and after safely passing
down kindly sent back one of their men to assist me. As it was, my Dyaks
lost their balance in the critical part of the passage, and had they been alone
would certainly have upset the boat. The river now became exceedingly

picturesque, the ground on each side being partially cleared for ricefields,
affording a good view of the country. Numerous little granaries were built
high up in trees overhanging the river, and having a bamboo bridge sloping
up to them from the bank; and here and there bamboo suspension bridge
crossed the stream, where overhanging trees favoured their construction.
I slept that night in the village of the Sebungow Dyaks, and the next day
reached Sarawak, passing through a most beautiful country where limestone
mountains with their fantastic forms and white precipices shot up on every
side, draped and festooned with a luxuriant vegetation. The banks of the
Sarawak River are everywhere covered with fruit trees, which supply the
Dyaks with a great deal of their food. The Mangosteen, Lansat, Rambutan,
Jack, Jambou, and Blimbing, are all abundant; but most abundant and most
esteemed is the Durian, a fruit about which very little is known in England,
but which both by natives and Europeans in the Malay Archipelago is
reckoned superior to all others. The old traveller Linschott, writing in 1599,
says: "It is of such an excellent taste that it surpasses in flavour all the other
fruits of the world, according to those who have tasted it." And Doctor
Paludanus adds: "This fruit is of a hot and humid nature. To those not used
to it, it seems at first to smell like rotten onions, but immediately when they
have tasted it, they prefer it to all other food. The natives give it honourable
titles, exalt it, and make verses on it." When brought into a house the smell
is often so offensive that some persons can never bear to taste it. This was
my own case when I first tried it in Malacca, but in Borneo I found a ripe
fruit on the ground, and, eating it out of doors, I at once became a
confirmed Durian eater.
The Durian grows on a large and lofty forest tree, somewhat resembling
an elm in its general character, but with a more smooth and scaly bark. The
fruit is round or slightly oval, about the size of a large cocoanut, of a green
colour, and covered all over with short stout spines the bases of which touch
each other, and are consequently somewhat hexagonal, while the points are
very strong and sharp. It is so completely armed, that if the stalk is broken
off it is a difficult matter to lift one from the ground. The outer rind is so
thick and tough, that from whatever height it may fall it is never broken.
From the base to the apex five very faint lines may be traced, over which
the spines arch a little; these are the sutures of the carpels, and show where
the fruit may be divided with a heavy knife and a strong hand. The five cells
are satiny white within, and are each filled with an oval mass of cream-

coloured pulp, imbedded in which are two or three seeds about the size of
chestnuts. This pulp is the eatable part, and its consistency and flavour are
indescribable. A rich butter-like custard highly flavoured with almonds
gives the best general idea of it, but intermingled with it come wafts of
flavour that call to mind cream-cheese, onion-sauce, brown sherry, and
other incongruities. Then there is a rich glutinous smoothness in the pulp
which nothing else possesses, but which adds to its delicacy. It is neither
acid, nor sweet, nor juicy; yet one feels the want of none of these qualities,
for it is perfect as it is. It produces no nausea or other bad effect, and the
more you eat of it the less you feel inclined to stop. In fact to eat Durians is
a new sensation, worth a voyage to the East to experience.
When the fruit is ripe it falls of itself, and the only way to eat Durians in
perfection is to get them as they fall; and the smell is then less
overpowering. When unripe, it makes a very good vegetable if cooked, and
it is also eaten by the Dyaks raw. In a good fruit season large quantities are
preserved salted, in jars and bamboos, and kept the year round, when it
acquires a most disgusting odour to Europeans, but the Dyaks appreciate it
highly as a relish with their rice. There are in the forest two varieties of wild
Durians with much smaller fruits, one of them orange-coloured inside; and
these are probably the origin of the large and fine Durians, which are never
found wild. It would not, perhaps, be correct to say that the Durian is the
best of all fruits, because it cannot supply the place of the subacid juicy
kinds, such as the orange, grape, mango, and mangosteen, whose refreshing
and cooling qualities are so wholesome and grateful; but as producing a
food of the most exquisite flavour, it is unsurpassed. If I had to fix on two
only, as representing the perfection of the two classes, I should certainly
choose the Durian and the Orange as the king and queen of fruits.
The Durian is, however, sometimes dangerous. When the fruit begins to
ripen it falls daily and almost hourly, and accidents not unfrequently happen
to persons walking or working under the trees. When a Durian strikes a man
in its fall, it produces a dreadful wound, the strong spines tearing open the
flesh, while the blow itself is very heavy; but from this very circumstance
death rarely ensues, the copious effusion of blood preventing the
inflammation which might otherwise take place. A Dyak chief informed me
that he had been struck down by a Durian falling on his head, which he
thought would certainly have caused his death, yet he recovered in a very
short time.

Poets and moralists, judging from our English trees and fruits, have
thought that small fruits always grew on lofty trees, so that their fall should
be harmless to man, while the large ones trailed on the ground. Two of the
largest and heaviest fruits known, however, the Brazil-nut fruit
(Bertholletia) and Durian, grow on lofty forest trees, from which they fall as
soon as they are ripe, and often wound or kill the native inhabitants. From
this we may learn two things: first, not to draw general conclusions from a
very partial view of nature; and secondly, that trees and fruits, no less than
the varied productions of the animal kingdom, do not appear to be
organized with exclusive reference to the use and convenience of man.
During my many journeys in Borneo, and especially during my various
residences among the Dyaks, I first came to appreciate the admirable
qualities of the Bamboo. In those parts of South America which I had
previously visited, these gigantic grasses were comparatively scarce; and
where found but little used, their place being taken as to one class of uses
by the great variety of Palms, and as to another by calabashes and gourds.
Almost all tropical countries produce Bamboos, and wherever they are
found in abundance the natives apply them to a variety of uses. Their
strength, lightness, smoothness, straightness, roundness and hollowness, the
facility and regularity with which they can be split, their many different
sizes, the varying length of their joints, the ease with which they can be cut
and with which holes can be made through them, their hardness outside,
their freedom from any pronounced taste or smell, their great abundance,
and the rapidity of their growth and increase, are all qualities which render
them useful for a hundred different purposes, to serve which other materials
would require much more labour and preparation. The Bamboo is one of the
most wonderful and most beautiful productions of the tropics, and one of
nature's most valuable gifts to uncivilized man.
The Dyak houses are all raised on posts, and are often two or three
hundred feet long and forty or fifty wide. The floor is always formed of
strips split from large Bamboos, so that each may be nearly flat and about
three inches wide, and these are firmly tied down with rattan to the joists
beneath. When well made, this is a delightful floor to walk upon barefooted,
the rounded surfaces of the bamboo being very smooth and agreeable to the
feet, while at the same time affording a firm hold. But, what is more
important, they form with a mat over them an excellent bed, the elasticity of
the Bamboo and its rounded surface being far superior to a more rigid and a

flatter floor. Here we at once find a use for Bamboo which cannot be
supplied so well by another material without a vast amount of labour—
palms and other substitutes requiring much cutting and smoothing, and not
being equally good when finished. When, however, a flat, close floor is
required, excellent boards are made by splitting open large Bamboos on one
side only, and flattening them out so as to form slabs eighteen inches wide
and six feet long, with which some Dyaks floor their houses. These with
constant rubbing of the feet and the smoke of years become dark and
polished, like walnut or old oak, so that their real material can hardly be
recognised. What labour is here saved to a savage whose only tools are an
axe and a knife, and who, if he wants boards, must hew them out of the
solid trunk of a tree, and must give days and weeks of labour to obtain a
surface as smooth and beautiful as the Bamboo thus treated affords him.
Again, if a temporary house is wanted, either by the native in his plantation
or by the traveller in the forest, nothing is so convenient as the Bamboo,
with which a house can be constructed with a quarter of the labour and time
than if other materials are used.
As I have already mentioned, the Hill Dyaks in the interior of Sarawak
make paths for long distances from village to village and to their cultivated
grounds, in the course of which they have to cross many gullies and ravines,
and even rivers; or sometimes, to avoid a long circuit, to carry the path
along the face of a precipice. In all these cases the bridges they construct
are of Bamboo, and so admirably adapted is the material for this purpose,
that it seems doubtful whether they ever would have attempted such works
if they had not possessed it. The Dyak bridge is simple but well designed. It
consists merely of stout Bamboos crossing each other at the road-way like
the letter X, and rising a few feet above it. At the crossing they are firmly
bound together, and to a large Bamboo which lays upon them and forms the
only pathway, with a slender and often very shaky one to serve as a
handrail. When a river is to be crossed, an overhanging tree is chosen from
which the bridge is partly suspended and partly supported by diagonal struts
from the banks, so as to avoid placing posts in the stream itself, which
would be liable to be carried away by floods. In carrying a path along the
face of a precipice, trees and roots are made use of for suspension; struts
arise from suitable notches or crevices in the rocks, and if these are not
sufficient, immense Bamboos fifty or sixty feet long are fixed on the banks
or on the branch of a tree below. These bridges are traversed daily by men

and women carrying heavy loads, so that any insecurity is soon discovered,
and, as the materials are close at hand, immediately repaired. When a path
goes over very steep ground, and becomes slippery in very wet or very dry
weather, the Bamboo is used in another way. Pieces are cut about a yard
long, and opposite notches being made at each end, holes are formed
through which pegs are driven, and firm and convenient steps are thus
formed with the greatest ease and celerity. It is true that much of this will
decay in one or two seasons, but it can be so quickly replaced as to make it
more economical than using a harder and more durable wood.
One of the most striking uses to which Bamboo is applied by the Dyaks,
is to assist them in climbing lofty trees by driving in pegs in the way I have
already described at page 85. This method is constantly used in order to
obtain wax, which is one of the most valuable products of the country. The
honey-bee of Borneo very generally hangs its combs under the branches of
the Tappan, a tree which towers above all others in the forest, and whose
smooth cylindrical trunk often rises a hundred feet without a branch. The
Dyaks climb these lofty trees at night, building up their Bamboo ladder as
they go, and bringing down gigantic honeycombs. These furnish them with
a delicious feast of honey and young bees, besides the wax, which they sell
to traders, and with the proceeds buy the much-coveted brass wire, earrings,
and bold-edged handkerchiefs with which they love to decorate themselves.
In ascending Durian and other fruit trees which branch at from thirty to fifty
feet from the ground, I have seen them use the Bamboo pegs only, without
the upright Bamboo which renders them so much more secure.
The outer rind of the Bamboo, split and shaved thin, is the strongest
material for baskets; hen-coops, bird-cages, and conical fish-traps are very
quickly made from a single joint, by splitting off the skin in narrow strips
left attached to one end, while rings of the same material or of rattan are
twisted in at regular distances. Water is brought to the houses by little
aqueducts formed of large Bamboos split in half and supported on crossed
sticks of various heights so as to give it a regular fall. Thin long-jointed
Bamboos form the Dyaks' only water-vessels, and a dozen of them stand in
the corner of every house. They are clean, light, and easily carried, and are
in many ways superior to earthen vessels for the same purpose. They also
make excellent cooking utensils; vegetables and rice can be boiled in them
to perfection, and they are often used when travelling. Salted fruit or fish,
sugar, vinegar, and honey are preserved in them instead of in jars or bottles.

In a small Bamboo case, prettily carved and ornamented, the Dyak carries
his sirih and lime for betel chewing, and his little long-bladed knife has a
Bamboo sheath. His favourite pipe is a huge hubble-bubble, which he will
construct in a few minutes by inserting a small piece of Bamboo for a bowl
obliquely into a large cylinder about six inches from the bottom containing
water, through which the smoke passes to a long slender Bamboo tube.
There are many other small matters for which Bamboo is daily used, but
enough has now been mentioned to show its value. In other parts of the
Archipelago I have myself seen it applied to many new uses, and it is
probable that my limited means of observation did not make me acquainted
with one-half the ways in which it is serviceable to the Dyaks of Sarawak.
While upon the subject of plants I may here mention a few of the more
striking vegetable productions of Borneo. The wonderful Pitcher-plants,
forming the genus Nepenthes of botanists, here reach their greatest
development. Every mountain-top abounds with them, running along the
ground, or climbing over shrubs and stunted trees; their elegant pitchers
hanging in every direction. Some of these are long and slender, resembling
in form the beautiful Philippine lace-sponge (Euplectella), which has now
become so common; others are broad and short. Their colours are green,
variously tinted and mottled with red or purple. The finest yet known were
obtained on the summit of Kini-balou, in North-west Borneo. One of the
broad sort, Nepenthes rajah, will hold two quarts of water in its pitcher.
Another, Nepenthes Edwardsiania, has a narrow pitcher twenty inches long;
while the plant itself grows to a length of twenty feet.
Ferns are abundant, but are not so varied as on the volcanic mountains of
Java; and Tree-ferns are neither so plentiful nor so large as on that island.
They grow, however, quite down to the level of the sea, and are generally
slender and graceful plants from eight to fifteen feet high. Without devoting
much time to the search I collected fifty species of Ferns in Borneo, and I
have no doubt a good botanist would have obtained twice the number. The
interesting group of Orchids is very abundant, but, as is generally the case,
nine-tenths of the species have small and inconspicuous flowers. Among the
exceptions are the fine Coelogynes, whose large clusters of yellow flowers
ornament the gloomiest forests, and that most extraordinary plant, Vanda
Lowii, which last is particularly abundant near some hot springs at the foot
of the Penin-jauh Mountain. It grows on the lower branches of trees, and its
strange pendant flower-spires often hang down so as almost to reach the

ground. These are generally six or eight feet long, bearing large and
handsome flowers three inches across, and varying in colour from orange to
red, with deep purple-red spots. I measured one spike, which reached the
extraordinary length of nine feet eight inches, and bore thirty-six flowers,
spirally arranged upon a slender thread-like stalk. Specimens grown in our
English hot-houses have produced flower-spires of equal length, and with a
much larger number of blossoms.
Flowers were scarce, as is usual in equatorial forests, and it was only at
rare intervals that I met with anything striking. A few fine climbers were
sometimes seen, especially a handsome crimson and yellow Aeschynanthus,
and a fine leguminous plant with clusters of large Cassia-like flowers of a
rich purple colour. Once I found a number of small Anonaceous trees of the
genus Polyalthea, producing a most striking effect in the gloomy forest
shades. They were about thirty feet high, and their slender trunks were
covered with large star-like crimson flowers, which clustered over them like
garlands, and resembled some artificial decoration more than a natural
product.
The forests abound with gigantic trees with cylindrical, buttressed, or
furrowed stems, while occasionally the traveller comes upon a wonderful
fig-tree, whose trunk is itself a forest of stems and aerial roots. Still more
rarely are found trees which appear to have begun growing in mid-air, and
from the same point send out wide-spreading branches above and a
complicated pyramid of roots descending for seventy or eighty feet to the
ground below, and so spreading on every side, that one can stand in the very
centre with the trunk of the tree immediately overhead. Trees of this
character are found all over the Archipelago, and the accompanying
illustration (taken from one which I often visited in the Aru Islands) will
convey some idea of their general character. I believe that they originate as
parasites, from seeds carried by birds and dropped in the fork of some lofty
tree. Hence descend aerial roots, clasping and ultimately destroying the
supporting tree, which is in time entirely replaced by the humble plant
which was at first dependent upon it. Thus we have an actual struggle for
life in the vegetable kingdom, not less fatal to the vanquished than the
struggles among animals which we can so much more easily observe and
understand. The advantage of quicker access to light and warmth and air,
which is gained in one way by climbing plants, is here obtained by a forest
tree, which has the means of starting in life at an elevation which others can

only attain after many years of growth, and then only when the fall of some
other tree has made room for then. Thus it is that in the warm and moist and
equable climate of the tropics, each available station is seized upon and
becomes the means of developing new forms of life especially adapted to
occupy it.
On reaching Sarawak early in December, I found there would not be an
opportunity of returning to Singapore until the latter end of January. I
therefore accepted Sir James Brooke's invitation to spend a week with him
and Mr. St. John at his cottage on Peninjauh. This is a very steep pyramidal
mountain of crystalline basaltic rock, about a thousand feet high, and
covered with luxuriant forest. There are three Dyak villages upon it, and on
a little platform near the summit is the rude wooden lodge where the
English Rajah was accustomed to go for relaxation and cool fresh air. It is
only twenty miles up the river, but the road up the mountain is a succession
of ladders on the face of precipices, bamboo bridges over gullies and
chasms, and slippery paths over rocks and tree-trunks and huge boulders as
big as houses. A cool spring under an overhanging rock just below the
cottage furnished us with refreshing baths and delicious drinking water, and
the Dyaks brought us daily heaped-up baskets of Mangosteens and Lansats,
two of the most delicious of the subacid tropical fruits. We returned to
Sarawak for Christmas (the second I had spent with Sir James Brooke),
when all the Europeans both in the town and from the out-stations enjoyed
the hospitality of the Rajah, who possessed in a pre-eminent degree the art
of making every one around him comfortable and happy.
A few days afterwards I returned to the mountain with Charles and a
Malay boy named Ali and stayed there three weeks for the purpose of
making a collection of land-shells, butterflies and moths, ferns and orchids.
On the hill itself ferns were tolerably plentiful, and I made a collection of
about forty species. But what occupied me most was the great abundance of
moths which on certain occasions I was able to capture. As during the
whole of my eight years' wanderings in the East I never found another spot
where these insects were at all plentiful, it will be interesting to state the
exact conditions under which I here obtained them.
On one side of the cottage there was a verandah, looking down the whole
side of the mountain and to its summit on the right, all densely clothed with
forest. The boarded sides of the cottage were whitewashed, and the roof of

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

Date (1855) No. of Moths Remarks

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

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

16th 6 Showers; moonlight.
17th 6 Showers; moonlight.
18th 1 Showers; moonlight.
Total 1,386

It thus appears that on twenty-six nights I collected 1,386 moths, but that
more than 800 of them were collected on four very wet and dark nights. My
success here led me to hope that, by similar arrangements, I might on every
island be able to obtain an abundance of these insects; but, strange to say,
during the six succeeding years, I was never once able to make any
collections at all approaching those at Sarawak. The reason for this I can
pretty well understand to be owing to the absence of some one or other
essential condition that were here all combined. Sometimes the dry season
was the hindrance; more frequently residence in a town or village not close
to virgin forest, and surrounded by other houses whose lights were a
counter-attraction; still more frequently residence in a dark palm-thatched
house, with a lofty roof, in whose recesses every moth was lost the instant it
entered. This last was the greatest drawback, and the real reason why I
never again was able to make a collection of moths; for I never afterwards
lived in a solitary jungle-house with a low boarded and whitewashed
verandah, so constructed as to prevent insects at once escaping into the
upper part of the house, quite out of reach.
After my long experience, my numerous failures, and my one success, I
feel sure that if any party of naturalists ever make a yacht-voyage to explore
the Malayan Archipelago, or any other tropical region, making entomology
one of their chief pursuits, it would well repay them to carry a small framed
verandah, or a verandah-shaped tent of white canvas, to set up in every
favourable situation, as a means of making a collection of nocturnal
Lepidoptera, and also of obtaining rare specimens of Coleoptera and other
insects. I make the suggestion here, because no one would suspect the
enormous difference in results that such an apparatus would produce; and
because I consider it one of the curiosities of a collector's experience, to
have found out that some such apparatus is required.
When I returned to Singapore I took with me the Malay lad named Ali,
who subsequently accompanied me all over the Archipelago. Charles Allen
preferred staying at the Mission-house, and afterwards obtained
employment in Sarawak and in Singapore, until he again joined me four
years later at Amboyna in the Moluccas.

CHAPTER VI. BORNEO—THE DYAKS.
THE manners and customs of the aborigines of Borneo have been
described in great detail, and with much fuller information than I possess, in
the writings of Sir James Brooke, Messrs. Low, St. John, Johnson Brooke,
and many others. I do not propose to go over the ground again, but shall
confine myself to a sketch, from personal observation, of the general
character of the Dyaks, and of such physical, moral, and social
characteristics as have been less frequently noticed.
The Dyak is closely allied to the Malay, and more remotely to the
Siamese, Chinese, and other Mongol races. All these are characterised by a
reddish-brown or yellowish-brown skin of various shades, by jet-black
straight hair, by the scanty or deficient beard, by the rather small and broad
nose, and high cheekbones; but none of the Malayan races have the oblique
eyes which are characteristic of the more typical Mongols. The average
stature of the Dyaks is rather more than that of the Malays, while it is
considerably under that of most Europeans. Their forms are well
proportioned, their feet and hands small, and they rarely or never attain the
bulk of body so often seen in Malays and Chinese.
I am inclined to rank the Dyaks above the Malays in mental capacity,
while in moral character they are undoubtedly superior to them. They are
simple and honest, and become the prey of the Malay and Chinese traiders,
who cheat and plunder them continually. They are more lively, more
talkative, less secretive, and less suspicious than the Malay, and are
therefore pleasanter companions. The Malay boys have little inclination for
active sports and games, which form quite a feature in the life of the Dyak
youths, who, besides outdoor games of skill and strength, possess a variety
of indoor amusements. One wet day, in a Dyak house, when a number of
boys and young men were about me, I thought to amuse them with
something new, and showed them how to make "cat's cradle" with a piece
of string. Greatly to my surprise, they knew all about it, and more than I
did; for, after Charles and I had gone through all the changes we could
make, one of the boys took it off my hand, and made several new figures

which quite puzzled me. They then showed me a number of other tricks
with pieces of string, which seemed a favourite amusement with them.
Even these apparently trifling matters may assist us to form a truer
estimate of the Dyaks' character and social condition. We learn thereby, that
these people have passed beyond that first stage of savage life in which the
struggle for existence absorbs all of the faculties, and in which every
thought and idea is connected with war or hunting, or the provision for their
immediate necessities. These amusements indicate a capability of
civilization, an aptitude to enjoy other than mere sensual pleasures, which
might be taken advantage of to elevate their whole intellectual and social
life.
The moral character of the Dyaks is undoubtedly high—a statement
which will seem strange to those who have heard of them only as head-
hunters and pirates. The Hill Dyaks of whom I am speaking, however, have
never been pirates, since they never go near the sea; and head-hunting is a
custom originating in the petty wars of village with village, and tribe with
tribe, which no more implies a bad moral character than did the custom of
the slave-trade a hundred years ago imply want of general morality in all
who participated in it. Against this one stain on their character (which in the
case of the Sarawak Dyaks no longer exists) we have to set many good
points. They are truthful and honest to a remarkable degree. From this cause
it is very often impossible to get from them any definite information, or
even an opinion. They say, "If I were to tell you what I don't know, I might
tell a lie;" and whenever they voluntarily relate any matter of fact, you may
be sure they are speaking the truth. In a Dyak village the fruit trees have
each their owner, and it has often happened to me, on asking an inhabitant
to gather me some fruit, to be answered, "I can't do that, for the owner of
the tree is not here;" never seeming to contemplate the possibility of acting
otherwise. Neither will they take the smallest thing belonging to an
European. When living at Simunjon, they continually came to my house,
and would pick up scraps of torn newspaper or crooked pins that I had
thrown away, and ask as a great favour whether they might have them.
Crimes of violence (other than head-hunting) are almost unknown; for in
twelve years, under Sir James Brooke's rule, there had been only one case
of murder in a Dyak tribe, and that one was committed by a stranger who
had been adopted into the tribe. In several other matters of morality they
rank above most uncivilized, and even above many civilized nations. They

are temperate in food and drink, and the gross sensuality of the Chinese and
Malays is unknown among them. They have the usual fault of all people in
a half-savage state—apathy and dilatoriness, but, however annoying this
may be to Europeans who come in contact with them, it cannot be
considered a very grave offence, or be held to outweigh their many
excellent qualities.
During my residence among the Hill Dyaks, I was much struck by the
apparent absence of those causes which are generally supposed to check the
increase of population, although there were plain indications of stationary
or but slowly increasing numbers. The conditions most favourable to a rapid
increase of population are: an abundance of food, a healthy climate, and
early marriages. Here these conditions all exist. The people produce far
more food than they consume, and exchange the surplus for gongs and brass
cannon, ancient jars, and gold and silver ornaments, which constitute their
wealth. On the whole, they appear very free from disease, marriages take
place early (but not too early), and old bachelors and old maids are alike
unknown. Why, then, we must inquire, has not a greater population been
produced? Why are the Dyak villages so small and so widely scattered,
while nine-tenths of the country is still covered with forest?
Of all the checks to population among savage nations mentioned by
Malthus—starvation, disease, war, infanticide, immorality, and infertility of
the women—the last is that which he seems to think least important, and of
doubtful efficacy; and yet it is the only one that seems to me capable of
accounting for the state of the population among the Sarawak Dyaks. The
population of Great Britain increases so as to double itself in about fifty
years. To do this it is evident that each married couple must average three
children who live to be married at the age of about twenty-five. Add to
these those who die in infancy, those who never marry, or those who marry
late in life and have no offspring, the number of children born to each
marriage must average four or five, and we know that families of seven or
eight are very common, and of ten and twelve by no means rare. But from
inquiries at almost every Dyak tribe I visited, I ascertained that the women
rarely had more than three or four children, and an old chief assured me that
he had never known a woman to have more than seven.
In a village consisting of a hundred and fifty families, only one consisted
of six children living, and only six of five children, the majority of families

appearing to be two, three, or four. Comparing this with the known
proportions in European countries, it is evident that the number of children
to each marriage can hardly average more than three or four; and as even in
civilized countries half the population die before the age of twenty-five, we
should have only two left to replace their parents; and so long as this state
of things continued, the population must remain stationary. Of course this is
a mere illustration; but the facts I have stated seem to indicate that
something of the kind really takes place; and if so, there is no difficulty in
understanding the smallness and almost stationary population of the Dyak
tribes.
We have next to inquire what is the cause of the small number of births
and of living children in a family. Climate and race may have something to
do with this, but a more real and efficient cause seems to me to be the hard
labour of the women, and the heavy weights they constantly carry. A Dyak
woman generally spends the whole day in the field, and carries home every
night a heavy load of vegetables and firewood, often for several miles, over
rough and hilly paths; and not unfrequently has to climb up a rocky
mountain by ladders, and over slippery stepping-stones, to an elevation of a
thousand feet. Besides this, she has an hour's work every evening to pound
the rice with a heavy wooden stamper, which violently strains every part of
the body. She begins this kind of labour when nine or ten years old, and it
never ceases but with the extreme decrepitude of age. Surely we need not
wonder at the limited number of her progeny, but rather be surprised at the
successful efforts of nature to prevent the extermination of the race.
One of the surest and most beneficial effects of advancing civilization,
will be the amelioration of the condition of these women. The precept and
example of higher races will make the Dyak ashamed of his comparatively
idle life, while his weaker partner labours like a beast of burthen. As his
wants become increased and his tastes refined, the women will have more
household duties to attend to, and will then cease to labour in the field—a
change which has already to a great extent taken place in the allied Malay,
Javanese, and Bugis tribes. Population will then certainly increase more
rapidly, improved systems of agriculture and some division of labour will
become necessary in order to provide the means of existence, and a more
complicated social state will take the place of the simple conditions of
society which now occur among them. But, with the sharper struggle for
existence that will then arise, will the happiness of the people as a whole be

increased or diminished? Will not evil passions be aroused by the spirit of
competition, and crimes and vices, now unknown or dormant, be called into
active existence? These are problems that time alone can solve; but it is to
be hoped that education and a high-class European example may obviate
much of the evil that too often arises in analogous cases, and that we may at
length be able to point to one instance of an uncivilized people who have
not become demoralized, and finally exterminated, by contact with
European civilization.
A few words in conclusion, about the government of Sarawak. Sir James
Brooke found the Dyaks oppressed and ground down by the most cruel
tyranny. They were cheated by the Malay traders and robbed by the Malay
chiefs. Their wives and children were often captured and sold into slavery,
and hostile tribes purchased permission from their cruel rulers to plunder,
enslave, and murder them. Anything like justice or redress for these injuries
was utterly unattainable. From the time Sir James obtained possession of
the country, all this was stopped. Equal justice was awarded to Malay,
Chinaman, and Dyak. The remorseless pirates from the rivers farther east
were punished, and finally shut up within their own territories, and the
Dyak, for the first time, could sleep in peace. His wife and children were
now safe from slavery; his house was no longer burned over his head; his
crops and his fruits were now his own to sell or consume as he pleased. And
the unknown stranger who had done all this for them, and asked for nothing
in return, what could he be? How was it possible for them to realize his
motives? Was it not natural that they should refuse to believe he was a man?
For of pure benevolence combined with great power, they had had no
experience among men. They naturally concluded that he was a superior
being, come down upon earth to confer blessings on the afflicted. In many
villages where he had not been seen, I was asked strange questions about
him. Was he not as old as the mountains? Could he not bring the dead to
life? And they firmly believe that he can give them good harvests, and make
their fruit-trees bear an abundant crop.
In forming a proper estimate of Sir James Brooke's government it must
ever be remembered that he held Sarawak solely by the goodwill of the
native inhabitant. He had to deal with two races, one of whom, the
Mahometan Malays, looked upon the other race, the Dyaks, as savages and
slaves, only fit to be robbed and plundered. He has effectually protected the
Dyaks, and has invariably treated them as, in his sight, equal to the Malays;

and yet he has secured the affection and goodwill of both. Notwithstanding
the religious prejudice, of Mahometans, he has induced them to modify
many of their worst laws and customs, and to assimilate their criminal code
to that of the civilized world. That his government still continues, after
twenty-seven years—notwithstanding his frequent absences from ill-health,
notwithstanding conspiracies of Malay chiefs, and insurrections of Chinese
gold-diggers, all of which have been overcome by the support of the native
population, and notwithstanding financial, political, and domestic troubles
is due, I believe, solely to the many admirable qualities which Sir James
Brooke possessed, and especially to his having convinced the native
population, by every action of his life, that he ruled them, not for his own
advantage, but for their good.
Since these lines were written, his noble spirit has passed away. But
though, by those who knew him not, he may be sneered at as an enthusiastic
adventurer, abused as a hard-hearted despot, the universal testimony of
everyone who came in contact with him in his adopted country, whether
European, Malay, or Dyak, will be, that Rajah Brooke was a great, a wise,
and a good ruler; a true and faithful friend—a man to be admired for his
talents, respected for his honesty and courage, and loved for his genuine
hospitality, his kindness of disposition, and his tenderness of heart.

CHAPTER VII. JAVA.
I SPENT three months and a half in Java, from July 18th to October 31st,
1861, and shall briefly describe my own movements, and my observations
of the people and the natural history of the country. To all those who wish to
understand how the Dutch now govern Java, and how it is that they are
enabled to derive a large annual revenue from it, while the population
increases, and the inhabitants are contented, I recommend the study of Mr.
Money's excellent and interesting work, "How to Manage a Colony." The
main facts and conclusions of that work I most heartily concur in, and I
believe that the Dutch system is the very best that can be adopted, when a
European nation conquers or otherwise acquires possession of a country
inhabited by an industrious but semi-barbarous people. In my account of
Northern Celebes, I shall show how successfully the same system has been
applied to a people in a very different state of civilization from the
Javanese; and in the meanwhile will state in the fewest words possible what
that system is.
The mode of government now adopted in Java is to retain the whole
series of native rulers, from the village chief up to princes, who, under the
name of Regents, are the heads of districts about the size of a small English
county. With each Regent is placed a Dutch Resident, or Assistant Resident,
who is considered to be his "elder brother," and whose "orders" take the
form of "recommendations," which are, however, implicitly obeyed. Along
with each Assistant Resident is a Controller, a kind of inspector of all the
lower native rulers, who periodically visits every village in the district,
examines the proceedings of the native courts, hears complaints against the
head-men or other native chiefs, and superintends the Government
plantations. This brings us to the "culture system," which is the source of all
the wealth the Dutch derive from Java, and is the subject of much abuse in
this country because it is the reverse of "free trade." To understand its uses
and beneficial effects, it is necessary first to sketch the common results of
free European trade with uncivilized peoples.
Natives of tropical climates have few wants, and, when these are
supplied, are disinclined to work for superfluities without some strong

incitement. With such a people the introduction of any new or systematic
cultivation is almost impossible, except by the despotic orders of chiefs
whom they have been accustomed to obey, as children obey their parents.
The free competition of European traders, however introduces two powerful
inducements to exertion. Spirits or opium is a temptation too strong for
most savages to resist, and to obtain these he will sell whatever he has, and
will work to get more. Another temptation he cannot resist, is goods on
credit. The trader offers him gay cloths, knives, gongs, guns, and
gunpowder, to be paid for by some crop perhaps not yet planted, or some
product yet in the forest. He has not sufficient forethought to take only a
moderate quantity, and not enough energy to work early and late in order to
get out of debt; and the consequence is that he accumulates debt upon debt,
and often remains for years, or for life, a debtor and almost a slave. This is a
state of things which occurs very largely in every part of the world in which
men of a superior race freely trade with men of a lower race. It extends
trade no doubt for a time, but it demoralizes the native, checks true
civilization—and does not lead to any permanent increase in the wealth of
the country; so that the European government of such a country must be
carried on at a loss.
The system introduced by the Dutch was to induce the people, through
their chiefs, to give a portion of their time, to the cultivation of coffee,
sugar, and other valuable products. A fixed rate of wages—low indeed, but,
about equal to that of all places where European competition has not
artificially raised it—was paid to the labourers engaged in clearing the
ground and forming the plantations under Government superintendence.
The produce is sold to the Government at a low, fixed price. Out of the net
profit a percentage goes to the chiefs, and the remainder is divided among
the workmen. This surplus in good years is something considerable. On the
whole, the people are well fed and decently clothed, and have acquired
habits of steady industry and the art of scientific cultivation, which must be
of service to them in the future. It must be remembered, that the
Government expended capital for years before any return was obtained; and
if they now derive a large revenue, it is in a way which is far less
burthensome, and far more beneficial to the people, than any tax that could
be levied.
But although the system may be a good one, and as well adapted to the
development of arts and industry in a half civilized people as it is to the

material advantage of the governing country, it is not pretended that in
practice it is perfectly carried out. The oppressive and servile relations
between chiefs and people, which have continued for perhaps a thousand
years, cannot be at once abolished; and some evil must result from those
relations, until the spread of education and the gradual infusion of European
blood causes it naturally and insensibly to disappear. It is said that the
Residents, desirous of showing a large increase in the products of their
districts, have sometimes pressed the people to such continued labour on
the plantations that their rice crops have been materially diminished, and
famine has been the result. If this has happened, it is certainly not a
common thing, and is to be set down to the abuse of the system, by the want
of judgment, or want of humanity in the Resident.
A tale has lately been written in Holland, and translated into English,
entitled "Max Havelaar;" or, the "Coffee Auctions of the Dutch Trading
Company," and with our usual one-sidedness in all relating to the Dutch
Colonial System, this work has been excessively praised, both for its own
merits, and for its supposed crushing exposure of the iniquities of the Dutch
government of Java. Greatly to my surprise, I found it a very tedious and
long-winded story, full of rambling digressions; and whose only point is to
show that the Dutch Residents and Assistant Residents wink at the
extortions of the native princes; and that in some districts the natives have
to do work without payment, and have their goods taken away from them
without compensation. Every statement of this kind is thickly interspersed
with italics and capital letters; but as the names are all fictitious, and neither
dates, figures, nor details are ever given, it is impossible to verify or answer
them. Even if not exaggerated, the facts stated are not nearly so bad as those
of the oppression by free-trade indigo-planters, and torturing by native tax-
gatherers under British rule in India, with which the readers of English
newspapers were familiar a few years ago. Such oppression, however, is not
fairly to be imputed in either case to the particular form of government, but
is rather due to the infirmity of human nature, and to the impossibility of at
once destroying all trace of ages of despotism on the one side, and of
slavish obedience to their chiefs on the other.
It must be remembered, that the complete establishment of the Dutch
power in Java is much more recent than that of our rule in India, and that
there have been several changes of government, and in the mode of raising
revenue. The inhabitants have been so recently under the rule of their native

princes, that it is not easy at once to destroy the excessive reverence they
feel for their old masters, or to diminish the oppressive exactions which the
latter have always been accustomed to make. There is, however, one grand
test of the prosperity, and even of the happiness, of a community, which we
can apply here—the rate of increase of the population.
It is universally admitted that when a country increases rapidly in
population, the people cannot be very greatly oppressed or very badly
governed. The present system of raising a revenue by the cultivation of
coffee and sugar, sold to Government at a fixed price, began in 1832. Just
before this, in 1826, the population by census was 5,500,000, while at the
beginning of the century it was estimated at 3,500,000. In 1850, when the
cultivation system had been in operation eighteen years, the population by
census was over 9,500,000, or an increase of 73 per cent in twenty-four
years. At the last census, in 1865, it amounted to 14,168,416, an increase of
very nearly 50 per cent in fifteen years—a rate which would double the
population in about twenty-six years. As Java (with Madura) contains about
38,500 geographical square miles, this will give an average of 368 persons
to the square mile, just double that of the populous and fertile Bengal
Presidency as given in Thornton's Gazetteer of India, and fully one-third
more than that of Great Britain and Ireland at the last Census. If, as I
believe, this vast population is on the whole contented and happy, the Dutch
Government should consider well before abruptly changing a system which
has led to such great results.
Taking it as a whole, and surveying it from every point of view, Java is
probably the very finest and most interesting tropical island in the world. It
is not first in size, but it is more than 600 miles long, and from 60 to 120
miles wide, and in area is nearly equal to England; and it is undoubtedly the
most fertile, the most productive, and the most populous island within the
tropics. Its whole surface is magnificently varied with mountain and forest
scenery. It possesses thirty-eight volcanic mountains, several of which rise
to ten or twelve thousand feet high. Some of these are in constant activity,
and one or other of them displays almost every phenomenon produced by
the action of subterranean fires, except regular lava streams, which never
occur in Java. The abundant moisture and tropical heat of the climate causes
these mountains to be clothed with luxuriant vegetation, often to their very
summits, while forests and plantations cover their lower slopes. The animal

productions, especially the birds and insects, are beautiful and varied, and
present many peculiar forms found nowhere else upon the globe.
The soil throughout the island is exceedingly fertile, and all the
productions of the tropics, together with many of the temperate zones, can
be easily cultivated. Java too possesses a civilization, a history and
antiquities of its own, of great interest. The Brahminical religion flourished
in it from an epoch of unknown antiquity until about the year 1478, when
that of Mahomet superseded it. The former religion was accompanied by a
civilization which has not been equalled by the conquerors; for, scattered
through the country, especially in the eastern part of it, are found buried in
lofty forests, temples, tombs, and statues of great beauty and grandeur; and
the remains of extensive cities, where the tiger, the rhinoceros, and the wild
bull now roam undisturbed. A modern civilization of another type is now
spreading over the land. Good roads run through the country from end to
end; European and native rulers work harmoniously together; and life and
property are as well secured as in the best governed states of Europe. I
believe, therefore, that Java may fairly claim to be the finest tropical island
in the world, and equally interesting to the tourist seeking after new and
beautiful scenes; to the naturalist who desires to examine the variety and
beauty of tropical nature; or to the moralist and the politician who want to
solve the problem of how man may be best governed under new and varied
conditions.
The Dutch mail steamer brought me from Ternate to Sourabaya, the chief
town and port in the eastern part of Java, and after a fortnight spent in
packing up and sending off my last collections, I started on a short journey
into the interior. Travelling in Java is very luxurious but very expensive, the
only way being to hire or borrow a carriage, and then pay half a crown a
mile for post-horses, which are changed at regular posts every six miles,
and will carry you at the rate of ten miles an hour from one end of the island
to the other. Bullock carts or coolies are required to carry all extra baggage.
As this kind of travelling would not suit my means, I determined on making
only a short journey to the district at the foot of Mount Arjuna, where I was
told there were extensive forests, and where I hoped to be able to make
some good collections. The country for many miles behind Sourabaya is
perfectly flat and everywhere cultivated; being a delta or alluvial plain,
watered by many branching streams. Immediately around the town the
evident signs of wealth and of an industrious population were very pleasing;

but as we went on, the constant succession of open fields skirted by rows of
bamboos, with here and there the white buildings and a tall chimney of a
sugar-mill, became monotonous. The roads run in straight lines for several
miles at a stretch, and are bordered by rows of dusty tamarind-trees. At each
mile there are little guardhouses, where a policeman is stationed; and there
is a wooden gong, which by means of concerted signals may be made to
convey information over the country with great rapidity. About every six or
seven miles is the post-house, where the horses are changed as quickly as
were those of the mail in the old coaching days in England.
I stopped at Modjo-kerto, a small town about forty miles south of
Sourabaya, and the nearest point on the high road to the district I wished to
visit. I had a letter of introduction to Mr. Ball, an Englishman, long resident
in Java and married to a Dutch lady; and he kindly invited me to stay with
him until I could fix on a place to suit me. A Dutch Assistant Resident as
well as a Regent or native Javanese prince lived here. The town was neat,
and had a nice open grassy space like a village green, on which stood a
magnificent fig-tree (allied to the Banyan of India, but more lofty), under
whose shade a kind of market is continually held, and where the inhabitants
meet together to lounge and chat. The day after my arrival, Mr. Ball drove
me over to the village of Modjo-agong, where he was building a house and
premises for the tobacco trade, which is carried on here by a system of
native cultivation and advance purchase, somewhat similar to the indigo
trade in British India. On our way we stayed to look at a fragment of the
ruins of the ancient city of Modjo-pahit, consisting of two lofty brick
masses, apparently the sides of a gateway. The extreme perfection and
beauty of the brickwork astonished me. The bricks are exceedingly fine and
hard, with sharp angles and true surfaces. They are laid with great
exactness, without visible mortar or cement, yet somehow fastened together
so that the joints are hardly perceptible, and sometimes the two surfaces
coalesce in a most incomprehensible manner.
Such admirable brickwork I have never seen before or since. There was
no sculpture here, but an abundance of bold projections and finely-worked
mouldings. Traces of buildings exist for many miles in every direction, and
almost every road and pathway shows a foundation of brickwork beneath it
—the paved roads of the old city. In the house of the Waidono or district
chief at Modjo-agong, I saw a beautiful figure carved in high relief out of a
block of lava, and which had been found buried in the ground near the

village. On my expressing a wish to obtain some such specimen, Mr. B.
asked the chief for it, and much to my surprise he immediately gave it me.
It represented the Hindu goddess Durga, called in Java, Lora Jong-grang
(the exalted virgin). She has eight arms, and stands on the back of a
kneeling bull. Her lower right hand holds the tail of the bull, while the
corresponding left hand grasps the hair of a captive, Dewth Mahikusor, the
personification of vice, who has attempted to slay her bull. He has a cord
round his waist, and crouches at her feet in an attitude of supplication. The
other hands of the goddess hold, on her right side, a double hook or small
anchor, a broad straight sword, and a noose of thick cord; on her left, a
girdle or armlet of large beads or shells, an unstrung bow, and a standard or
war flag. This deity was a special favourite among the old Javanese, and her
image is often found in the ruined temples which abound in the eastern part
of the island.
The specimen I had obtained was a small one, about two feet high,
weighing perhaps a hundredweight; and the next day we had it conveyed to
Modjo-Kerto to await my return to Sourabaya. Having decided to stay some
time at Wonosalem, on the lower slopes of the Arjuna Mountain, where I
was informed I should find forest and plenty of game, I had first to obtain a
recommendation from the Assistant Resident to the Regent, and then an
order from the Regent to the Waidono; and when after a week's delay I
arrived with my baggage and men at Modjo-agong, I found them all in the
midst of a five days' feast, to celebrate the circumcision of the Waidono's
younger brother and cousin, and had a small room in an on outhouse given
me to stay in. The courtyard and the great open reception-shed were full of
natives coming and going and making preparations for a feast which was to
take place at midnight, to which I was invited, but preferred going to bed. A
native band, or Gamelang, was playing almost all the evening, and I had a
good opportunity of seeing the instruments and musicians. The former are
chiefly gongs of various sizes, arranged in sets of from eight to twelve, on
low wooden frames. Each set is played by one performer with one or two
drumsticks. There are also some very large gongs, played singly or in pairs,
and taking the place of our drums and kettledrums. Other instruments are
formed by broad metallic bars, supported on strings stretched across frames;
and others again of strips of bamboo similarly placed and producing the
highest notes. Besides these there were a flute and a curious two-stringed
violin, requiring in all twenty-four performers. There was a conductor, who

led off and regulated the time, and each performer took his part, coming in
occasionally with a few bars so as to form a harmonious combination. The
pieces played were long and complicated, and some of the players were
mere boys, who took their parts with great precision. The general effect was
very pleasing, but, owing to the similarity of most of the instruments, more
like a gigantic musical box than one of our bands; and in order to enjoy it
thoroughly it is necessary to watch the large number of performers who are
engaged in it. The next morning, while I was waiting for the men and horses
who were to take me and my baggage to my destination, the two lads, who
were about fourteen years old, were brought out, clothed in a sarong from
the waist downwards, and having the whole body covered with yellow
powder, and profusely decked with white blossom in wreaths, necklaces,
and armlets, looking at first sight very like savage brides. They were
conducted by two priests to a bench placed in front of the house in the open
air, and the ceremony of circumcision was then performed before the
assembled crowd.
The road to Wonosalem led through a magnificent forest in the depths of
which we passed a fine ruin of what appeared to have been a royal tomb or
mausoleum. It is formed entirely of stone, and elaborately carved. Near the
base is a course of boldly projecting blocks, sculptured in high relief, with a
series of scenes which are probably incidents in the life of the defunct.
These are all beautifully executed, some of the figures of animals in
particular, being easily recognisable and very accurate. The general design,
as far as the ruined state of the upper part will permit of its being seen, is
very good, effect being given by an immense number and variety of
projecting or retreating courses of squared stones in place of mouldings.
The size of this structure is about thirty feet square by twenty high, and as
the traveller comes suddenly upon it on a small elevation by the roadside,
overshadowed by gigantic trees, overrun with plants and creepers, and
closely backed by the gloomy forest, he is struck by the solemnity and
picturesque beauty of the scene, and is led to ponder on the strange law of
progress, which looks so like retrogression, and which in so many distant
parts of the world has exterminated or driven out a highly artistic and
constructive race, to make room for one which, as far as we can judge, is
very far its inferior.
Few Englishmen are aware of the number and beauty of the architectural
remains in Java. They have never been popularly illustrated or described,

and it will therefore take most persons by surprise to learn that they far
surpass those of Central America, perhaps even those of India. To give
some idea of these ruins, and perchance to excite wealthy amateurs to
explore them thoroughly and obtain by photography an accurate record of
their beautiful sculptures before it is too late, I will enumerate the most
important, as briefly described in Sir Stamford Raffles' "History of Java."
BRAMBANAM.—Near the centre of Java, between the native capitals of
Djoko-kerta and Surakerta, is the village of Brambanam, near which are
abundance of ruins, the most important being the temples of Loro-Jongran
and Chandi Sewa. At Loro-Jongran there were twenty separate buildings,
six large and fourteen small temples. They are now a mass of ruins, but the
largest temples are supposed to have been ninety feet high. They were all
constructed of solid stone, everywhere decorated with carvings and bas-
reliefs, and adorned with numbers of statues, many of which still remain
entire. At Chandi Sewa, or the "Thousand Temples," are many fine colossal
figures. Captain Baker, who surveyed these ruins, said he had never in his
life seen "such stupendous and finished specimens of human labour, and of
the science and taste of ages long since forgot, crowded together in so small
a compass as in this spot." They cover a space of nearly six hundred feet
square, and consist of an outer row of eighty-four small temples, a second
row of seventy-six, a third of sixty-four, a fourth of forty-four, and the fifth
forming an inner parallelogram of twenty-eight, in all two hundred and
ninety-six small temples; disposed in five regular parallelograms. In the
centre is a large cruciform temple surrounded by lofty flights of steps richly
ornamented with sculpture, and containing many apartments. The tropical
vegetation has ruined most of the smaller temples, but some remain
tolerably perfect, from which the effect of the whole may be imagined.
About half a mile off is another temple, called Chandi Kali Bening,
seventy-two feet square and sixty feet high, in very fine preservation, and
covered with sculptures of Hindu mythology surpassing any that exist in
India, other ruins of palaces, halls, and temples, with abundance of
sculptured deities, are found in the same neighbourhood.
BOROBODO.—About eighty miles westward, in the province of Kedu,
is the great temple of Borobodo. It is built upon a small hill, and consists of
a central dome and seven ranges of terraced walls covering the slope of the
hill and forming open galleries each below the other, and communicating by

steps and gateways. The central dome is fifty feet in diameter; around it is a
triple circle of seventy-two towers, and the whole building is six hundred
and twenty feet square, and about one hundred feet high. In the terrace
walls are niches containing cross-legged figures larger than life to the
number of about four hundred, and both sides of all the terrace walls are
covered with bas-reliefs crowded with figures, and carved in hard stone and
which must therefore occupy an extent of nearly three miles in length! The
amount of human labour and skill expended on the Great Pyramid of Egypt
sinks into insignificance when compared with that required to complete this
sculptured hill-temple in the interior of Java.
GUNONG PRAU.—About forty miles southwest of Samarang, on a
mountain called Gunong Prau, an extensive plateau is covered with ruins.
To reach these temples, four flights of stone steps were made up the
mountain from opposite directions, each flight consisting of more than a
thousand steps. Traces of nearly four hundred temples have been found
here, and many (perhaps all) were decorated with rich and delicate
sculptures. The whole country between this and Brambanam, a distance of
sixty miles, abounds with ruins, so that fine sculptured images may be seen
lying in the ditches, or built into the walls of enclosures.
In the eastern part of Java, at Kediri and in Malang, there are equally
abundant traces of antiquity, but the buildings themselves have been mostly
destroyed. Sculptured figures, however, abound; and the ruins of forts,
palaces, baths, aqueducts, and temples, can be everywhere traced. It is
altogether contrary to the plan of this book to describe what I have not
myself seen; but, having been led to mention them, I felt bound to do
something to call attention to these marvellous works of art. One is
overwhelmed by the contemplation of these innumerable sculptures,
worked with delicacy and artistic feeling in a hard, intractable, trachytic
rock, and all found in one tropical island. What could have been the state of
society, what the amount of population, what the means of subsistence
which rendered such gigantic works possible, will, perhaps, ever remain a
mystery; and it is a wonderful example of the power of religious ideas in
social life, that in the very country where, five hundred years ago, these
grand works were being yearly executed, the inhabitants now only build
rude houses of bamboo and thatch, and look upon these relics of their
forefathers with ignorant amazement, as the undoubted productions of
giants or of demons. It is much to be regretted that the Dutch Government

does not take vigorous steps for the preservation of these ruins from the
destroying agency of tropical vegetation; and for the collection of the fine
sculptures which are everywhere scattered over the land.
Wonosalem is situated about a thousand feet above the sea, but
unfortunately it is at a distance from the forest, and is surrounded by coffee
plantations, thickets of bamboo, and coarse grasses. It was too far to walk
back daily to the forest, and in other directions I could find no collecting
ground for insects. The place was, however, famous for peacocks, and my
boy soon shot several of these magnificent birds, whose flesh we found to
be tender, white, and delicate, and similar to that of a turkey. The Java
peacock is a different species from that of India, the neck being covered
with scale-like green feathers, and the crest of a different form; but the eyed
train is equally large and equally beautiful. It is a singular fact in
geographical distribution that the peacock should not be found in Sumatra
or Borneo, while the superb Argus, Fire-backed and Ocellated pheasants of
those islands are equally unknown in Java. Exactly parallel is the fact that
in Ceylon and Southern India, where the peacock abounds, there are none
of the splendid Lophophori and other gorgeous pheasants which inhabit
Northern India. It would seem as if the peacock can admit of no rivals in its
domain. Were these birds rare in their native country, and unknown alive in
Europe, they would assuredly be considered as the true princes of the
feathered tribes, and altogether unrivalled for stateliness and beauty. As it
is, I suppose scarcely anyone if asked to fix upon the most beautiful bird in
the world would name the peacock, any more than the Papuan savage or the
Bugis trader would fix upon the bird of paradise for the same honour.
Three days after my arrival at Wonosalem, my friend Mr. Ball came to
pay me a visit. He told me that two evenings before, a boy had been killed
and eaten by a tiger close to Modjo-agong. He was riding on a cart drawn
by bullocks, and was coming home about dusk on the main road; and when
not half a mile from the village a tiger sprang upon him, carried him off into
the jungle close by, and devoured him. Next morning his remains were
discovered, consisting only of a few mangled bones. The Waidono had got
together about seven hundred men, and were in chase of the animal, which,
I afterwards heard, they found and killed. They only use spears when in
pursuit of a tiger in this way. They surround a large tract of country, and
draw gradually together until the animal is enclosed in a compact ring of
armed men. When he sees there is no escape he generally makes a spring,

and is received on a dozen spears, and almost instantly stabbed to death.
The skin of an animal thus killed is, of course, worthless, and in this case
the skull, which I had begged Mr. Ball to secure for me, was hacked to
pieces to divide the teeth, which are worn as charms.
After a week at Wonosalem, I returned to the foot of the mountain, to a
village named Djapannan, which was surrounded by several patches of
forest, and seemed altogether pretty well suited to my pursuits. The chief of
the village had prepared two small bamboo rooms on one side of his own
courtyard to accommodate me, and seemed inclined to assist me as much as
he could. The weather was exceedingly hot and dry, no rain having fallen
for several months, and there was, in consequence, a great scarcity of
insects, and especially of beetles. I therefore devoted myself chiefly to
obtaining a good set of the birds, and succeeded in making a tolerable
collection. All the peacocks we had hitherto shot had had short or imperfect
tails, but I now obtained two magnificent specimens more than seven feet
long, one of which I preserved entire, while I kept the train only attached to
the tail of two or three others. When this bird is seen feeding on the ground,
it appears wonderful how it can rise into the air with such a long and
cumbersome train of feathers. It does so however with great ease, by
running quickly for a short distance, and then rising obliquely; and will fly
over trees of a considerable height. I also obtained here a specimen of the
rare green jungle-fowl (Gallus furcatus), whose back and neck are
beautifully scaled with bronzy feathers, and whose smooth-edged oval
comb is of a violet purple colour, changing to green at the base. It is also
remarkable in possessing a single large wattle beneath its throat, brightly
coloured in three patches of red, yellow, and blue. The common jungle-cock
(Gallus bankiva) was also obtained here. It is almost exactly like a common
game-cock, but the voice is different, being much shorter and more abrupt;
hence its native name is Bekeko. Six different kinds of woodpeckers and
four kingfishers were found here, the fine hornbill, Buceros lunatus, more
than four feet long, and the pretty little lorikeet, Loriculus pusillus, scarcely
more than as many inches.
One morning, as I was preparing and arranging specimens, I was told
there was to be a trial; and presently four or five men came in and squatted
down on a mat under the audience-shed in the court. The chief then came in
with his clerk, and sat down opposite them. Each spoke in turn, telling his
own tale, and then I found that those who first entered were the prisoner,

accuser, policemen, and witness, and that the prisoner was indicated solely
by having a loose piece of cord twined around his wrists, but not tied. It was
a case of robbery, and after the evidence was given, and a few questions had
been asked by the chief, the accused said a few words, and then sentence
was pronounced, which was a fine. The parties then got up and walked
away together, seeming quite friendly; and throughout there was nothing in
the manner of any one present indicating passion or ill-feeling—a very
good illustration of the Malayan type of character.
In a month's collecting at Wonosalem and Djapannan I accumulated
ninety-eight species of birds, but a most miserable lot of insects. I then
determined to leave East Java and try the more moist and luxuriant districts
at the western extremity of the island. I returned to Sourabaya by water, in a
roomy boat which brought myself, servants, and baggage at one-fifth the
expense it had cost me to come to Modjo-kerto. The river has been rendered
navigable by being carefully banked up, but with the usual effect of
rendering the adjacent country liable occasionally to severe floods. An
immense traffic passes down this river; and at a lock we passed through, a
mile of laden boats were waiting two or three deep, which pass through in
their turn six at a time.
A few days afterwards I went by steamer to Batavia, where I stayed about
a week at the chief hotel, while I made arrangements for a trip into the
interior. The business part of the city is near the harbour, but the hotels and
all the residences of the officials and European merchants are in a suburb
two miles off, laid out in wide streets and squares so as to cover a great
extent of ground. This is very inconvenient for visitors, as the only public
conveyances are handsome two-horse carriages, whose lowest charge is five
guilders (8s. 4d.) for half a day, so that an hour's business in the morning
and a visit in the evening costs 16s. 8d. a day for carriage hire alone.
Batavia agrees very well with Mr. Money's graphic account of it, except
that his "clear canals" were all muddy, and his "smooth gravel drives" up to
the houses were one and all formed of coarse pebbles, very painful to walk
upon, and hardly explained by the fact that in Batavia everybody drives, as
it can hardly be supposed that people never walk in their gardens. The Hôtel
des Indes was very comfortable, each visitor having a sitting-room and
bedroom opening on a verandah, where he can take his morning coffee and
afternoon tea. In the centre of the quadrangle is a building containing a

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

imbedded in fruit trees, and pretty villas inhabited by planters or retired
Dutch officials, gave this district a very pleasing and civilized aspect; but
what most attracted my attention was the system of terrace-cultivation,
which is here universally adopted, and which is, I should think, hardly
equalled in the world. The slopes of the main valley, and of its branches,
were everywhere cut in terraces up to a considerable height, and when they
wound round the recesses of the hills produced all the effect of magnificent
amphitheatres. Hundreds of square miles of country are thus terraced, and
convey a striking idea of the industry of the people and the antiquity of their
civilization. These terraces are extended year by year as the population
increases, by the inhabitants of each village working in concert under the
direction of their chiefs; and it is perhaps by this system of village culture
alone, that such extensive terracing and irrigation has been rendered
possible. It was probably introduced by the Brahmins from India, since in
those Malay countries where there is no trace of a previous occupation by a
civilized people, the terrace system is unknown. I first saw this mode of
cultivation in Bali and Lombock, and, as I shall have to describe it in some
detail there (see CHAPTER X.), I need say no more about it in this place,
except that, owing to the finer outlines and greater luxuriance of the country
in West Java, it produces there the most striking and picturesque effect. The
lower slopes of the mountains in Java possess such a delightful climate and
luxuriant soil; living is so cheap and life and property are so secure, that a
considerable number of Europeans who have been engaged in Government
service, settle permanently in the country instead of returning to Europe.
They are scattered everywhere throughout the more accessible parts of the
island, and tend greatly to the gradual improvement of the native
population, and to the continued peace and prosperity of the whole country.
Twenty miles beyond Buitenzorg the post road passes over the
Megamendong Mountain, at an elevation of about 4,500 feet. The country is
finely mountainous, and there is much virgin forest still left upon the hills,
together with some of the oldest coffee-plantations in Java, where the plants
have attained almost the dimensions of forest trees. About 500 feet below
the summit level of the pass there is a road-keeper's hut, half of which I
hired for a fortnight, as the country looked promising for making
collections. I almost immediately found that the productions of West Java
were remarkably different from those of the eastern part of the island; and
that all the more remarkable and characteristic Javanese birds and insects

were to be found here. On the very first day, my hunters obtained for me the
elegant yellow and green trogon (Harpactes Reinwardti), the gorgeous little
minivet flycatcher (Pericrocotus miniatus), which looks like a flame of fire
as it flutters among the bushes, and the rare and curious black and crimson
oriole (Analcipus sanguinolentus), all of these species which are found only
in Java, and even seem to be confined to its western portion.
In a week I obtained no less than twenty-four species of birds, which I
had not found in the east of the island, and in a fortnight this number
increased to forty species, almost all of which are peculiar to the Javanese
fauna. Large and handsome butterflies were also tolerably abundant. In dark
ravines, and occasionally on the roadside, I captured the superb Papilio
arjuna, whose wings seem powdered with grains of golden green,
condensed into bands and moon-shaped spots; while the elegantly-formed
Papilio coön was sometimes to be found fluttering slowly along the shady
pathways (see figure at page 201). One day a boy brought me a butterfly
between his fingers, perfectly unhurt. He had caught it as it was sitting with
wings erect, sucking up the liquid from a muddy spot by the roadside. Many
of the finest tropical butterflies have this habit, and they are generally so
intent upon their meal that they can be easily be reached and captured. It
proved to be the rare and curious Charaxes kadenii, remarkable for having
on each hind wing two curved tails like a pair of callipers. It was the only
specimen I ever saw, and is still the only representative of its kind in
English collections.
In the east of Java I had suffered from the intense heat and drought of the
dry season, which had been very inimical to insect life. Here I had got into
the other extreme of damp, wet, and cloudy weather, which was equally
unfavourable. During the month which I spent in the interior of West Java, I
never had a really hot fine day throughout. It rained almost every afternoon,
or dense mists came down from the mountains, which equally stopped
collecting, and rendered it most difficult to dry my specimens, so that I
really had no chance of getting a fair sample of Javanese entomology.
By far the most interesting incident in my visit to Java was a trip to the
summit of the Pangerango and Gedeh mountains; the former an extinct
volcanic cone about 10,000 feet high, the latter an active crater on a lower
portion of the same mountain range. Tchipanas, about four miles over the
Megamendong Pass, is at the foot of the mountain. A small country house

for the Governor-General and a branch of the Botanic Gardens are situated
here, the keeper of which accommodated me with a bed for a night. There
are many beautiful trees and shrubs planted here, and large quantities of
European vegetables are grown for the Governor-General's table. By the
side of a little torrent that bordered the garden, quantities of orchids were
cultivated, attached to the trunks of trees, or suspended from the branches,
forming an interesting open air orchid-house. As I intended to stay two or
three nights on the mountain, I engaged two coolies to carry my baggage,
and with my two hunters we started early the next morning.
The first mile was over open country, which brought us to the forest that
covers the whole mountain from a height of about 5,000 feet. The next mile
or two was a tolerably steep ascent through a grand virgin forest, the trees
being of great size, and the undergrowth consisting of fine herbaceous
plants, tree-ferns, and shrubby vegetation. I was struck by the immense
number of ferns that grew by the side of the road. Their variety seemed
endless, and I was continually stopping to admire some new and interesting
forms. I could now well understand what I had been told by the gardener,
that 300 species had been found on this one mountain. A little before noon
we reached the small plateau of Tjiburong, at the foot of the steeper part of
the mountain, where there is a plank-house for the accommodation of
travellers. Close by is a picturesque waterfall and a curious cavern, which I
had not time to explore. Continuing our ascent the road became narrow,
rugged and steep, winding zigzag up the cone, which is covered with
irregular masses of rock, and overgrown with a dense luxuriant but less
lofty vegetation. We passed a torrent of water which is not much lower than
the boiling point, and has a most singular appearance as it foams over its
rugged bed, sending up clouds of steam, and often concealed by the
overhanging herbage of ferns and lycopodia, which here thrive with more
luxuriance than elsewhere.
At about 7,500 feet we came to another hut of open bamboos, at a place
called Kandang Badak, or "Rhinoceros-field," which we were going to
make our temporary abode. Here was a small clearing, with abundance of
tree-ferns and some young plantations of Cinchona. As there was now a
thick mist and drizzling rain, I did not attempt to go on to the summit that
evening, but made two visits to it during my stay, as well as one to the
active crater of Gedeh. This is a vast semicircular chasm, bounded by black
perpendicular walls of rock, and surrounded by miles of rugged scoria-

covered slopes. The crater itself is not very deep. It exhibits patches of
sulphur and variously-coloured volcanic products, and emits from several
vents continual streams of smoke and vapour. The extinct cone of
Pangerango was to me more interesting. The summit is an irregular
undulating plain with a low bordering ridge, and one deep lateral chasm.
Unfortunately, there was perpetual mist and rain either above or below us
all the time I was on the mountain; so that I never once saw the plain below,
or had a glimpse of the magnificent view which in fine weather is to be
obtained from its summit. Notwithstanding this drawback I enjoyed the
excursion exceedingly, for it was the first time I had been high enough on a
mountain near the Equator to watch the change from a tropical to a
temperate flora. I will now briefly sketch these changes as I observed them
in Java.
On ascending the mountain, we first meet with temperate forms of
herbaceous plants, so low as 3,000 feet, where strawberries and violets
begin to grow, but the former are tasteless, and the latter have very small
and pale flowers. Weedy composites also begin to give a European aspect to
the wayside herbage. It is between 2,000 and 5,000 feet that the forests and
ravines exhibit the utmost development of tropical luxuriance and beauty.
The abundance of noble Tree-ferns, sometimes fifty feet high, contributes
greatly to the general effect, since of all the forms of tropical vegetation
they are certainly the most striking and beautiful. Some of the deep ravines
which have been cleared of large timber are full of them from top to
bottom; and where the road crosses one of these valleys, the view of their
feathery crowns, in varied positions above and below the eye, offers a
spectacle of picturesque beauty never to be forgotten. The splendid foliage
of the broad-leaved Musaceae and Zingiberaceae, with their curious and
brilliant flowers; and the elegant and varied forms of plants allied to
Begonia and Melastoma, continually attract the attention in this region.
Filling in the spaces between the trees and larger plants, on every trunk and
stump and branch, are hosts of Orchids, Ferns and Lycopods, which wave
and hang and intertwine in ever-varying complexity. At about 5,000 feet I
first saw horsetails (Equisetum), very like our own species. At 6,000 feet,
raspberries abound, and thence to the summit of the mountain there are
three species of eatable Rubus. At 7,000 feet Cypresses appear, and the
forest trees become reduced in size, and more covered with mosses and
lichens. From this point upward these rapidly increase, so that the blocks of

rock and scoria that form the mountain slope are completely hidden in a
mossy vegetation. At about 5,000 feet European forms of plants become
abundant. Several species of Honeysuckle, St. John's-wort, and Guelder-
rose abound, and at about 9,000 feet we first meet with the rare and
beautiful Royal Cowslip (Primula imperialis), which is said to be found
nowhere else in the world but on this solitary mountain summit. It has a tall,
stout stem, sometimes more than three feet high, the root leaves are
eighteen inches long, and it bears several whorls of cowslip-like flowers,
instead of a terminal cluster only. The forest trees, gnarled and dwarfed to
the dimensions of bushes, reach up to the very rim of the old crater, but do
not extend over the hollow on its summit. Here we find a good deal of open
ground, with thickets of shrubby Artemisias and Gnaphaliums, like our
southernwood and cudweed, but six or eight feet high; while Buttercups,
Violets, Whortleberries, Sow-thistles, Chickweed, white and yellow
Cruciferae, Plantain, and annual grasses everywhere abound. Where there
are bushes and shrubs, the St. John's-wort and Honeysuckle grow
abundantly, while the Imperial Cowslip only exhibits its elegant blossoms
under the damp shade of the thickets.
Mr. Motley, who visited the mountain in the dry season, and paid much
attention to botany, gives the following list of genera of European plants
found on or near the summit:— Two species of Violet, three of Ranunculus,
three of Impatiens, eight or ten of Rubus, and species of Primula,
Hypericum, Swertia, Convallaria (Lily of the Valley), Vaccinium
(Cranberry), Rhododendron, Gnaphalium, Polygonum, Digitalis
(Foxglove), Lonicera (Honeysuckle), Plantago (Rib-grass), Artemisia
(Wormwood), Lobelia, Oxalis (Wood-sorrel), Quercus (Oak), and Taxus
(Yew). A few of the smaller plants (Plantago major and lanceolata, Sonchus
oleraceus, and Artemisia vulgaris) are identical with European species.
The fact of a vegetation so closely allied to that of Europe occurring on
isolated mountain peaks, in an island south of the Equator, while all the
lowlands for thousands of miles around are occupied by a flora of a totally
different character, is very extraordinary; and has only recently received an
intelligible explanation. The Peak of Teneriffe, which rises to a greater
height and is much nearer to Europe, contains no such Alpine flora; neither
do the mountains of Bourbon and Mauritius. The case of the volcanic peaks
of Java is therefore somewhat exceptional, but there are several analogous,

if not exactly parallel cases, that will enable us better to understand in what
way the phenomena may possibly have been brought about.
The higher peaks of the Alps, and even of the Pyrenees, contain a number
of plants absolutely identical with those of Lapland, but nowhere found in
the intervening plains. On the summit of the White Mountains, in the
United States, every plant is identical with species growing in Labrador. In
these cases all ordinary means of transport fail. Most of the plants have
heavy seeds, which could not possibly be carried such immense distances
by the wind; and the agency of birds in so effectually stocking these Alpine
heights is equally out of the question. The difficulty was so great, that some
naturalists were driven to believe that these species were all separately
created twice over on these distant peaks. The determination of a recent
glacial epoch, however, soon offered a much more satisfactory solution, and
one that is now universally accepted by men of science. At this period,
when the mountains of Wales were full of glaciers, and the mountainous
parts of Central Europe, and much of America north of the great lakes, were
covered with snow and ice, and had a climate resembling that of Labrador
and Greenland at the present day, an Arctic flora covered all these regions.
As this epoch of cold passed away, and the snowy mantle of the country,
with the glaciers that descended from every mountain summit, receded up
their slopes and towards the north pole, the plants receded also, always
clinging as now to the margins of the perpetual snow line. Thus it is that the
same species are now found on the summits of the mountains of temperate
Europe and America, and in the barren north-polar regions.
But there is another set of facts, which help us on another step towards
the case of the Javanese mountain flora. On the higher slopes of the
Himalayas, on the tops of the mountains of Central India and of Abyssinia,
a number of plants occur which, though not identical with those of
European mountains, belong to the same genera, and are said by botanists
to represent them; and most of these could not exist in the warm intervening
plains. Mr. Darwin believes that this class of facts can be explained in the
same way; for, during the greatest severity of the glacial epoch, temperate
forms of plants will have extended to the confines of the tropics, and on its
departure, will have retreated up these southern mountains, as well as
northward to the plains and hills of Europe. But in this case, the time
elapsed, and the great change of conditions, have allowed many of these
plants to become so modified that we now consider them to be distinct

species. A variety of other facts of a similar nature have led him to believe
that the depression of temperature was at one time sufficient to allow a few
north-temperate plants to cross the Equator (by the most elevated routes)
and to reach the Antarctic regions, where they are now found. The evidence
on which this belief rests will be found in the latter part of CHAPTER II. of
the "Origin of Species"; and, accepting it for the present as an hypothesis, it
enables us to account for the presence of a flora of European type on the
volcanoes of Java.
It will, however, naturally be objected that there is a wide expanse of sea
between Java and the continent, which would have effectually prevented the
immigration of temperate forms of plants during the glacial epoch. This
would undoubtedly be a fatal objection, were there not abundant evidence
to show that Java has been formerly connected with Asia, and that the union
must have occurred at about the epoch required. The most striking proof of
such a junction is, that the great Mammalia of Java, the rhinoceros, the
tiger, and the Banteng or wild ox, occur also in Siam and Burmah, and these
would certainly not have been introduced by man. The Javanese peacock
and several other birds are also common to these two countries; but, in the
majority of cases, the species are distinct, though closely allied, indicating
that a considerable time (required for such modification) has elapsed since
the separation, while it has not been so long as to cause an entire change.
Now this exactly corresponds with the time we should require since the
temperate forms of plants entered Java. These are now almost distinct
species, but the changed conditions under which they are now forced to
exist, and the probability of some of them having since died out on the
continent of India, sufficiently accounts for the Javanese species being
different.
In my more special pursuits, I had very little success upon the mountain
—owing, perhaps, to the excessively unpropitious weather and the
shortness of my stay. At from 7,000 to 8,000 feet elevation, I obtained one
of the most lovely of the small Fruit pigeons (Ptilonopus roseicollis), whose
entire head and neck are of an exquisite rosy pink colour, contrasting finely
with its otherwise green plumage; and on the very summit, feeding on the
ground among the strawberries that have been planted there, I obtained a
dull-coloured thrush, with the form and habits of a starling (Turdus
fumidus). Insects were almost entirely absent, owing no doubt to the
extreme dampness, and I did not get a single butterfly the whole trip; yet I

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

CHAPTER VIII. SUMATRA.
(NOVEMBER 1861 to JANUARY 1862.)

The mail steamer from Batavia to Singapore took me to Muntok (or as on
English maps, "Minto"), the chief town and port of Banca. Here I stayed a
day or two, until I could obtain a boat to take me across the straits, and up
the river to Palembang. A few walks into the country showed me that it was
very hilly, and full of granitic and laterite rocks, with a dry and stunted
forest vegetation; and I could find very few insects. A good-sized open
sailing-boat took me across to the mouth of the Palembang river where, at a
fishing village, a rowing-boat was hired to take me up to Palembang—a
distance of nearly a hundred miles by water. Except when the wind was
strong and favourable we could only proceed with the tide, and the banks of
the river were generally flooded Nipa-swamps, so that the hours we were
obliged to lay at anchor passed very heavily. Reaching Palembang on the
8th of November, I was lodged by the Doctor, to whom I had brought a
letter of introduction, and endeavoured to ascertain where I could find a
good locality for collecting. Everyone assured me that I should have to go a
very long way further to find any dry forest, for at this season the whole
country for many miles inland was flooded. I therefore had to stay a week at
Palembang before I could determine my future movements.
The city is a large one, extending for three or four miles along a fine
curve of the river, which is as wide as the Thames at Greenwich. The stream
is, however, much narrowed by the houses which project into it upon piles,
and within these, again, there is a row of houses built upon great bamboo
rafts, which are moored by rattan cables to the shore or to piles, and rise and
fall with the tide.
The whole riverfront on both sides is chiefly formed of such houses, and
they are mostly shops open to the water, and only raised a foot above it, so
that by taking a small boat it is easy to go to market and purchase anything
that is to be had in Palembang. The natives are true Malays, never building
a house on dry land if they can find water to set it in, and never going
anywhere on foot if they can reach the place in a boat. A considerable

portion of the population are Chinese and Arabs, who carry on all the trade;
while the only Europeans are the civil and military officials of the Dutch
Government. The town is situated at the head of the delta of the river, and
between it and the sea there is very little ground elevated above highwater
mark; while for many miles further inland, the banks of the main stream
and its numerous tributaries are swampy, and in the wet season flooded for
a considerable distance. Palembang is built on a patch of elevated ground, a
few miles in extent, on the north bank of the river. At a spot about three
miles from the town this turns into a little hill, the top of which is held
sacred by the natives, shaded by some fine trees, and inhabited by a colony
of squirrels which have become half-tame. On holding out a few crumbs of
bread or any fruit, they come running down the trunk, take the morsel out of
your fingers, and dart away instantly. Their tails are carried erect, and the
hair, which is ringed with grey, yellow, and brown, radiates uniformly
around them, and looks exceedingly pretty. They have somewhat of the
motions of mice, coming on with little starts, and gazing intently with their
large black eyes before venturing to advance further. The manner in which
Malays often obtain the confidence of wild animals is a very pleasing trait
in their character, and is due in some degree to the quiet deliberation of their
manners, and their love of repose rather than of action. The young are
obedient to the wishes of their elders, and seem to feel none of that
propensity to mischief which European boys exhibit. How long would tame
squirrels continue to inhabit trees in the vicinity of an English village, even
if close to the church? They would soon be pelted and driven away, or
snared and confined in a whirling cage. I have never heard of these pretty
animals being tamed in this way in England, but I should think it might be
easily done in any gentleman's park, and they would certainly be as pleasing
and attractive as they would be uncommon.
After many inquiries, I found that a day's journey by water above
Palembang there commenced a military road which extended up to the
mountains and even across to Bencoolen, and I determined to take this route
and travel on until I found some tolerable collecting ground. By this means
I should secure dry land and a good road, and avoid the rivers, which at this
season are very tedious to ascend owing to the powerful currents, and very
unproductive to the collector owing to most of the lands in their vicinity
being underwater. Leaving early in the morning we did not reach Lorok, the
village where the road begins, until late at night. I stayed there a few days,

but found that almost all the ground in the vicinity not underwater was
cultivated, and that the only forest was in swamps which were now
inaccessible. The only bird new to me which I obtained at Lorok was the
fine long-tailed parroquet (Palaeornis longicauda). The people here assured
me that the country was just the same as this for a very long way—more
than a week's journey, and they seemed hardly to have any conception of an
elevated forest-clad country, so that I began to think it would be useless
going on, as the time at my disposal was too short to make it worth my
while to spend much more of it in moving about. At length, however, I
found a man who knew the country, and was more intelligent; and he at
once told me that if I wanted forest I must go to the district of Rembang,
which I found on inquiry was about twenty-five or thirty miles off.
The road is divided into regular stages of ten or twelve miles each, and,
without sending on in advance to have coolies ready, only this distance can
be travelled in a day. At each station there are houses for the
accommodation of passengers, with cooking-house and stables, and six or
eight men always on guard. There is an established system for coolies at
fixed rates, the inhabitants of the surrounding villages all taking their turn to
be subject to coolie service, as well as that of guards at the station for five
days at a time. This arrangement makes travelling very easy, and was a
great convenience for me. I had a pleasant walk of ten or twelve miles in
the morning, and the rest of the day could stroll about and explore the
village and neighbourhood, having a house ready to occupy without any
formalities whatever. In three days I reached Moera-dua, the first village in
Rembang, and finding the country dry and undulating, with a good
sprinkling of forest, I determined to remain a short time and try the
neighbourhood. Just opposite the station was a small but deep river, and a
good bathing-place; and beyond the village was a fine patch of forest,
through which the road passed, overshadowed by magnificent trees, which
partly tempted me to stay; but after a fortnight I could find no good place
for insects, and very few birds different from the common species of
Malacca. I therefore moved on another stage to Lobo Raman, where the
guard-house is situated quite by itself in the forest, nearly a mile from each
of three villages. This was very agreeable to me, as I could move about
without having every motion watched by crowds of men, women and
children, and I had also a much greater variety of walks to each of the
villages and the plantations around them.

The villages of the Sumatran Malays are somewhat peculiar and very
picturesque. A space of some acres is surrounded with a high fence, and
over this area the houses are thickly strewn without the least attempt at
regularity. Tall cocoa-nut trees grow abundantly between them, and the
ground is bare and smooth with the trampling of many feet. The houses are
raised about six feet on posts, the best being entirely built of planks, others
of bamboo. The former are always more or less ornamented with carving
and have high-pitched roofs and overhanging eaves. The gable ends and all
the chief posts and beams are sometimes covered with exceedingly tasteful
carved work, and this is still more the case in the district of Menangkabo,
further west. The floor is made of split bamboo, and is rather shaky, and
there is no sign of anything we should call furniture. There are no benches
or chairs or stools, but merely the level floor covered with mats, on which
the inmates sit or lie. The aspect of the village itself is very neat, the ground
being often swept before the chief houses; but very bad odours abound,
owing to there being under every house a stinking mud-hole, formed by all
waste liquids and refuse matter, poured down through the floor above. In
most other things Malays are tolerably clean—in some scrupulously so; and
this peculiar and nasty custom, which is almost universal, arises, I have
little doubt, from their having been originally a maritime and water-loving
people, who built their houses on posts in the water, and only migrated
gradually inland, first up the rivers and streams, and then into the dry
interior. Habits which were at once so convenient and so cleanly, and which
had been so long practised as to become a portion of the domestic life of the
nation, were of course continued when the first settlers built their houses
inland; and without a regular system of drainage, the arrangement of the
villages is such that any other system would be very inconvenient.
In all these Sumatran villages I found considerable difficulty in getting
anything to eat. It was not the season for vegetables, and when, after much
trouble, I managed to procure some yams of a curious variety, I found them
hard and scarcely eatable. Fowls were very scarce; and fruit was reduced to
one of the poorest kinds of banana. The natives (during the wet season at
least) live exclusively on rice, as the poorer Irish do on potatoes. A pot of
rice cooked very dry and eaten with salt and red peppers, twice a day, forms
their entire food during a large part of the year. This is no sign of poverty,
but is simply custom; for their wives and children are loaded with silver

armlets from wrist to elbow, and carry dozens of silver coins strung round
their necks or suspended from their ears.
As I had moved away from Palembang, I had found the Malay spoken by
the common people less and less pure, until at length it became quite
unintelligible, although the continual recurrence of many well-known words
assured me it was a form of Malay, and enabled me to guess at the main
subject of conversation. This district had a very bad reputation a few years
ago, and travellers were frequently robbed and murdered. Fights between
village and village were also of frequent occurrence, and many lives were
lost, owing to disputes about boundaries or intrigues with women. Now,
however, since the country has been divided into districts under
"Controlleurs," who visit every village in turn to hear complaints and settle
disputes, such things are heard of no more. This is one of the numerous
examples I have met with of the good effects of the Dutch Government. It
exercises a strict surveillance over its most distant possessions, establishes a
form of government well adapted to the character of the people, reforms
abuses, punishes crimes, and makes itself everywhere respected by the
native population.
Lobo Raman is a central point of the east end of Sumatra, being about a
hundred and twenty miles from the sea to the east, north, and west. The
surface is undulating, with no mountains or even hills, and there is no rock,
the soil being generally a red friable clay. Numbers of small streams and
rivers intersect the country, and it is pretty equally divided between open
clearings and patches of forest, both virgin and second growth, with
abundance of fruit trees; and there is no lack of paths to get about in any
direction. Altogether it is the very country that would promise most for a
naturalist, and I feel sure that at a more favourable time of year it would
prove exceedingly rich; but it was now the rainy season, when, in the very
best of localities, insects are always scarce, and there being no fruit on the
trees, there was also a scarcity of birds. During a month's collecting, I added
only three or four new species to my list of birds, although I obtained very
fine specimens of many which were rare and interesting. In butterflies I was
rather more successful, obtaining several fine species quite new to me, and
a considerable number of very rare and beautiful insects. I will give here
some account of two species of butterflies, which, though very common in
collections, present us with peculiarities of the highest interest.

The first is the handsome Papilio memnon, a splendid butterfly of a deep
black colour, dotted over with lines and groups of scales of a clear ashy
blue. Its wings are five inches in expanse, and the hind wings are rounded,
with scalloped edges. This applies to the males; but the females are very
different, and vary so much that they were once supposed to form several
distinct species. They may be divided into two groups—those which
resemble the male in shape, and, those which differ entirely from him in the
outline of the wings. The first vary much in colour, being often nearly white
with dusky yellow and red markings, but such differences often occur in
butterflies. The second group are much more extraordinary, and would
never be supposed to be the same insect, since the hind wings are
lengthened out into large spoon-shaped tails, no rudiment of which is ever
to be perceived in the males or in the ordinary form of females. These tailed
females are never of the dark and blue-glossed tints which prevail in the
male and often occur in the females of the same form, but are invariably
ornamented with stripes and patches of white or buff, occupying the larger
part of the surface of the hind wings. This peculiarity of colouring led me to
discover that this extraordinary female closely resembles (when flying)
another butterfly of the same genus but of a different group (Papilio coön),
and that we have here a case of mimicry similar to those so well illustrated
and explained by Mr. Bates.[ Trans. Linn. Soc. vol. xviii. p. 495; "Naturalist
on the Amazons," vol. i. p. 290.]
That the resemblance is not accidental is sufficiently proved by the fact,
that in the North of India, where Papilio coön is replaced by an allied form,
(Papilio Doubledayi) having red spots in place of yellow, a closely-allied
species or variety of Papilio memnon (P. androgeus) has the tailed female
also red spotted. The use and reason of this resemblance appears to be that
the butterflies imitated belong to a section of the genus Papilio which from
some cause or other are not attacked by birds, and by so closely resembling
these in form and colour the female of Memnon and its ally, also escape
persecution. Two other species of this same section (Papilio antiphus and
Papilio polyphontes) are so closely imitated by two female forms of Papilio
theseus (which comes in the same section with Memnon), that they
completely deceived the Dutch entomologist De Haan, and he accordingly
classed them as the same species!
But the most curious fact connected with these distinct forms is that they
are both the offspring of either form. A single brood of larva were bred in

Java by a Dutch entomologist, and produced males as well as tailed and
tailless females, and there is every reason to believe that this is always the
case, and that forms intermediate in character never occur. To illustrate
these phenomena, let us suppose a roaming Englishman in some remote
island to have two wives—one a black-haired, red-skinned Indian, the other
a woolly-headed, sooty-skinned negress; and that instead of the children
being mulattoes of brown or dusky tints, mingling the characteristics of
each parent in varying degrees, all the boys should be as fair-skinned and
blue-eyed as their father, while the girls should altogether resemble their
mothers. This would be thought strange enough, but the case of these
butterflies is yet more extraordinary, for each mother is capable not only of
producing male offspring like the father, and female like herself, but also
other females like her fellow wife, and altogether differing from herself!
The other species to which I have to direct attention is the Kallima
paralekta, a butterfly of the same family group as our Purple Emperor, and
of about the same size or larger. Its upper surface is of a rich purple,
variously tinged with ash colour, and across the forewings there is a broad
bar of deep orange, so that when on the wing it is very conspicuous. This
species was not uncommon in dry woods and thickets, and I often
endeavoured to capture it without success, for after flying a short distance it
would enter a bush among dry or dead leaves, and however carefully I crept
up to the spot I could never discover it until it would suddenly start out
again and then disappear in a similar place. If at length I was fortunate
enough to see the exact spot where the butterfly settled, and though I lost
sight of it for some time, I would discover that it was close before my eyes,
but that in its position of repose it so closely resembled a dead leaf attached
to a twig as almost certainly to deceive the eye even when gazing full upon
it. I captured several specimens on the wing, and was able fully to
understand the way in which this wonderful resemblance is produced.
The end of the upper wings terminates in a fine point, just as the leaves
of many tropical shrubs and trees are pointed, while the lower wings are
somewhat more obtuse, and are lengthened out into a short thick tail.
Between these two points there runs a dark curved line exactly representing
the midrib of a leaf, and from this radiate on each side a few oblique marks
which well imitate the lateral veins. These marks are more clearly seen on
the outer portion of the base of the wings, and on the innerside towards the
middle and apex, and they are produced by striae and markings which are

very common in allied species, but which are here modified and
strengthened so as to imitate more exactly the venation of a leaf. The tint of
the undersurface varies much, but it is always some ashy brown or reddish
colour, which matches with those of dead leaves. The habit of the species is
always to rest on a twig and among dead or dry leaves, and in this position
with the wings closely pressed together, their outline is exactly that of a
moderately-sized leaf, slightly curved or shrivelled. The tail of the hind
wings forms a perfect stalk, and touches the stick while the insect is
supported by the middle pair of legs, which are not noticed among the twigs
and fibres that surround it. The head and antennae are drawn back between
the wings so as to be quite concealed, and there is a little notch hollowed
out at the very base of the wings, which allows the head to be retracted
sufficiently. All these varied details combine to produce a disguise that is so
complete and marvellous as to astonish everyone who observes it; and the
habits of the insects are such as to utilize all these peculiarities, and render
them available in such a manner as to remove all doubt of the purpose of
this singular case of mimicry, which is undoubtedly a protection to the
insect.
Its strong and swift flight is sufficient to save it from its enemies when on
the wing, but if it were equally conspicuous when at rest it could not long
escape extinction, owing to the attacks of the insectivorous birds and
reptiles that abound in the tropical forests. A very closely allied species,
Kallima inachis, inhabits India, where it is very common, and specimens
are sent in every collection from the Himalayas. On examining a number of
these, it will be seen that no two are alike, but all the variations correspond
to those of dead leaves. Every tint of yellow, ash, brown, and red is found
here, and in many specimens there occur patches and spots formed of small
black dots, so closely resembling the way in which minute fungi grow on
leaves that it is almost impossible at first not to believe that fungi have
grown on the butterflies themselves!
If such an extraordinary adaptation as this stood alone, it would be very
difficult to offer any explanation of it; but although it is perhaps the most
perfect case of protective imitation known, there are hundreds of similar
resemblances in nature, and from these it is possible to deduce a general
theory of the manner in which they have been slowly brought about. The
principle of variation and that of "natural selection," or survival of the
fittest, as elaborated by Mr. Darwin in his celebrated "Origin of Species,"

offers the foundation for such a theory; and I have myself endeavoured to
apply it to all the chief cases of imitation in an article published in the
"Westminster Review" for 1867, entitled, "Mimicry, and other Protective
Resemblances Among Animals," to which any reader is referred who
wishes to know more about this subject.
In Sumatra, monkeys are very abundant, and at Lobo Kaman they used to
frequent the trees which overhang the guard-house, and give me a fine
opportunity of observing their gambols. Two species of Semnopithecus
were most plentiful—monkeys of a slender form, with very long tails. Not
being much shot at they are rather bold, and remain quite unconcerned
when natives alone are present; but when I came out to look at them, they
would stare for a minute or two and then make off. They take tremendous
leaps from the branches of one tree to those of another a little lower, and it
is very amusing when one strong leader takes a bold jump, to see the others
following with more or less trepidation; and it often happens that one or two
of the last seem quite unable to make up their minds to leap until the rest
are disappearing, when, as if in desperation at being left alone, they throw
themselves frantically into the air, and often go crashing through the slender
branches and fall to the ground.
A very curious ape, the Siamang, was also rather abundant, but it is much
less bold than the monkeys, keeping to the virgin forests and avoiding
villages. This species is allied to the little long-armed apes of the genus
Hylobates, but is considerably larger, and differs from them by having the
two first fingers of the feet united together, nearly to the end as does its
Latin name, Siamanga syndactyla. It moves much more slowly than the
active Hylobates, keeping lower down in trees, and not indulging in such
tremendous leaps; but it is still very active, and by means of its immense
long arms, five feet six inches across in an adult about three feet high, can
swing itself along among the trees at a great rate. I purchased a small one,
which had been caught by the natives and tied up so tightly as to hurt it. It
was rather savage at first, and tried to bite; but when we had released it and
given it two poles under the verandah to hang upon, securing it by a short
cord, running along the pole with a ring so that it could move easily, it
became more contented, and would swing itself about with great rapidity. It
ate almost any kind of fruit and rice, and I was in hopes to have brought it
to England, but it died just before I started. It took a dislike to me at first,
which I tried to get over by feeding it constantly myself. One day, however,

it bit me so sharply while giving it food, that I lost patience and gave it
rather a severe beating, which I regretted afterwards, as from that time it
disliked me more than ever. It would allow my Malay boys to play with it,
and for hours together would swing by its arms from pole to pole and on to
the rafters of the verandah, with so much ease and rapidity, that it was a
constant source of amusement to us. When I returned to Singapore it
attracted great attention, as no one had seen a Siamang alive before,
although it is not uncommon in some parts of the Malay peninsula.
As the Orangutan is known to inhabit Sumatra, and was in fact first
discovered there, I made many inquiries about it; but none of the natives
had ever heard of such an animal, nor could I find any of the Dutch officials
who knew anything about it. We may conclude, therefore, that it does not
inhabit the great forest plains in the east of Sumatra where one would
naturally expect to find it, but is probably confined to a limited region in the
northwest part of the island entirely in the hands of native rulers. The other
great Mammalia of Sumatra, the elephant and the rhinoceros, are more
widely distributed; but the former is much more scarce than it was a few
years ago, and seems to retire rapidly before the spread of cultivation. Lobo
Kaman tusks and bones are occasionally found about in the forest, but the
living animal is now never seen. The rhinoceros (Rhinoceros sumatranus)
still abounds, and I continually saw its tracks and its dung, and once
disturbed one feeding, which went crashing away through the jungle, only
permitting me a momentary glimpse of it through the dense underwood. I
obtained a tolerably perfect cranium, and a number of teeth, which were
picked up by the natives.
Another curious animal, which I had met with in Singapore and in
Borneo, but which was more abundant here, is the Galeopithecus, or flying
lemur. This creature has a broad membrane extending all around its body to
the extremities of the toes, and to the point of the rather long tail. This
enables it to pass obliquely through the air from one tree to another. It is
sluggish in its motions, at least by day, going up a tree by short runs of a
few feet, and then stopping a moment as if the action was difficult. It rests
during the day clinging to the trunks of trees, where its olive or brown fur,
mottled with irregular whitish spots and blotches, resembles closely the
colour of mottled bark, and no doubt helps to protect it. Once, in a bright
twilight, I saw one of these animals run up a trunk in a rather open place,
and then glide obliquely through the air to another tree, on which it alighted

near its base, and immediately began to ascend. I paced the distance from
the one tree to the other, and found it to be seventy yards; and the amount of
descent I estimated at not more than thirty-five or forty feet, or less than one
in five. This I think proves that the animal must have some power of
guiding itself through the air, otherwise in so long a distance it would have
little chance of alighting exactly upon the trunk. Like the Cuscus of the
Moluccas, the Galeopithecus feeds chiefly on leaves, and possesses a very
voluminous stomach and long convoluted intestines. The brain is very
small, and the animal possesses such remarkable tenacity of life, that it is
exceedingly difficult to kill it by any ordinary means. The tail is prehensile;
and is probably made use of as an additional support while feeding. It is
said to have only a single young one at a time, and my own observation
confirms this statement, for I once shot a female with a very small blind and
naked little creature clinging closely to its breast, which was quite bare and
much wrinkled, reminding me of the young of Marsupials, to which it
seemed to form a transition. On the back, and extending over the limbs and
membrane, the fur of these animals is short, but exquisitely soft, resembling
in its texture that of the Chinchilla.
I returned to Palembang by water, and while staying a day at a village
while a boat was being made watertight, I had the good fortune to obtain a
male, female, and young bird of one of the large hornbills. I had sent my
hunters to shoot, and while I was at breakfast they returned, bringing me a
fine large male of the Buceros bicornis, which one of them assured me he
had shot while feeding the female, which was shut up in a hole in a tree. I
had often read of this curious habit, and immediately returned to the place,
accompanied by several of the natives. After crossing a stream and a bog,
we found a large tree leaning over some water, and on its lower side, at a
height of about twenty feet, appeared a small hole, and what looked like a
quantity of mud, which I was assured had been used in stopping up the
large hole. After a while we heard the harsh cry of a bird inside, and could
see the white extremity of its beak put out. I offered a rupee to anyone who
would go up and get the bird out, with the egg or young one; but they all
declared it was too difficult, and they were afraid to try. I therefore very
reluctantly came away. About an hour afterwards, much to my surprise, a
tremendous loud, hoarse screaming was heard, and the bird was brought
me, together with a young one which had been found in the hole. This was a
most curious object, as large as a pigeon, but without a particle of plumage

on any part of it. It was exceedingly plump and soft, and with a semi-
transparent skin, so that it looked more like a bag of jelly, with head and
feet stuck on, than like a real bird.
The extraordinary habit of the male, in plastering up the female with her
egg, and feeding her during the whole time of incubation, and until the
young one is fledged, is common to several of the large hornbills, and is one
of those strange facts in natural history which are "stranger than fiction."

CHAPTER IX. NATURAL HISTORY OF THE
INDO-MALAY ISLANDS.
IN the first CHAPTER of this work I have stated generally the reasons
which lead us to conclude that the large islands in the western portion of the
Archipelago—Java, Sumatra, and Borneo—as well as the Malay peninsula
and the Philippine islands, have been recently separated from the continent
of Asia. I now propose to give a sketch of the Natural History of these,
which I term the Indo-Malay islands, and to show how far it supports this
view, and how much information it is able to give us of the antiquity and
origin of the separate islands.
The flora of the Archipelago is at present so imperfectly known, and I
have myself paid so little attention to it, that I cannot draw from it many
facts of importance. The Malayan type of vegetation is however a very
important one; and Dr. Hooker informs us, in his "Flora Indica," that it
spreads over all the moister and more equable parts of India, and that many
plants found in Ceylon, the Himalayas, the Nilghiri, and Khasia mountains
are identical with those of Java and the Malay peninsula. Among the more
characteristic forms of this flora are the rattans—climbing palms of the
genus Calamus, and a great variety of tall, as well as stemless palms.
Orchids, Araceae, Zingiberaceae and ferns, are especially abundant, and the
genus Grammatophyllum—a gigantic epiphytal orchid, whose clusters of
leaves and flower-stems are ten or twelve feet long—is peculiar to it. Here,
too, is the domain of the wonderful pitcher plants (Nepenthaceae), which
are only represented elsewhere by solitary species in Ceylon, Madagascar,
the Seychelles, Celebes, and the Moluccas. Those celebrated fruits, the
Mangosteen and the Durian, are natives of this region, and will hardly grow
out of the Archipelago. The mountain plants of Java have already been
alluded to as showing a former connexion with the continent of Asia; and a
still more extraordinary and more ancient connection with Australia has
been indicated by Mr. Low's collections from the summit of Kini-balou, the
loftiest mountain in Borneo.

Plants have much greater facilities for passing across arms of the sea than
animals. The lighter seeds are easily carried by the winds, and many of
them are specially adapted to be so carried. Others can float a long time
unhurt in the water, and are drifted by winds and currents to distant shores.
Pigeons, and other fruit-eating birds, are also the means of distributing
plants, since the seeds readily germinate after passing through their bodies.
It thus happens that plants which grow on shores and lowlands have a wide
distribution, and it requires an extensive knowledge of the species of each
island to determine the relations of their floras with any approach to
accuracy. At present we have no such complete knowledge of the botany of
the several islands of the Archipelago; and it is only by such striking
phenomena as the occurrence of northern and even European genera on the
summits of the Javanese mountains that we can prove the former
connection of that island with the Asiatic continent. With land animals,
however, the case is very different. Their means of passing a wide expanse
of sea are far more restricted. Their distribution has been more accurately
studied, and we possess a much more complete knowledge of such groups
as mammals and birds in most of the islands, than we do of the plants. It is
these two classes which will supply us with most of our facts as to the
geographical distribution of organized beings in this region.
The number of Mammalia known to inhabit the Indo-Malay region is
very considerable, exceeding 170 species. With the exception of the bats,
none of these have any regular means of passing arms of the sea many
miles in extent, and a consideration of their distribution must therefore
greatly assist us in determining whether these islands have ever been
connected with each other or with the continent since the epoch of existing
species.
The Quadrumana or monkey tribe form one of the most characteristic
features of this region. Twenty-four distinct species are known to inhabit it,
and these are distributed with tolerable uniformity over the islands, nine
being found in Java, ten in the Malay peninsula, eleven in Sumatra, and
thirteen in Borneo. The great man-like Orangutans are found only in
Sumatra and Borneo; the curious Siamang (next to them in size) in Sumatra
and Malacca; the long-nosed monkey only in Borneo; while every island
has representatives of the Gibbons or long-armed apes, and of monkeys.
The lemur-like animals, Nycticebus, Tarsius, and Galeopithecus, are found
on all the islands.

Seven species found on the Malay peninsula extend also into Sumatra,
four into Borneo, and three into Java; while two range into Siam and
Burma, and one into North India. With the exception of the Orangutan, the
Siamang, the Tarsius spectrum, and the Galeopithecus, all the Malayan
genera of Quadrumana are represented in India by closely allied species,
although, owing to the limited range of most of these animals, so few are
absolutely identical.
Of Carnivora, thirty-three species are known from the Indo-Malay
region, of which about eight are found also in Burma and India. Among
these are the tiger, leopard, a tiger-cat, civet, and otter; while out of the
twenty genera of Malayan Carnivora, thirteen are represented in India by
more or less closely allied species. As an example, the Malayan bear is
represented in North India by the Tibetan bear, both of which may be seen
alive at the Zoological Society's Gardens.
The hoofed animals are twenty-two in number, of which about seven
extend into Burmah and India. All the deer are of peculiar species, except
two, which range from Malacca into India. Of the cattle, one Indian species
reaches Malacca, while the Bos sondiacus of Java and Borneo is also found
in Siam and Burma. A goat-like animal is found in Sumatra which has its
representative in India; while the two-horned rhinoceros of Sumatra and the
single-horned species of Java, long supposed to be peculiar to these islands,
are now both ascertained to exist in Burma, Pegu, and Moulmein. The
elephant of Sumatra, Borneo, and Malacca is now considered to be identical
with that of Ceylon and India.
In all other groups of Mammalia the same general phenomena recur. A
few species are identical with those of India. A much larger number are
closely allied or representative forms, while there are always a small
number of peculiar genera, consisting of animals unlike those found in any
other part of the world. There are about fifty bats, of which less than one-
fourth are Indian species; thirty-four Rodents (squirrels, rats, &c.), of which
six or eight only are Indian; and ten Insectivora, with one exception peculiar
to the Malay region. The squirrels are very abundant and characteristic,
only two species out of twenty-five extending into Siam and Burma. The
Tupaias are curious insect-eaters, which closely resemble squirrels, and are
almost confined to the Malay islands, as are the small feather-tailed

Ptilocerus lowii of Borneo, and the curious long-snouted and naked-tailed
Gymnurus rafllesii.
As the Malay peninsula is a part of the continent of Asia, the question of
the former union of the islands to the mainland will be best elucidated by
studying the species which are found in the former district, and also in some
of the islands. Now, if we entirely leave out of consideration the bats, which
have the power of flight, there are still forty-eight species of mammals
common to the Malay peninsula and the three large islands. Among these
are seven Quadrumana (apes, monkeys, and lemurs), animals who pass their
whole existence in forests, who never swim, and who would be quite unable
to traverse a single mile of sea; nineteen Carnivora, some of which no doubt
might cross by swimming, but we cannot suppose so large a number to have
passed in this way across a strait which, except at one point, is from thirty
to fifty miles wide; and five hoofed animals, including the Tapir, two
species of rhinoceros, and an elephant. Besides these there are thirteen
Rodents and four Insectivora, including a shrew-mouse and six squirrels,
whose unaided passage over twenty miles of sea is even more inconceivable
than that of the larger animals.
But when we come to the cases of the same species inhabiting two of the
more widely separated islands, the difficulty is much increased. Borneo is
distant nearly 150 miles from Biliton, which is about fifty miles from
Banca, and this fifteen from Sumatra, yet there are no less than thirty-six
species of mammals common to Borneo and Sumatra. Java again is more
than 250 miles from Borneo, yet these two islands have twenty-two species
in common, including monkeys, lemurs, wild oxen, squirrels and shrews.
These facts seem to render it absolutely certain that there has been at some
former period a connection between all these islands and the mainland, and
the fact that most of the animals common to two or more of then, show little
or no variation, but are often absolutely identical, indicates that the
separation must have been recent in a geological sense; that is, not earlier
than the Newer Pliocene epoch, at which time land animals began to
assimilate closely with those now existing.
Even the bats furnish an additional argument, if one were needed, to
show that the islands could not have been peopled from each other and from
the continent without some former connection. For if such had been the
mode of stocking them with animals, it is quite certain that creatures which

can fly long distances would be the first to spread from island to island, and
thus produce an almost perfect uniformity of species over the whole region.
But no such uniformity exists, and the bats of each island are almost, if not
quite, as distinct as the other mammals. For example, sixteen species are
known in Borneo, and of these ten are found in Java and five in Sumatra, a
proportion about the same as that of the Rodents, which have no direct
means of migration. We learn from this fact, that the seas which separate the
islands from each other are wide enough to prevent the passage even of
flying animals, and that we must look to the same causes as having led to
the present distribution of both groups. The only sufficient cause we can
imagine is the former connection of all the islands with the continent, and
such a change is in perfect harmony with what we know of the earth's past
history, and is rendered probable by the remarkable fact that a rise of only
three hundred feet would convert the wide seas that separate them into an
immense winding valley or plain about three hundred miles wide and
twelve hundred long. It may, perhaps, be thought that birds which possess
the power of flight in so pre-eminent a degree, would not be limited in their
range by arms of the sea, and would thus afford few indications of the
former union or separation of the islands they inhabit. This, however, is not
the case. A very large number of birds appear to be as strictly limited by
watery barriers as are quadrupeds; and as they have been so much more
attentively collected, we have more complete materials to work upon, and
are able to deduce from them still more definite and satisfactory results.
Some groups, however, such as the aquatic birds, the waders, and the birds
of prey, are great wanderers; other groups are little known except to
ornithologists. I shall therefore refer chiefly to a few of the best known and
most remarkable families of birds as a sample of the conclusions furnished
by the entire class.
The birds of the Indo-Malay region have a close resemblance to those of
India; for though a very large proportion of the species are quite distinct,
there are only about fifteen peculiar genera, and not a single family group
confined to the former district. If, however, we compare the islands with the
Burmese, Siamese, and Malayan countries, we shall find still less
difference, and shall be convinced that all are closely united by the bond of
a former union. In such well-known families as the woodpeckers, parrots,
trogons, barbets, kingfishers, pigeons, and pheasants, we find some
identical species spreading over all India, and as far as Java and Borneo,

while a very large proportion are common to Sumatra and the Malay
peninsula.
The force of these facts can only be appreciated when we come to treat
the islands of the Austro-Malay region, and show how similar barriers have
entirely prevented the passage of birds from one island to another, so that
out of at least three hundred and fifty land birds inhabiting Java and
Borneo, not more than ten have passed eastward into Celebes. Yet the
Straits of Macassar are not nearly so wide as the Java sea, and at least a
hundred species are common to Borneo and Java.
I will now give two examples to show how a knowledge of the
distribution of animals may reveal unsuspected facts in the past history of
the earth. At the eastern extremity of Sumatra, and separated from it by a
strait about fifteen miles wide, is the small rocky island of Banca,
celebrated for its tin mines. One of the Dutch residents there sent some
collections of birds and animals to Leyden, and among them were found
several species distinct from those of the adjacent coast of Sumatra. One of
these was a squirrel (Sciurus bangkanus), closely allied to three other
species inhabiting respectively the Malay peninsula, Sumatra, and Borneo,
but quite as distinct from them all as they are from each other. There were
also two new ground thrushes of the genus Pitta, closely allied to, but quite
distinct from, two other species inhabiting both Sumatra and Borneo, and
which did not perceptibly differ in these large and widely separated islands.
This is just as if the Isle of Man possessed a peculiar species of thrush and
blackbird, distinct from the birds which are common to England and
Ireland.
These curious facts would indicate that Banca may have existed as a
distinct island even longer than Sumatra and Borneo, and there are some
geological and geographical facts which render this not so improbable as it
would at first seem to be. Although on the map Banca appears so close to
Sumatra, this does not arise from its having been recently separated from it;
for the adjacent district of Palembang is new land, being a great alluvial
swamp formed by torrents from the mountains a hundred miles distant.
Banca, on the other hand, agrees with Malacca, Singapore, and the
intervening island of Lingen, in being formed of granite and laterite; and
these have all most likely once formed an extension of the Malay peninsula.
As the rivers of Borneo and Sumatra have been for ages filling up the

intervening sea, we may be sure that its depth has recently been greater, and
it is very probable that those large islands were never directly connected
with each other except through the Malay peninsula. At that period the same
species of squirrel and Pitta may have inhabited all these countries; but
when the subterranean disturbances occurred which led to the elevation of
the volcanoes of Sumatra, the small island of Banca may have been
separated first, and its productions being thus isolated might be gradually
modified before the separation of the larger islands had been completed.
As the southern part of Sumatra extended eastward and formed the
narrow straits of Banca, many birds and insects and some Mammalia would
cross from one to the other, and thus produce a general similarity of
productions, while a few of the older inhabitants remained, to reveal by
their distinct forms, their different origin. Unless we suppose some such
changes in physical geography to have occurred, the presence of peculiar
species of birds and mammals in such an island as Banca is a hopeless
puzzle; and I think I have shown that the changes required are by no means
so improbable as a mere glance at the map would lead us to suppose.
For our next example let us take the great islands of Sumatra and Java.
These approach so closely together, and the chain of volcanoes that runs
through them gives such an air of unity to the two, that the idea of their
having been recently dissevered is immediately suggested. The natives of
Java, however, go further than this; for they actually have a tradition of the
catastrophe which broke them asunder, and fix its date at not much more
than a thousand years ago. It becomes interesting, therefore, to see what
support is given to this view by the comparison of their animal productions.
The Mammalia have not been collected with sufficient completeness in
both islands to make a general comparison of much value, and so many
species have been obtained only as live specimens in captivity, that their
locality has often been erroneously given, the island in which they were
obtained being substituted for that from which they originally came. Taking
into consideration only those whose distribution is more accurately known,
we learn that Sumatra is, in a zoological sense, more nearly related to
Borneo than it is to Java. The great man-like apes, the elephant, the tapir,
and the Malay bear, are all common to the two former countries, while they
are absent from the latter. Of the three long-tailed monkeys
(Semnopithecus) inhabiting Sumatra, one extends into Borneo, but the two

species of Java are both peculiar to it. So also the great Malay deer (Rusa
equina), and the small Tragulus kanchil, are common to Sumatra and
Borneo, but do not extend into Java, where they are replaced by Tragulas
javanicus. The tiger, it is true, is found in Sumatra and Java, but not in
Borneo. But as this animal is known to swim well, it may have found its
way across the Straits of Sunda, or it may have inhabited Java before it was
separated from the mainland, and from some unknown cause have ceased to
exist in Borneo.
In Ornithology there is a little uncertainty owing to the birds of Java and
Sumatra being much better known than those of Borneo; but the ancient
separation of Java as an island is well exhibited by the large number of its
species which are not found in any of the other islands. It possesses no less
than seven pigeons peculiar to itself, while Sumatra has only one. Of its two
parrots one extends into Borneo, but neither into Sumatra. Of the fifteen
species of woodpeckers inhabiting Sumatra only four reach Java, while
eight of them are found in Borneo and twelve in the Malay peninsula. The
two Trogons found in Java are peculiar to it, while of those inhabiting
Sumatra at least two extend to Malacca and one to Borneo. There are a very
large number of birds, such as the great Argus pheasant, the fire-backed and
ocellated pheasants, the crested partridge (Rollulus coronatus), the small
Malacca parrot (Psittinus incertus), the great helmeted hornbill
(Buceroturus galeatus), the pheasant ground-cuckoo (Carpococcyx
radiatus), the rose-crested bee-eater (Nyctiornis amicta), the great gaper
(Corydon sumatranus), and the green-crested gaper (Calyptomena viridis),
and many others, which are common to Malacca, Sumatra, and Borneo, but
are entirely absent from Java. On the other hand we have the peacock, the
green jungle cock, two blue ground thrushes (Arrenga cyanea and
Myophonus flavirostris), the fine pink-headed dove (Ptilonopus
porphyreus), three broad-tailed ground pigeons (Macropygia), and many
other interesting birds, which are found nowhere in the Archipelago out of
Java.
Insects furnish us with similar facts wherever sufficient data are to be
had, but owing to the abundant collections that have been made in Java, an
unfair preponderance may be given to that island. This does not, however,
seem to be the case with the true Papilionidae or swallow-tailed butterflies,
whose large size and gorgeous colouring has led to their being collected
more frequently than other insects. Twenty-seven species are known from

Java, twenty-nine from Borneo, and only twenty-one from Sumatra. Four
are entirely confined to Java, while only two are peculiar to Borneo and one
to Sumatra. The isolation of Java will, however, be best shown by grouping
the islands in pairs, and indicating the number of species common to each
pair. Thus:—

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

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

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

Making some allowance for our imperfect knowledge of the Sumatran
species, we see that Java is more isolated from the two larger islands than
they are from each other, thus entirely confirming the results given by the
distribution of birds and Mammalia, and rendering it almost certain that the
last-named island was the first to be completely separated from the Asiatic
continent, and that the native tradition of its having been recently separated
from Sumatra is entirely without foundation.
We are now able to trace out with some probability the course of events.
Beginning at the time when the whole of the Java sea, the Gulf of Siam, and
the Straits of Malacca were dry land, forming with Borneo, Sumatra, and
Java, a vast southern prolongation of the Asiatic continent, the first
movement would be the sinking down of the Java sea, and the Straits of
Sunda, consequent on the activity of the Javanese volcanoes along the
southern extremity of the land, and leading to the complete separation of
that island. As the volcanic belt of Java and Sumatra increased in activity,
more and more of the land was submerged, until first Borneo, and
afterwards Sumatra, became entirely severed. Since the epoch of the first
disturbance, several distinct elevations and depressions may have taken
place, and the islands may have been more than once joined with each other
or with the main land, and again separated. Successive waves of
immigration may thus have modified their animal productions, and led to
those anomalies in distribution which are so difficult to account for by any
single operation of elevation or submergence. The form of Borneo,
consisting of radiating mountain chains with intervening broad alluvial
valleys, suggests the idea that it has once been much more submerged than

it is at present (when it would have somewhat resembled Celebes or Gilolo
in outline), and has been increased to its present dimensions by the filling
up of its gulfs with sedimentary matter, assisted by gradual elevation of the
land. Sumatra has also been evidently much increased in size by the
formation of alluvial plains along its northeastern coasts.
There is one peculiarity in the productions of Java that is very puzzling—
the occurrence of several species or groups characteristic of the Siamese
countries or of India, but which do not occur in Borneo or Sumatra. Among
Mammals the Rhinoceros javanicus is the most striking example, for a
distinct species is found in Borneo and Sumatra, while the Javanese species
occurs in Burma and even in Bengal. Among birds, the small ground-dove,
Geopelia striata, and the curious bronze-coloured magpie, Crypsirhina
varians, are common to Java and Siam; while there are in Java species of
Pteruthius, Arrenga, Myiophonus, Zoothera, Sturnopastor, and Estrelda, the
near allies of which are found in various parts of India, while nothing like
them is known to inhabit Borneo or Sumatra.
Such a curious phenomenon as this can only be understood by supposing
that, subsequent to the separation of Java, Borneo became almost entirely
submerged, and on its re-elevation was for a time connected with the Malay
peninsula and Sumatra, but not with Java or Siam. Any geologist who
knows how strata have been contorted and tilted up, and how elevations and
depressions must often have occurred alternately, not once or twice only,
but scores and even hundreds of times, will have no difficulty in admitting
that such changes as have been here indicated, are not in themselves
improbable. The existence of extensive coal-beds in Borneo and Sumatra,
of such recent origin that the leaves which abound in their shales are
scarcely distinguishable from those of the forests which now cover the
country, proves that such changes of level actually did take place; and it is a
matter of much interest, both to the geologist and to the philosophic
naturalist, to be able to form some conception of the order of those changes,
and to understand how they may have resulted in the actual distribution of
animal life in these countries; a distribution which often presents
phenomena so strange and contradictory, that without taking such changes
into consideration we are unable even to imagine how they could have been
brought about.

CHAPTER X. BALI AND LOMBOCK.
(JUNE, JULY, 1856.)

THE islands of Bali and Lombock, situated at the eastern end of Java, are
particularly interesting. They are the only islands of the whole Archipelago
in which the Hindu religion still maintains itself—and they form the
extreme points of the two great zoological divisions of the Eastern
hemisphere; for although so similar in external appearance and in all
physical features, they differ greatly in their natural productions. It was
after having spent two years in Borneo, Malacca and Singapore, that I made
a somewhat involuntary visit to these islands on my way to Macassar. Had I
been able to obtain a passage direct to that place from Singapore, I should
probably never have gone near them, and should have missed some of the
most important discoveries of my whole expedition the East.
It was on the 13th of June, 1856, after a twenty days' passage from
Singapore in the "Kembang Djepoon" (Rose of Japan), a schooner
belonging to a Chinese merchant, manned by a Javanese crew, and
commanded by an English captain, that we cast anchor in the dangerous
roadstead of Bileling on the north side of the island of Bali. Going on shore
with the captain and the Chinese supercargo, I was at once introduced to a
novel and interesting scene. We went first to the house of the Chinese
Bandar, or chief merchant, where we found a number of natives, well
dressed, and all conspicuously armed with krisses, displaying their large
handles of ivory or gold, or beautifully grained and polished wood.
The Chinamen had given up their national costume and adopted the
Malay dress, and could then hardly be distinguished from the natives of the
island—an indication of the close affinity of the Malayan and Mongolian
races. Under the thick shade of some mango-trees close by the house,
several women-merchants were selling cotton goods; for here the women
trade and work for the benefit of their husbands, a custom which
Mahometan Malays never adopt. Fruit, tea, cakes, and sweetmeats were
brought to us; many questions were asked about our business and the state
of trade in Singapore, and we then took a walk to look at the village. It was

a very dull and dreary place; a collection of narrow lanes bounded by high
mud walls, enclosing bamboo houses, into some of which we entered and
were very kindly received.
During the two days that we remained here, I walked out into the
surrounding country to catch insects, shoot birds, and spy out the nakedness
or fertility of the land. I was both astonished and delighted; for as my visit
to Java was some years later, I had never beheld so beautiful and well
cultivated a district out of Europe. A slightly undulating plain extends from
the seacoast about ten or twelve miles inland, where it is bounded by a wide
range of wooded and cultivated hills. Houses and villages, marked out by
dense clumps of cocoa-nut palms, tamarind and other fruit trees, are dotted
about in every direction; while between them extend luxuriant rice-grounds,
watered by an elaborate system of irrigation that would be the pride of the
best cultivated parts of Europe. The whole surface of the country is divided
into irregular patches, following the undulations of the ground, from many
acres to a few perches in extent, each of which is itself perfectly level, but
stands a few inches or several feet above or below those adjacent to it.
Every one of these patches can be flooded or drained at will by means of a
system of ditches and small channels, into which are diverted the whole of
the streams that descend from the mountains. Every patch now bore crops
in various stages of growth, some almost ready for cutting, and all in the
most flourishing condition and of the most exquisite green tints.
The sides of the lanes and bridle roads were often edged with prickly
Cacti and a leafless Euphorbia, but the country being so highly cultivated
there was not much room for indigenous vegetation, except upon the sea-
beach. We saw plenty of the fine race of domestic cattle descended from the
Bos banteng of Java, driven by half naked boys, or tethered in pasture-
grounds. They are large and handsome animals, of a light brown colour,
with white legs, and a conspicuous oval patch behind of the same colour.
Wild cattle of the same race are said to be still found in the mountains. In so
well-cultivated a country it was not to be expected that I could do much in
natural history, and my ignorance of how important a locality this was for
the elucidation of the geographical distribution of animals, caused me to
neglect obtaining some specimens which I never met with again. One of
these was a weaver bird with a bright yellow head, which built its bottle-
shaped nests by dozens on some trees near the beach. It was the Ploceus
hypoxantha, a native of Java; and here, at the extreme limits of its range

westerly, I shot and preserved specimens of a wagtail-thrush, an oriole, and
some starlings, all species found in Java, and some of them peculiar to that
island. I also obtained some beautiful butterflies, richly marked with black
and orange on a white ground, and which were the most abundant insects in
the country lanes. Among these was a new species, which I have named
Pieris tamar.
Leaving Bileling, a pleasant sail of two days brought us to Ampanam in
the island of Lombock, where I proposed to remain till I could obtain a
passage to Macassar. We enjoyed superb views of the twin volcanoes of
Bali and Lombock, each about eight thousand feet high, which form
magnificent objects at sunrise and sunset, when they rise out of the mists
and clouds that surround their bases, glowing with the rich and changing
tints of these the most charming moments in a tropical day.
The bay or roadstead of Ampanam is extensive, and being at this season
sheltered from the prevalent southeasterly winds, was as smooth as a lake.
The beach of black volcanic sand is very steep, and there is at all times, a
heavy surf upon it, which during spring-tides increases to such an extent
that it is often impossible for boats to land, and many serious accidents have
occurred. Where we lay anchored, about a quarter of a mile from the shore,
not the slightest swell was perceptible, but on approaching nearer
undulations began, which rapidly increased, so as to form rollers which
toppled over onto the beach at regular intervals with a noise like thunder.
Sometimes this surf increases suddenly during perfect calms to as great a
force and fury as when a gale of wind is blowing, beating to pieces all boats
that may not have been hauled sufficiently high upon the beach, and
carrying away uncautious natives. This violent surf is probably in some way
dependent upon the swell of the great southern ocean and the violent
currents that flow through the Straits of Lombock. These are so uncertain
that vessels preparing to anchor in the bay are sometimes suddenly swept
away into the straits, and are not able to get back again for a fortnight.
What seamen call the "ripples" are also very violent in the straits, the sea
appearing to boil and foam and dance like the rapids below a cataract;
vessels are swept about helplessly, and small ones are occasionally
swamped in the finest weather and under the brightest skies.
I felt considerably relieved when all my boxes and myself had passed in
safety through the devouring surf, which the natives look upon with some

pride, saying, that "their sea is always hungry, and eats up everything it can
catch." I was kindly received by Mr. Carter, an Englishman, who is one of
the Bandars or licensed traders of the port, who offered me hospitality and
every assistance during my stay. His house, storehouses, and offices were in
a yard surrounded by a tall bamboo fence, and were entirely constructed of
bamboo with a thatch of grass, the only available building materials. Even
these were now very scarce, owing to the great consumption in rebuilding
the place since the great fire some months before, which in an hour or two
had destroyed every building in the town.
The next day I went to see Mr. S., another merchant to whom I had
brought letters of introduction, and who lived about seven miles off. Mr.
Carter kindly lent me a horse, and I was accompanied by a young Dutch
gentleman residing at Ampanam, who offered to be my guide. We first
passed through the town and suburbs along a straight road bordered by mud
walls and a fine avenue of lofty trees; then through rice-fields, irrigated in
the same manner as I had seen them at Bileling; and afterwards over sandy
pastures near the sea, and occasionally along the beach itself. Mr. S.
received us kindly, and offered me a residence at his house should I think
the neighbourhood favourable for my pursuits. After an early breakfast we
went out to explore, taking guns and insect nets. We reached some low hills
which seemed to offer the most favourable ground, passing over swamps,
sandy flats overgrown with coarse sedges, and through pastures and
cultivated grounds, finding however very little in the way of either birds or
insects. On our way we passed one or two human skeletons, enclosed
within a small bamboo fence, with the clothes, pillow, mat, and betel-box of
the unfortunate individual, who had been either murdered or executed.
Returning to the house, we found a Balinese chief and his followers on a
visit. Those of higher rank sat on chairs, the others squatted on the floor.
The chief very coolly asked for beer and brandy, and helped himself and his
followers, apparently more out of curiosity than anything else as regards the
beer, for it seemed very distasteful to them, while they drank the brandy in
tumblers with much relish.
Returning to Ampanam, I devoted myself for some days to shooting the
birds of the neighbourhood. The fine fig-trees of the avenues, where a
market was held, were tenanted by superb orioles (Oriolus broderpii) of a
rich orange colour, and peculiar to this island and the adjacent ones of
Sumbawa and Flores. All round the town were abundance of the curious

Tropidorhynchus timoriensis, allied to the Friar bird of Australia. They are
here called "Quaich-quaich," from their strange loud voice, which seems to
repeat these words in various and not unmelodious intonations.
Every day boys were to be seen walking along the roads and by the
hedges and ditches, catching dragonflies with birdlime. They carry a slender
stick, with a few twigs at the end well annointed, so that the least touch
captures the insect, whose wings are pulled off before it is consigned to a
small basket. The dragon-flies are so abundant at the time of the rice
flowering that thousands are soon caught in this way. The bodies are fried in
oil with onions and preserved shrimps, or sometimes alone, and are
considered a great delicacy. In Borneo, Celebes, and many other islands, the
larvae of bees and wasps are eaten, either alive as pulled out of the cells, or
fried like the dragonflies. In the Moluccas the grubs of the palm-beetles
(Calandra) are regularly brought to market in bamboos and sold for food;
and many of the great horned Lamellicorn beetles are slightly roasted on the
embers and eaten whenever met with. The superabundance of insect life is
therefore turned to some account by these islanders.
Finding that birds were not very numerous, and hearing much of Labuan
Tring at the southern extremity of the bay, where there was said to be much
uncultivated country and plenty of birds as well as deer and wild pigs, I
determined to go there with my two servants, Ali, the Malay lad from
Borneo, and Manuel, a Portuguese of Malacca accustomed to bird-skinning.
I hired a native boat with outriggers to take us with our small quantity of
luggage, and a day's rowing and tracking along the shore brought us to the
place.
I had a note of introduction to an Amboynese Malay, and obtained the
use of part of his house to live and work in. His name was "Inchi Daud"
(Mr. David), and he was very civil; but his accommodations were limited,
and he could only hire me part of his reception-room. This was the front
part of a bamboo house (reached by a ladder of about six rounds very wide
apart), and having a beautiful view over the bay. However, I soon made
what arrangements were possible, and then set to work. The country around
was pretty and novel to me, consisting of abrupt volcanic hills enclosing flat
valleys or open plains. The hills were covered with a dense scrubby bush of
bamboos and prickly trees and shrubs, the plains were adorned with
hundreds of noble palm-trees, and in many places with a luxuriant shrubby

vegetation. Birds were plentiful and very interesting, and I now saw for the
first time many Australian forms that are quite absent from the islands
westward. Small white cockatoos were abundant, and their loud screams,
conspicuous white colour, and pretty yellow crests, rendered them a very
important feature in the landscape. This is the most westerly point on the
globe where any of the family are to be found. Some small honeysuckers of
the genus Ptilotis, and the strange moundmaker (Megapodius gouldii), are
also here first met with on the traveller's journey eastward. The last
mentioned bird requires a fuller notice.
The Megapodidae are a small family of birds found only in Australia and
the surrounding islands, but extending as far as the Philippines and
Northwest Borneo. They are allied to the gallinaceous birds, but differ from
these and from all others in never sitting upon their eggs, which they bury
in sand, earth, or rubbish, and leave to be hatched by the heat of the sun or
by fermentation. They are all characterised by very large feet and long
curved claws, and most of the species of Megapodius rake and scratch
together all kinds of rubbish, dead leaves, sticks, stones, earth, rotten wood,
etc., until they form a large mound, often six feet high and twelve feet
across, in the middle of which they bury their eggs. The natives can tell by
the condition of these mounds whether they contain eggs or not; and they
rob them whenever they can, as the brick-red eggs (as large as those of a
swan) are considered a great delicacy. A number of birds are said to join in
making these mounds and lay their eggs together, so that sometimes forty or
fifty may be found. The mounds are to be met with here and there in dense
thickets, and are great puzzles to strangers, who cannot understand who can
possibly have heaped together cartloads of rubbish in such out-of-the-way
places; and when they inquire of the natives they are but little wiser, for it
almost always appears to them the wildest romance to be told that it is all
done by birds. The species found in Lombock is about the size of a small
hen, and entirely of dark olive and brown tints. It is a miscellaneous feeder,
devouring fallen fruits, earthworms, snails, and centipedes, but the flesh is
white and well-flavoured when properly cooked.
The large green pigeons were still better eating, and were much more
plentiful. These fine birds, exceeding our largest tame pigeons in size,
abounded on the palm-trees, which now bore huge bunches of fruits—mere
hard globular nuts, about an inch in diameter, and covered with a dry green
skin and a very small portion of pulp. Looking at the pigeon's bill and head,

it would seem impossible that it could swallow such large masses, or that it
could obtain any nourishment from them; yet I often shot these birds with
several palm-fruits in the crop, which generally burst when they fell to the
ground. I obtained here eight species of Kingfishers; among which was a
very beautiful new one, named by Mr. Gould, Halcyon fulgidus. It was
found always in thickets, away from water, and seemed to feed on snails
and insects picked up from the ground after the manner of the great
Laughing Jackass of Australia. The beautiful little violet and orange species
(Ceyx rufidorsa) is found in similar situations, and darts rapidly along like a
flame of fire. Here also I first met with the pretty Australian Bee-eater
(Merops ornatus). This elegant little bird sits on twigs in open places,
gazing eagerly around, and darting off at intervals to seize some insect
which it sees flying near; returning afterwards to the same twig to swallow
it. Its long, sharp, curved bill, the two long narrow feathers in its tail, its
beautiful green plumage varied with rich brown and black and vivid blue on
the throat, render it one of the most graceful and interesting objects a
naturalist can see for the first time.
Of all the birds of Lombock, however, I sought most after the beautiful
ground thrushes (Pitta concinna), and always thought myself lucky if I
obtained one. They were found only in the dry plains densely covered with
thickets, and carpeted at this season with dead leaves. They were so shy that
it was very difficult to get a shot at them, and it was only after a good deal
of practice that I discovered how to do it. The habit of these birds is to hop
about on the ground, picking up insects, and on the least alarm to run into
the densest thicket or take a flight close to the ground. At intervals they
utter a peculiar cry of two notes which when once heard is easily
recognised, and they can also be heard hopping along among the dry leaves.
My practice was, therefore, to walk cautiously along the narrow
pathways with which the country abounded, and on detecting any sign of a
Pitta's vicinity to stand motionless and give a gentle whistle occasionally,
imitating the notes as near as possible. After half an hour's waiting I was
often rewarded by seeing the pretty bird hopping along in the thicket. Then
I would perhaps lose sight of it again, until having my gun raised and ready
for a shot, a second glimpse would enable me to secure my prize, and
admire its soft puffy plumage and lovely colours. The upper part is rich soft
green, the head jet black with a stripe of blue and brown over each eye; at
the base of the tail and on the shoulders are bands of bright silvery blue; the

under side is delicate buff with a stripe of rich crimson, bordered with black
on the belly. Beautiful grass-green doves, little crimson and black flower-
peckers, large black cuckoos, metallic king-crows, golden orioles, and the
fine jungle-cocks—the origin of all our domestic breeds of poultry—were
among the birds that chiefly attracted my attention during our stay at
Labuan Tring.
The most characteristic feature of the jungle was its thorniness. The
shrubs were thorny; the creepers were thorny; the bamboos even were
thorny. Everything grew zigzag and jagged, and in an inextricable tangle, so
that to get through the bush with gun or net or even spectacles, was
generally not to be done, and insect-catching in such localities was out of
the question. It was in such places that the Pittas often lurked, and when
shot it became a matter of some difficulty to secure the bird, and seldom
without a heavy payment of pricks and scratches and torn clothes could the
prize be won. The dry volcanic soil and arid climate seem favourable to the
production of such stunted and thorny vegetation, for the natives assured
me that this was nothing to the thorns and prickles of Sumbawa whose
surface still bears the covering of volcanic ashes thrown out forty years ago
by the terrible eruption of Tomboro.
Among the shrubs and trees that are not prickly the Apocynaceae were
most abundant, their bilobed fruits of varied form and colour and often of
most tempting appearance, hanging everywhere by the waysides as if to
invite to destruction the weary traveller who may be unaware of their
poisonous properties. One in particular with a smooth shining skin of a
golden orange colour rivals in appearance the golden apples of the
Hesperides, and has great attractions for many birds, from the white
cockatoos to the little yellow Zosterops, who feast on the crimson seeds
which are displayed when the fruit bursts open. The great palm called
"Gubbong" by the natives, a species of Corypha, is the most striking feature
of the plains, where it grows by thousands and appears in three different
states—in leaf, in flower and fruit, or dead. It has a lofty cylindrical stem
about a hundred feet high and two to three feet in diameter; the leaves are
large and fan-shaped, and fall off when the tree flowers, which it does only
once in its life in a huge terminal spike, upon which are produced masses of
a smooth round fruit of a green colour and about an inch in diameter. When
these ripen and fall the tree dies, and remains standing a year or two before
it falls. Trees in leaf only are by far the most numerous, then those in flower

and fruit, while dead trees are scattered here and there among them. The
trees in fruit are the resort of the great green fruit pigeons, which have been
already mentioned. Troops of monkeys (Macacus cynomolgus) may often
be seen occupying a tree, showering down the fruit in great profusion,
chattering when disturbed and making an enormous rustling as they
scamper off among the dead palm leaves; while the pigeons have a loud
booming voice more like the roar of a wild beast than the note of a bird.
My collecting operations here were carried on under more than usual
difficulties. One small room had to serve for eating, sleeping and working,
and one for storehouse and dissecting-room; in it were no shelves,
cupboards, chairs or tables; ants swarmed in every part of it, and dogs, cats
and fowls entered it at pleasure. Besides this it was the parlour and
reception-room of my host, and I was obliged to consult his convenience
and that of the numerous guests who visited us. My principal piece of
furniture was a box, which served me as a dining table, a seat while
skinning birds, and as the receptacle of the birds when skinned and dried.
To keep them free from ants we borrowed, with some difficulty, an old
bench, the four legs of which being placed in cocoa-nut shells filled with
water kept us tolerably free from these pests. The box and the bench were,
however, literally the only places where anything could be put away, and
they were generally well occupied by two insect boxes and about a hundred
birds' skins in process of drying. It may therefore be easily conceived that
when anything bulky or out of the common way was collected, the question
"Where is it to be put?" was rather a difficult one to answer. All animal
substances moreover require some time to dry thoroughly, emit a very
disagreeable odour while doing so, and are particularly attractive to ants,
flies, dogs, rats, cats, and other vermin, calling for special cautions and
constant supervision, which under the circumstances above described were
impossible.
My readers may now partially understand why a travelling naturalist of
limited means, like myself, does so much less than is expected or than he
would himself wish to do. It would be interesting to preserve skeletons of
many birds and animals, reptiles and fishes in spirits, skins of the larger
animals, remarkable fruits and woods and the most curious articles of
manufacture and commerce; but it will be seen that under the circumstances
I have just described, it would have been impossible to add these to the
collections which were my own more especial favourites. When travelling

by boat the difficulties are as great or greater, and they are not diminished
when the journey is by land. It was absolutely necessary therefore to limit
my collections to certain groups to which I could devote constant personal
attention, and thus secure from destruction or decay what had been often
obtained by much labour and pains.
While Manuel sat skinning his birds of an afternoon, generally
surrounded by a little crowd of Malays and Sassaks (as the indigenes of
Lombock are termed), he often held forth to them with the air of a teacher,
and was listened to with profound attention. He was very fond of
discoursing on the "special providences" of which he believed he was daily
the subject. "Allah has been merciful today," he would say—for although a
Christian he adopted the Mahometan mode of speech—"and has given us
some very fine birds; we can do nothing without him." Then one of the
Malays would reply, "To be sure, birds are like mankind; they have their
appointed time to die; when that time comes nothing can save them, and if
it has not come you cannot kill them." A murmur of assent follow, until
sentiments and cries of "Butul! Butul!" (Right, right.) Then Manuel would
tell a long story of one of his unsuccessful hunts—how he saw some fine
bird and followed it a long way, and then missed it, and again found it, and
shot two or three times at it, but could never hit it, "Ah!" says an old Malay,
"its time was not come, and so it was impossible for you to kill it." A
doctrine is this which is very consoling to the bad marksman, and which
quite accounts for the facts, but which is yet somehow not altogether
satisfactory.
It is universally believed in Lombock that some men have the power to
turn themselves into crocodiles, which they do for the sake of devouring
their enemies, and many strange tales are told of such transformations. I
was therefore rather surprised one evening to hear the following curious
fact stated, and as it was not contradicted by any of the persons present, I
am inclined to accept it provisionally as a contribution to the Natural
History of the island. A Bornean Malay who had been for many years
resident here said to Manuel, "One thing is strange in this country—the
scarcity of ghosts." "How so?" asked Manuel. "Why, you know," said the
Malay, "that in our countries to the westward, if a man dies or is killed, we
dare not pass near the place at night, for all sorts of noises are heard which
show that ghosts are about. But here there are numbers of men killed, and
their bodies lie unburied in the fields and by the roadside, and yet you can

walk by them at night and never hear or see anything at all, which is not the
case in our country, as you know very well." "Certainly I do," said Manuel;
and so it was settled that ghosts were very scarce, if not altogether unknown
in Lombock. I would observe, however, that as the evidence is purely
negative we should be wanting in scientific caution if we accepted this fact
as sufficiently well established.
One evening I heard Manuel, Ali, and a Malay man whispering earnestly
together outside the door, and could distinguish various allusions to
"krisses," throat-cutting, heads, etc. etc. At length Manuel came in, looking
very solemn and frightened, and said to me in English, "Sir—must take
care,—no safe here;—want cut throat." On further inquiry, I found that the
Malay had been telling them that the Rajah had just sent down an order to
the village, that they were to get a certain number of heads for an offering in
the temples to secure a good crop of rice. Two or three other Malays and
Bugis, as well as the Amboyna man in whose house we lived, confirmed
this account, and declared that it was a regular thing every year, and that it
was necessary to keep a good watch and never go out alone. I laughed at the
whole thing, and tried to persuade them that it was a mere tale, but to no
effect. They were all firmly persuaded that their lives were in danger.
Manuel would not go out shooting alone, and I was obliged to accompany
him every morning, but I soon gave him the slip in the jungle. Ali was
afraid to go and look for firewood without a companion, and would not
even fetch water from the well a few yards behind the house unless armed
with an enormous spear. I was quite sure all the time that no such order had
been sent or received, and that we were in perfect safety. This was well
shown shortly afterwards, when an American sailor ran away from his ship
on the east side of the island, and made his way on foot and unarmed across
to Ampanam, having met with the greatest hospitality on the whole route.
Nowhere would the smallest payment be taken for the food and lodging
which were willingly furbished him. On pointing out this fact to Manuel, he
replied, "He one bad man,—run away from his ship—no one can believe
word he say;" and so I was obliged to leave him in the uncomfortable
persuasion that he might any day have his throat cut.
A circumstance occurred here which appeared to throw some light on the
cause of the tremendous surf at Ampanam. One evening I heard a strange
rumbling noise, and at the same time the house shook slightly. Thinking it
might be thunder, I asked, "What is that?" "It is an earthquake," answered

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

CHAPTER XI. LOMBOCK: MANNERS AND
CUSTOMS OF THE PEOPLE.
HAVING made a very fine and interesting collection of the birds of
Labuan Tring, I took leave of my kind host, Inchi Daud, and returned to
Ampanam to await an opportunity to reach Macassar. As no vessel had
arrived bound for that port, I determined to make an excursion into the
interior of the island, accompanied by Mr. Ross, an Englishman born in the
Keeling Islands, and now employed by the Dutch Government to settle the
affairs of a missionary who had unfortunately become bankrupt here. Mr.
Carter kindly lent me a horse, and Mr. Ross took his native groom.
Our route for some distance lay along a perfectly level country bearing
ample crops of rice. The road was straight and generally bordered with lofty
trees forming a fine avenue. It was at first sandy, afterwards grassy, with
occasional streams and mudholes. At a distance about four miles we
reached Mataram, the capital of the island and the residence of the Rajah. It
is a large village with wide streets bordered by a magnificent avenue of
trees, and low houses concealed behind mud walls. Within this royal city no
native of the lower orders is allowed to ride, and our attendant, a Javanese,
was obliged to dismount and lead his horse while we rode slowly through.
The abodes of the Rajah and of the High Priest are distinguished by pillars
of red brick constructed with much taste; but the palace itself seemed to
differ but little from the ordinary houses of the country. Beyond Mataram
and close to it is Karangassam, the ancient residence of the native or Sassak
Rajahs before the conquest of the island by the Balinese.
Soon after passing Mataram the country began gradually to rise in gentle
undulations, swelling occasionally into low hills towards the two
mountainous tracts in the northern and southern parts of the island. It was
now that I first obtained an adequate idea of one of the most wonderful
systems of cultivation in the world, equalling all that is related of Chinese
industry, and as far as I know surpassing in the labour that has been
bestowed upon it any tract of equal extent in the most civilized countries of
Europe. I rode through this strange garden utterly amazed and hardly able to

realize the fact that in this remote and little known island, from which all
Europeans except a few traders at the port are jealously excluded, many
hundreds of square miles of irregularly undulating country have been so
skillfully terraced and levelled, and so permeated by artificial channels, that
every portion of it can be irrigated and dried at pleasure. According as the
slope of the ground is more or less rapid, each terraced plot consists in some
places of many acres, in others of a few square yards. We saw them in every
state of cultivation; some in stubble, some being ploughed, some with rice-
crops in various stages of growth. Here were luxuriant patches of tobacco;
there, cucumbers, sweet potatoes, yams, beans or Indian-corn varied the
scene. In some places the ditches were dry, in others little streams crossed
our road and were distributed over lands about to be sown or planted. The
banks which bordered every terrace rose regularly in horizontal lines above
each other; sometimes rounding an abrupt knoll and looking like a
fortification, or sweeping around some deep hollow and forming on a
gigantic scale the seats of an amphitheatre. Every brook and rivulet had
been diverted from its bed, and instead of flowing along the lowest ground,
were to be found crossing our road half-way up an ascent, yet bordered by
ancient trees and moss-grown stones so as to have all the appearance of a
natural channel, and bearing testimony to the remote period at which the
work had been done. As we advanced further into the country, the scene
was diversified by abrupt rocky hills, by steep ravines, and by clumps of
bamboos and palm-trees near houses or villages; while in the distance the
fine range of mountains of which Lombock Peak, eight thousand feet high,
is the culminating point, formed a fit background to a view scarcely to be
surpassed either in human interest or picturesque beauty.
Along the first part of our road we passed hundreds of women carrying
rice, fruit, and vegetables to market; and further on, an almost uninterrupted
line of horses laden with rice in bags or in the ear, on their way to the port
of Ampanam. At every few miles along the road, seated under shady trees
or slight sheds, were sellers of sugar-cane, palm-wine, cooked rice, salted
eggs, and fried plantains, with a few other native delicacies. At these stalls a
hearty meal may be made for a penny, but we contented ourselves with
drinking some sweet palm-wine, a most delicious beverage in the heat of
the day. After having travelled about twenty miles we reached a higher and
drier region, where, water being scarce, cultivation was confined to the little
flats bordering the streams. Here the country was as beautiful as before, but

of a different character; consisting of undulating downs of short turf
interspersed with fine clumps of trees and bushes, sometimes the woodland,
sometimes the open ground predominating. We only passed through one
small patch of true forest, where we were shaded by lofty trees, and saw
around us a dark and dense vegetation, highly agreeable after the heat and
glare of the open country.
At length, about an hour after noon, we reached our destination—the
village of Coupang, situated nearly in the centre of the island—and entered
the outer court of a house belonging to one of the chiefs with whom my
friend Mr. Ross had a slight acquaintance. Here we were requested to seat
ourselves under an open shed with a raised floor of bamboo, a place used to
receive visitors and hold audiences. Turning our horses to graze on the
luxuriant grass of the courtyard, we waited until the great man's Malay
interpreter appeared, who inquired our business and informed us that the
Pumbuckle (chief) was at the Rajah's house, but would soon be back. As we
had not yet breakfasted, we begged he would get us something to eat, which
he promised to do as soon as possible. It was however about two hours
before anything appeared, when a small tray was brought containing two
saucers of rice, four small fried fish, and a few vegetables. Having made as
good a breakfast as we could, we strolled about the village, and returning,
amused ourselves by conversation with a number of men and boys who
gathered around us; and by exchanging glances and smiles with a number
of women and girls who peeped at us through half-opened doors and other
crevices. Two little boys named Mousa and Isa (Moses and Jesus) were
great friends with us, and an impudent little rascal called Kachang (a bean)
made us all laugh by his mimicry and antics.
At length, about four o'clock, the Pumbuckle made his appearance, and
we informed him of our desire to stay with him a few days, to shoot birds
and see the country. At this he seemed somewhat disturbed, and asked if we
had brought a letter from the Anak Agong (Son of Heaven) which is the title
of the Rajah of Lombock. This we had not done, thinking it quite
unnecessary; and he then abruptly told us that he must go and speak to his
Rajah, to see if we could stay. Hours passed away, night came, and he did
not return. I began to think we were suspected of some evil designs, for the
Pumbuckle was evidently afraid of getting himself into trouble. He is a
Sassak prince, and, though a supporter of the present Rajah, is related to
some of the heads of a conspiracy which was quelled a few years since.

About five o'clock a pack-horse bearing my guns and clothes arrived,
with my men Ali and Manuel, who had come on foot. The sun set, and it
soon became dark, and we got rather hungry as we sat wearily under the
shed and no one came. Still hour after hour we waited, until about nine
o'clock, the Pumbuckle, the Rajah, some priests, and a number of their
followers arrived and took their seats around us. We shook hands, and for
some minutes there was a dead silence. Then the Rajah asked what we
wanted; to which Mr. Ross replied by endeavouring to make them
understand who we were, and why we had come, and that we had no
sinister intentions whatever; and that we had not brought a letter from the
"Anak Agong," merely because we had thought it quite unnecessary. A long
conversation in the Bali language then took place, and questions were asked
about my guns, and what powder I had, and whether I used shot or bullets;
also what the birds were for, and how I preserved them, and what was done
with them in England. Each of my answers and explanations was followed
by a low and serious conversation which we could not understand, but the
purport of which we could guess. They were evidently quite puzzled, and
did not believe a word we had told them. They then inquired if we were
really English, and not Dutch; and although we strongly asserted our
nationality, they did not seem to believe us.
After about an hour, however, they brought us some supper (which was
the same as the breakfast, but without the fish), and after it some very weak
coffee and pumpkins boiled with sugar. Having discussed this, a second
conference took place; questions were again asked, and the answers again
commented on. Between whiles lighter topics were discussed. My
spectacles (concave glasses) were tried in succession by three or four old
men, who could not make out why they could not see through them, and the
fact no doubt was another item of suspicion against me. My beard, too, was
the subject of some admiration, and many questions were asked about
personal peculiarities which it is not the custom to allude to in European
society. At length, about one in the morning, the whole party rose to depart,
and, after conversing some time at the gate, all went away. We now begged
the interpreter, who with a few boys and men remained about us, to show us
a place to sleep in, at which he seemed very much surprised, saying he
thought we were very well accommodated where we were. It was quite
chilly, and we were very thinly clad and had brought no blankets, but all we
could get after another hour's talk was a native mat and pillow, and a few

old curtains to hang round three sides of the open shed and protect us a little
from the cold breeze. We passed the rest of the night very uncomfortably,
and determined to return in the morning and not submit any longer to such
shabby treatment.
We rose at daybreak, but it was near an hour before the interpreter made
his appearance. We then asked to have some coffee and to see the
Pumbuckle, as we wanted a horse for Ali, who was lame, and wished to bid
him adieu. The man looked puzzled at such unheard-of demands and
vanished into the inner court, locking the door behind him and leaving us
again to our meditations. An hour passed and no one came, so I ordered the
horses to be saddled and the pack-horse to be loaded, and prepared to start.
Just then the interpreter came up on horse back, and looked aghast at our
preparations. "Where is the Pumbuckle?" we asked. "Gone to the Rajah's,"
said he. "We are going," said I. "Oh! pray don't," said he; "wait a little; they
are having a consultation, and some priests are coming to see you, and a
chief is going off to Mataram to ask the permission of the Anak Agong for
you to stay." This settled the matter. More talk, more delay, and another
eight or ten hours' consultation were not to be endured; so we started at
once, the poor interpreter almost weeping at our obstinacy and hurry, and
assuring us "the Pumbuckle would be very sorry, and the Rajah would be
very sorry, and if we would but wait all would be right." I gave Ali my
horse, and started on foot, but he afterwards mounted behind Mr. Ross's
groom, and we got home very well, though rather hot and tired.
At Mataram we called at the house of Gusti Gadioca, one of the princes
of Lombock, who was a friend of Mr. Carter's, and who had promised to
show me the guns made by native workmen. Two guns were exhibited, one
six, the other seven feet long, and of a proportionably large bore. The
barrels were twisted and well finished, though not so finely worked as ours.
The stock was well made, and extended to the end of the barrel. Silver and
gold ornament was inlaid over most of the surface, but the locks were taken
from English muskets. The Gusti assured me, however, that the Rajah had a
man who made locks and also rifled barrels. The workshop where these
guns are made and the tools used were next shown us, and were very
remarkable. An open shed with a couple of small mud forges were the chief
objects visible. The bellows consisted of two bamboo cylinders, with
pistons worked by hand. They move very easily, having a loose stuffing of
feathers thickly set round the piston so as to act as a valve, and produce a

regular blast. Both cylinders communicate with the same nozzle, one piston
rising while the other falls. An oblong piece of iron on the ground was the
anvil, and a small vice was fixed on the projecting root of a tree outside.
These, with a few files and hammers, were literally the only tools with
which an old man makes these fine guns, finishing then himself from the
rough iron and wood.
I was anxious to know how they bored these long barrels, which seemed
perfectly true and are said to shoot admirably; and, on asking the Gusti,
received the enigmatical answer: "We use a basket full of stones." Being
utterly unable to imagine what he could mean, I asked if I could see how
they did it, and one of the dozen little boys around us was sent to fetch the
basket. He soon returned with this most extraordinary boring-machine, the
mode of using which the Gusti then explained to me. It was simply a strong
bamboo basket, through the bottom of which was stuck upright a pole about
three feet long, kept in its place by a few sticks tied across the top with
rattans.
The bottom of the pole has an iron ring, and a hole in which four-
cornered borers of hardened iron can be fitted. The barrel to be bored is
buried upright in the ground, the borer is inserted into it, the top of the stick
or vertical shaft is held by a cross-piece of bamboo with a hole in it, and the
basket is filled with stones to get the required weight. Two boys turn the
bamboo round. The barrels are made in pieces of about eighteen inches
long, which are first bored small, and then welded together upon a straight
iron rod. The whole barrel is then worked with borers of gradually
increasing size, and in three days the boring is finished. The whole matter
was explained in such a straightforward manner that I have no doubt the
process described to me was that actually used; although, when examining
one of the handsome, well-finished, and serviceable guns, it was very hard
to realize the fact that they had been made from first to last with tools
hardly sufficient for an English blacksmith to make a horseshoe.
The day after we returned from our excursion, the Rajah came to
Ampanam to a feast given by Gusti Gadioca, who resides there; and soon
after his arrival we went to have an audience. We found him in a large
courtyard sitting on a mat under a shady tree; and all his followers, to the
number of three or four hundred, squatting on the ground in a large circle
round him. He wore a sarong or Malay petticoat and a green jacket. He was

a man about thirty-five years of age, and of a pleasing countenance, with
some appearance of intellect combined with indecision. We bowed, and
took our seats on the ground near some chiefs we were acquainted with, for
while the Rajah sits no one can stand or sit higher. He first inquired who I
was, and what I was doing in Lombock, and then requested to see some of
my birds. I accordingly sent for one of my boxes of bird-skins and one of
insects, which he examined carefully, and seemed much surprised that they
could be so well preserved. We then had a little conversation about Europe
and the Russian war, in which all natives take an interest. Having heard
much of a country-seat of the Rajah's called Gunong Sari, I took the
opportunity to ask permission to visit it and shoot a few birds there which
he immediately granted. I then thanked him, and we took our leave.
An hour after, his son came to visit Mr. Carter accompanied by about a
hundred followers, who all sat on the ground while he came into the open
shed where Manuel was skinning birds. After some time he went into the
house, had a bed arranged to sleep a little, then drank some wine, and after
an hour or two had dinner brought him from the Gusti's house, which he ate
with eight of the principal priests and princes, he pronounced a blessing
over the rice and commenced eating first, after which the rest fell to. They
rolled up balls of rice in their hands, dipped them in the gravy and
swallowed them rapidly, with little pieces of meat and fowl cooked in a
variety of ways. A boy fanned the young Rajah while eating. He was a
youth of about fifteen, and had already three wives. All wore the kris, or
Malay crooked dagger, on the beauty and value of which they greatly pride
themselves. A companion of the Rajah's had one with a golden handle, in
which were set twenty-eight diamonds and several other jewels. He said it
had cost him £700. The sheaths are of ornamental wood and ivory, often
covered on one side with gold. The blades are beautifully veined with white
metal worked into the iron, and they are kept very carefully. Every man
without exception carries a kris, stuck behind into the large waist-cloth
which all wear, and it is generally the most valuable piece of property he
possesses.
A few days afterwards our long-talked-of excursion to Gunong Sari took
place. Our party was increased by the captain and supercargo of a Hamburg
ship loading with rice for China. We were mounted on a very miscellaneous
lot of Lombock ponies, which we had some difficulty in supplying with the
necessary saddles, etc.; and most of us had to patch up our girths, bridles, or

stirrup-leathers as best we could. We passed through Mataram, where we
were joined by our friend Gusti Gadioca, mounted on a handsome black
horse, and riding as all the natives do, without saddle or stirrups, using only
a handsome saddlecloth and very ornamental bridle.
About three miles further, along pleasant byways, brought us to the place.
We entered through a rather handsome brick gateway supported by hideous
Hindu deities in stone. Within was an enclosure with two square fish-ponds
and some fine trees; then another gateway through which we entered into a
park. On the right was a brick house, built somewhat in the Hindu style, and
placed on a high terrace or platform; on the left a large fish-pond, supplied
by a little rivulet which entered it out of the mouth of a gigantic crocodile
well executed in brick and stone. The edges of the pond were bricked, and
in the centre rose a fantastic and picturesque pavilion ornamented with
grotesque statues. The pond was well stocked with fine fish, which come
every morning to be fed at the sound of a wooden gong which is hung near
for the purpose. On striking it a number of fish immediately came out of the
masses of weed with which the pond abounds, and followed us along the
margin expecting food. At the same time some deer came out of as adjacent
wood, which, from being seldom shot at and regularly fed, are almost tame.
The jungle and woods which surrounded the park appearing to abound in
birds, I went to shoot a few, and was rewarded by getting several specimens
of the fine new kingfisher, Halcyon fulgidus, and the curious and handsome
ground thrush, Zoothera andromeda. The former belies its name by not
frequenting water or feeding on fish. It lives constantly in low damp
thickets picking up ground insects, centipedes, and small mollusca.
Altogether I was much pleased with my visit to this place, and it gave me a
higher opinion than I had before entertained of the taste of these people,
although the style of the buildings and of the sculpture is very much inferior
to those of the magnificent ruins in Java.
I must now say a few words about the character, manners, and customs of
these interesting people.
The aborigines of Lombock are termed Sassaks. They are a Malay race
hardly differing in appearance from the people of Malacca or Borneo. They
are Mahometans and form the bulk of the population. The ruling classes, on
the other hand, are natives of the adjacent island of Bali, and are of the
Brahminical religion. The government is an absolute monarchy, but it seems

to be conducted with more wisdom and moderation than is usual in Malay
countries. The father of the present Rajah conquered the island, and the
people seem now quite reconciled to their new rulers, who do not interfere
with their religion, and probably do not tax them any heavier than did the
native chiefs they have supplanted. The laws now in force in Lombock are
very severe. Theft is punished by death. Mr. Carter informed me that a man
once stole a metal coffee-pot from his house. He was caught, the pot
restored, and the man brought to Mr. Carter to punish as he thought fit. All
the natives recommended Mr. Carter to have him "krissed" on the spot; "for
if you don't," said they, "he will rob you again." Mr. Carter, however, let
him off with a warning, that if he ever came inside his premises again he
would certainly be shot. A few months afterwards the same man stole a
horse from Mr. Carter. The horse was recovered, but the thief was not
caught. It is an established rule, that anyone found in a house after dark,
unless with the owner's knowledge, may be stabbed, his body thrown out
into the street or upon the beach, and no questions will be asked.
The men are exceedingly jealous and very strict with their wives. A
married woman may not accept a cigar or a sirih leaf from a stranger under
pain of death. I was informed that some years ago one of the English traders
had a Balinese woman of good family living with him—the connection
being considered quite honourable by the natives. During some festival this
girl offended against the law by accepting a flower or some such trifle from
another man. This was reported to the Rajah (to some of whose wives the
girl was related), and he immediately sent to the Englishman's house
ordering him to give the woman up as she must be "krissed." In vain he
begged and prayed, and offered to pay any fine the Rajah might impose,
and finally refused to give her up unless he was forced to do so. This the
Rajah did not wish to resort to, as he no doubt thought he was acting as
much for the Englishman's honour as for his own; so he appeared to let the
matter drop. But some time afterwards he sent one of his followers to the
house, who beckoned the girl to the door, and then saying, "The Rajah
sends you this," stabbed her to the heart. More serious infidelity is punished
still more cruelly, the woman and her paramour being tied back to back and
thrown into the sea, where some large crocodiles are always on the watch to
devour the bodies. One such execution took place while I was at Ampanam,
but I took a long walk into the country to be out of the way until it was all

over, thus missing the opportunity of having a horrible narrative to enliven
my somewhat tedious story.
One morning, as we were sitting at breakfast, Mr. Carter's servant
informed us that there was an "Amok" in the village—in other words, that a
man was "running a muck." Orders were immediately given to shut and
fasten the gates of our enclosure; but hearing nothing for some time, we
went out, and found there had been a false alarm, owing to a slave having
run away, declaring he would "amok," because his master wanted to sell
him. A short time before, a man had been killed at a gaming-table because,
having lost half-a-dollar more than he possessed, he was going to "amok."
Another had killed or wounded seventeen people before he could be
destroyed. In their wars a whole regiment of these people will sometimes
agree to "amok," and then rush on with such energetic desperation as to be
very formidable to men not so excited as themselves. Among the ancients
these would have been looked upon as heroes or demigods who sacrificed
themselves for their country. Here it is simply said—they made "amok."
Macassar is the most celebrated place in the East for "running a muck."
There are said to be one or two a month on the average, and five, ten, or
twenty persons are sometimes killed or wounded at one of them. It is the
national, and therefore the honourable, mode of committing suicide among
the natives of Celebes, and is the fashionable way of escaping from their
difficulties. A Roman fell upon his sword, a Japanese rips up his stomach,
and an Englishman blows out his brains with a pistol. The Bugis mode has
many advantages to one suicidically inclined. A man thinks himself
wronged by society—he is in debt and cannot pay—he is taken for a slave
or has gambled away his wife or child into slavery—he sees no way of
recovering what he has lost, and becomes desperate. He will not put up with
such cruel wrongs, but will be revenged on mankind and die like a hero. He
grasps his kris-handle, and the next moment draws out the weapon and
stabs a man to the heart. He runs on, with bloody kris in his hand, stabbing
at everyone he meets. "Amok! Amok!" then resounds through the streets.
Spears, krisses, knives and guns are brought out against him. He rushes
madly forward, kills all he can—men, women, and children—and dies
overwhelmed by numbers amid all the excitement of a battle. And what that
excitement is those who have been in one best know, but all who have ever
given way to violent passions, or even indulged in violent and exciting
exercises, may form a very good idea. It is a delirious intoxication, a

temporary madness that absorbs every thought and every energy. And can
we wonder at the kris-bearing, untaught, brooding Malay preferring such a
death, looked upon as almost honourable to the cold-blooded details of
suicide, if he wishes to escape from overwhelming troubles, or the
merciless clutches of the hangman and the disgrace of a public execution,
when he has taken the law into his own hands and too hastily revenged
himself upon his enemy? In either case he chooses rather to "amok."
The great staples of the trade of Lombock as well as of Bali are rice and
coffee; the former grown on the plains, the latter on the hills. The rice is
exported very largely to other islands of the Archipelago, to Singapore, and
even to China, and there are generally one or more vessels loading in the
port. It is brought into Ampanam on pack-horses, and almost every day a
string of these would come into Mr. Carter's yard. The only money the
natives will take for their rice is Chinese copper cash, twelve hundred of
which go to a dollar. Every morning two large sacks of this money had to be
counted out into convenient sums for payment. From Bali quantities of
dried beef and ox-tongues are exported, and from Lombock a good many
ducks and ponies. The ducks are a peculiar breed, which have very long flat
bodies, and walk erect almost like penguins. They are generally of a pale
reddish ash colour, and are kept in large flocks. They are very cheap and are
largely consumed by the crews of the rice ships, by whom they are called
Baly-soldiers, but are more generally known elsewhere as penguin-ducks.
My Portuguese bird-stuffer Fernandez now insisted on breaking his
agreement and returning to Singapore; partly from homesickness, but more
I believe from the idea that his life was not worth many months' purchase
among such bloodthirsty and uncivilized peoples. It was a considerable loss
to me, as I had paid him full three times the usual wages for three months in
advance, half of which was occupied in the voyage and the rest in a place
where I could have done without him, owing to there being so few insects
that I could devote my own time to shooting and skinning. A few days after
Fernandez had left, a small schooner came in bound for Macassar, to which
place I took a passage. As a fitting conclusion to my sketch of these
interesting islands, I will narrate an anecdote which I heard of the present
Rajah; and which, whether altogether true or not, well illustrates native
character, and will serve as a means of introducing some details of the
manners and customs of the country to which I have not yet alluded.

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

so that he might know the number of his people, and not be cheated out of
more rice than was just and reasonable.
But the difficulty was how to get this census. He could not go himself
into every village and every house, and count all the people; and if he
ordered it to be done by the regular officers they would quickly understand
what it was for, and the census would be sure to agree exactly with the
quantity of rice he got last year. It was evident therefore that to answer his
purpose no one must suspect why the census was taken; and to make sure of
this, no one must know that there was any census taken at all. This was a
very hard problem; and the Rajah thought and thought, as hard as a Malay
Rajah can be expected to think, but could not solve it; and so he was very
unhappy, and did nothing but smoke and chew betel with his favourite wife,
and eat scarcely anything; and even when he went to the cock-fight did not
seem to care whether his best birds won or lost. For several days he
remained in this sad state, and all the court were afraid some evil eye had
bewitched the Rajah; and an unfortunate Irish captain who had come in for
a cargo of rice and who squinted dreadfully, was very nearly being krissed,
but being first brought to the royal presence was graciously ordered to go
on board and remain there while his ship stayed in the port.
One morning however, after about a week's continuance of this
unaccountable melancholy, a welcome change took place, for the Rajah sent
to call together all the chiefs, priests, and princes who were then in
Mataram, his capital city; and when they were all assembled in anxious
expectation, he thus addressed them:
"For many days my heart has been very sick and I knew not why, but
now the trouble is cleared away, for I have had a dream. Last night the spirit
of the 'Gunong Agong'—the great fire mountain—appeared to me, and told
me that I must go up to the top of the mountain. All of you may come with
me to near the top, but then I must go up alone, and the great spirit will
again appear to me and will tell me what is of great importance to me and to
you and to all the people of the island. Now go all of you and make this
known through the island, and let every village furnish men to make clear a
road for us to go through the forest and up the great mountain."
So the news was spread over the whole island that the Rajah must go to
meet the great spirit on the top of the mountain; and every village sent forth
its men, and they cleared away the jungle and made bridges over the

mountain streams and smoothed the rough places for the Rajah's passage.
And when they came to the steep and craggy rocks of the mountain, they
sought out the best paths, sometimes along the bed of a torrent, sometimes
along narrow ledges of the black rocks; in one place cutting down a tall tree
so as to bridge across a chasm, in another constructing ladders to mount the
smooth face of a precipice. The chiefs who superintended the work fixed
upon the length of each day's journey beforehand according to the nature of
the road, and chose pleasant places by the banks of clear streams and in the
neighbourhood of shady trees, where they built sheds and huts of bamboo
well thatched with the leaves of palm-trees, in which the Rajah and his
attendants might eat and sleep at the close of each day.
And when all was ready, the princes and priests and chief men came
again to the Rajah, to tell him what had been done and to ask him when he
would go up the mountain. And he fixed a day, and ordered every man of
rank and authority to accompany him, to do honour to the great spirit who
had bid him undertake the journey, and to show how willingly they obeyed
his commands. And then there was much preparation throughout the whole
island. The best cattle were killed and the meat salted and sun-dried; and
abundance of red peppers and sweet potatoes were gathered; and the tall
pinang-trees were climbed for the spicy betel nut, the sirih-leaf was tied up
in bundles, and every man filled his tobacco pouch and lime box to the
brim, so that he might not want any of the materials for chewing the
refreshing betel during the journey. The stores of provisions were sent on a
day in advance. And on the day before that appointed for starting, all the
chiefs both great and small came to Mataram, the abode of the king, with
their horses and their servants, and the bearers of their sirih boxes, and their
sleeping-mats, and their provisions. And they encamped under the tall
Waringin-trees that border all the roads about Mataram, and with blazing
fires frighted away the ghouls and evil spirits that nightly haunt the gloomy
avenues.
In the morning a great procession was formed to conduct the Rajah to the
mountain. And the royal princes and relations of the Rajah mounted their
black horses whose tails swept the ground; they used no saddle or stirrups,
but sat upon a cloth of gay colours; the bits were of silver and the bridles of
many-coloured cords. The less important people were on small strong
horses of various colours, well suited to a mountain journey; and all (even
the Rajah) were bare-legged to above the knee, wearing only the gay

coloured cotton waist-cloth, a silk or cotton jacket, and a large handkerchief
tastefully folded around the head. Everyone was attended by one or two
servants bearing his sirih and betel boxes, who were also mounted on
ponies; and great numbers more had gone on in advance or waited to bring
up the rear. The men in authority were numbered by hundreds and their
followers by thousands, and all the island wondered what great thing would
come of it.
For the first two days they went along good roads and through many
villages which were swept clean, and where bright cloths were hung out at
the windows; and all the people, when the Rajah came, squatted down upon
the ground in respect, and every man riding got off his horse and squatted
down also, and many joined the procession at every village. At the place
where they stopped for the night, the people had placed stakes along each
side of the roads in front of the houses. These were split crosswise at the
top, and in the cleft were fastened little clay lamps, and between them were
stuck the green leaves of palm-trees, which, dripping with the evening dew,
gleamed prettily with the many twinkling lights. And few went to sleep that
night until the morning hours, for every house held a knot of eager talkers,
and much betel-nut was consumed, and endless were the conjectures what
would come of it.
On the second day they left the last village behind them and entered the
wild country that surrounds the great mountain, and rested in the huts that
had been prepared for them on the banks of a stream of cold and sparkling
water. And the Rajah's hunters, armed with long and heavy guns, went in
search of deer and wild bulls in the surrounding woods, and brought home
the meat of both in the early morning, and sent it on in advance to prepare
the mid-day meal. On the third day they advanced as far as horses could go,
and encamped at the foot of high rocks, among which narrow pathways
only could be found to reach the mountain-top. And on the fourth morning
when the Rajah set out, he was accompanied only by a small party of priests
and princes with their immediate attendants; and they toiled wearily up the
rugged way, and sometimes were carried by their servants, until they passed
up above the great trees, and then among the thorny bushes, and above them
again on to the black and burned rock of the highest part of the mountain.
And when they were near the summit, the Rajah ordered them all to halt,
while he alone went to meet the great spirit on the very peak of the

mountain. So he went on with two boys only who carried his sirih and betel,
and soon reached the top of the mountain among great rocks, on the edge of
the great gulf whence issue forth continually smoke and vapour. And the
Rajah asked for sirih, and told the boys to sit down under a rock and look
down the mountain, and not to move until he returned to them. And as they
were tired, and the sun was warm and pleasant, and the rock sheltered them
from the cold wind, the boys fell asleep. And the Rajah went a little way on
under another rock; and as he was tired, and the sun was warm and
pleasant, and he too fell asleep.
And those who were waiting for the Rajah thought him a long time on
the top of the mountain, and thought the great spirit must have much to say,
or might perhaps want to keep him on the mountain always, or perhaps he
had missed his way in coming down again. And they were debating whether
they should go and search for him, when they saw him coming down with
the two boys. And when he met them he looked very grave, but said
nothing; and then all descended together, and the procession returned as it
had come; and the Rajah went to his palace and the chiefs to their villages,
and the people to their houses, to tell their wives and children all that had
happened, and to wonder yet again what would come of it.
And three days afterwards the Rajah summoned the priests and the
princes and the chief men of Mataram, to hear what the great spirit had told
him on the top of the mountain. And when they were all assembled, and the
betel and sirih had been handed round, he told them what had happened. On
the top of the mountain he had fallen into a trance, and the great spirit had
appeared to him with a face like burnished gold, and had said—"Oh Rajah!
much plague and sickness and fevers are coming upon all the earth, upon
men and upon horses and upon cattle; but as you and your people have
obeyed me and have come up to my great mountain, I will teach you how
you and all the people of Lombock may escape this plague." And all waited
anxiously, to hear how they were to be saved from so fearful a calamity.
And after a short silence the Rajah spoke again and told them, that the great
spirit had commanded that twelve sacred krisses should be made, and that
to make them every village and every district must send a bundle of needles
—a needle for every head in the village. And when any grievous disease
appeared in any village, one of the sacred krisses should be sent there; and
if every house in that village had sent the right number of needles, the

disease would immediately cease; but if the number of needles sent had not
been exact, the kris would have no virtue.
So the princes and chiefs sent to all their villages and communicated the
wonderful news; and all made haste to collect the needles with the greatest
accuracy, for they feared that if but one were wanting, the whole village
would suffer. So one by one the head men of the villages brought in their
bundles of needles; those who were near Mataram came first, and those
who were far off came last; and the Rajah received them with his own
hands and put them away carefully in an inner chamber, in a camphor-wood
chest whose hinges and clasps were of silver; and on every bundle was
marked the name of the village and the district from whence it came, so that
it might be known that all had heard and obeyed the commands of the great
spirit.
And when it was quite certain that every village had sent in its bundle,
the Rajah divided the needles into twelve equal parts, and ordered the best
steelworker in Mataram to bring his forge and his bellows and his hammers
to the palace, and to make the twelve krisses under the Rajah's eye, and in
the sight of all men who chose to see it. And when they were finished, they
were wrapped up in new silk and put away carefully until they might be
wanted.
Now the journey to the mountain was in the time of the east wind when
no rain falls in Lombock. And soon after the krisses were made it was the
time of the rice harvest, and the chiefs of districts and of villages brought
their tax to the Rajah according to the number of heads in their villages.
And to those that wanted but little of the full amount, the Rajah said
nothing; but when those came who brought only half or a fourth part of
what was strictly due, he said to them mildly, "The needles which you sent
from your village were many more than came from such-a-one's village, yet
your tribute is less than his; go back and see who it is that has not paid the
tax." And the next year the produce of the tax increased greatly, for they
feared that the Rajah might justly kill those who a second time kept back
the right tribute. And so the Rajah became very rich, and increased the
number of his soldiers, and gave golden jewels to his wives, and bought
fine black horses from the white-skinned Hollanders, and made great feasts
when his children were born or were married; and none of the Rajahs or

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

CHAPTER XIII. TIMOR.
(COUPANG, 1857-1869. DELLI, 1861.)

THE island of Timor is about three hundred miles long and sixty wide,
and seems to form the termination of the great range of volcanic islands
which begins with Sumatra more than two thousand miles to the west. It
differs however very remarkably from all the other islands of the chain in
not possessing any active volcanoes, with the one exception of Timor Peak
near the centre of the island, which was formerly active, but was blown up
during an eruption in 1638 and has since been quiescent. In no other part of
Timor do there appear to be any recent igneous rocks, so that it can hardly
be classed as a volcanic island. Indeed its position is just outside of the
great volcanic belt, which extends from Flores through Ombay and Wetter
to Banda.
I first visited Timor in 1857, staying a day at Coupang, the chief Dutch
town at the west end of the island; and again in May 1859, when I stayed a
fortnight in the same neighbourhood. In the spring of 1861 I spent four
months at Delli, the capital of the Portuguese possessions in the eastern part
of the island.
The whole neighbourhood of Coupang appears to have been elevated at a
recent epoch, consisting of a rugged surface of coral rock, which rises in a
vertical wall between the beach and the town, whose low, white, red-tiled
houses give it an appearance very similar to other Dutch settlements in the
East. The vegetation is everywhere scanty and scrubby. Plants of the
families Apocynaceae and Euphorbiaceae, abound; but there is nothing that
can be called a forest, and the whole country has a parched and desolate
appearance, contrasting strongly with the lofty forest trees and perennial
verdure of the Moluccas or of Singapore. The most conspicuous feature of
the vegetation was the abundance of fine fan-leaved palms (Borassus
flabelliformis), from the leaves of which are constructed the strong and
durable water-buckets in general use, and which are much superior to those
formed from any other species of palm. From the same tree, palm-wine and
sugar are made, and the common thatch for houses formed of the leaves

lasts six or seven years without removal. Close to the town I noticed the
foundation of a ruined house below high-water mark, indicating recent
subsidence. Earthquakes are not severe here, and are so infrequent and
harmless that the chief houses are built of stone.
The inhabitants of Coupang consist of Malays, Chinese, and Dutch,
besides the natives, so that there are many strange and complicated
mixtures among the population. There is one resident English merchant, and
whalers as well as Australian ships often come here for stores and water.
The native Timorese preponderate, and a very little examination serves to
show that they have nothing in common with Malays, but are much more
closely allied to the true Papuans of the Aru Islands and New Guinea. They
are tall, have pronounced features, large somewhat aquiline noses, and
frizzly hair, and are generally of a dusky brown colour. The way in which
the women talk to each other and to the men, their loud voices and laughter,
and general character of self-assertion, would enable an experienced
observer to decide, even without seeing them, that they were not Malays.
Mr. Arndt, a German and the Government doctor, invited me to stay at
his house while in Coupang, and I gladly accepted his offer, as I only
intended making a short visit. We at first began speaking French, but he got
on so badly that we soon passed insensibly into Malay; and we afterwards
held long discussions on literary, scientific, and philosophical questions in
that semi-barbarous language, whose deficiencies we made up by the free
use of French or Latin words.
After a few walks in the neighbourhood of the town, I found such a
poverty of insects and birds that I determined to go for a few days to the
island of Semao at the western extremity of Timor, where I heard that there
was forest country with birds not found at Coupang. With some difficulty I
obtained a large dugout boat with outriggers, to take me over a distance of
about twenty miles. I found the country pretty well wooded, but covered
with shrubs and thorny bushes rather than forest trees, and everywhere
excessively parched and dried up by the long-continued dry season. I stayed
at the village of Oeassa, remarkable for its soap springs. One of these is in
the middle of the village, bubbling out from a little cone of mud to which
the ground rises all round like a volcano in miniature. The water has a
soapy feel and produces a strong lather when any greasy substance is
washed in it. It contains alkali and iodine, in such quantities as to destroy all

vegetation for some distance around. Close by the village is one of the
finest springs I have ever seen, contained in several rocky basins
communicating by narrow channels. These have been neatly walled where
required and partly levelled, and form fine natural baths. The water is well
tasted and clear as crystal, and the basins are surrounded by a grove of lofty
many-stemmed banyan-trees, which keep them always cool and shady, and
add greatly to the picturesque beauty of the scene.
The village consists of curious little houses very different from any I
have seen elsewhere. They are of an oval figure, and the walls are made of
sticks about four feet high placed close together. From this rises a high
conical roof thatched with grass. The only opening is a door about three feet
high. The people are like the Timorese with frizzly or wavy hair and of a
coppery brown colour. The better class appear to have a mixture of some
superior race which has much improved their features. I saw in Coupang
some chiefs from the island of Savu further west, who presented characters
very distinct from either the Malay or Papuan races. They most resembled
Hindus, having fine well-formed features and straight thin noses with clear
brown complexions. As the Brahminical religion once spread over all Java,
and even now exists in Bali and Lombock, it is not at all improbable that
some natives of India should have reached this island, either by accident or
to escape persecution, and formed a permanent settlement there.
I stayed at Oeassa four days, when, not finding any insects and very few
new birds, I returned to Coupang to await the next mail steamer. On the
way I had a narrow escape of being swamped. The deep coffin-like boat
was filled up with my baggage, and with vegetables, cocoa-nut and other
fruit for Coupang market, and when we had got some way across into a
rather rough sea, we found that a quantity of water was coming in which we
had no means of baling out. This caused us to sink deeper in the water, and
then we shipped seas over our sides, and the rowers, who had before
declared it was nothing, now became alarmed and turned the boat round to
get back to the coast of Semao, which was not far off. By clearing away
some of the baggage a little of the water could be baled out, but hardly so
fast as it came in, and when we neared the coast we found nothing but
vertical walls of rock against which the sea was violently beating. We
coasted along some distance until we found a little cove, into which we ran
the boat, hauled it on shore, and emptying it found a large hole in the
bottom, which had been temporarily stopped up with a plug of cocoa-nut

which had come out. Had we been a quarter of a mile further off before we
discovered the leak, we should certainly have been obliged to throw most of
our baggage overboard, and might easily have lost our lives. After we had
put all straight and secure we again started, and when we were halfway
across got into such a strong current and high cross sea that we were very
nearly being swamped a second time, which made me vow never to trust
myself again in such small and miserable vessels.
The mail steamer did not arrive for a week, and I occupied myself in
getting as many of the birds as I could, and found some which were very
interesting. Among them were five species of pigeons of as many distinct
genera, and most of them peculiar to the island; two parrots—the fine red-
winged broad-tail (Platycercus vulneratus), allied to an Australian species,
and a green species of the genus Geoffroyus. The Tropidorhynchus
timorensis was as ubiquitous and as noisy as I had found it at Lombock; and
the Sphaecothera viridis, a curious green oriole with bare red orbits, was a
great acquisition. There were several pretty finches, warblers, and
flycatchers, and among them I obtained the elegant blue and red Cyornis
hyacinthina; but I cannot recognise among my collections the species
mentioned by Dampier, who seems to have been much struck by the
number of small songbirds in Timor. He says: "One sort of these pretty little
birds my men called the ringing bird, because it had six notes, and always
repeated all his notes twice, one after the other, beginning high and shrill
and ending low. The bird was about the bigness of a lark, having a small,
sharp, black bill and blue wings; the head and breast were of a pale red, and
there was a blue streak about its neck." In Semao, monkeys are abundant.
They are the common hare-lipped monkey (Macacus cynomolgus), which is
found all over the western islands of the Archipelago, and may have been
introduced by natives, who often carry it about captive. There are also some
deer, but it is not quite certain whether they are of the same species as are
found in Java.
I arrived at Delli, the capital of the Portuguese possessions in Timor, on
January 12, 1861, and was kindly received by Captain Hart, an Englishman
and an old resident, who trades in the produce of the country and cultivates
coffee on an estate at the foot of the hills. With him I was introduced to Mr.
Geach, a mining-engineer who had been for two years endeavouring to
discover copper in sufficient quantity to be worth working.

Delli is a most miserable place compared with even the poorest of the
Dutch towns. The houses are all of mud and thatch; the fort is only a mud
enclosure; and the custom-house and church are built of the same mean
materials, with no attempt at decoration or even neatness. The whole aspect
of the place is that of a poor native town, and there is no sign of cultivation
or civilization round about it. His Excellency the Governor's house is the
only one that makes any pretensions to appearance, and that is merely a low
whitewashed cottage or bungalow. Yet there is one thing in which
civilization exhibits itself—officials in black and white European costume,
and officers in gorgeous uniforms abound in a degree quite disproportionate
to the size or appearance of the place.
The town being surrounded for some distance by swamps and mudflats is
very unhealthy, and a single night often gives a fever to newcomers which
not unfrequently proves fatal. To avoid this malaria, Captain Hart always
slept at his plantation, on a slight elevation about two miles from the town,
where Mr. Geach also had a small house, which he kindly invited me to
share. We rode there in the evening; and in the course of two days my
baggage was brought up, and I was able to look about me and see if I could
do any collecting.
For the first few weeks I was very unwell and could not go far from the
house. The country was covered with low spiny shrubs and acacias, except
in a little valley where a stream came down from the hills, where some fine
trees and bushes shaded the water and formed a very pleasant place to
ramble up. There were plenty of birds about, and of a tolerable variety of
species; but very few of them were gaily coloured. Indeed, with one or two
exceptions, the birds of this tropical island were hardly so ornamental as
those of Great Britain. Beetles were so scarce that a collector might fairly
say there were none, as the few obscure or uninteresting species would not
repay him for the search. The only insects at all remarkable or interesting
were the butterflies, which, though comparatively few in species, were
sufficiently abundant, and comprised a large proportion of new or rare sorts.
The banks of the stream formed my best collecting-ground, and I daily
wandered up and down its shady bed, which about a mile up became rocky
and precipitous. Here I obtained the rare and beautiful swallow-tail
butterflies, Papilio aenomaus and P. liris; the males of which are quite
unlike each other, and belong in fact to distinct sections of the genus, while
the females are so much alike that they are undistinguishable on the wing,

and to an uneducated eye equally so in the cabinet. Several other beautiful
butterflies rewarded my search in this place, among which I may especially
mention the Cethosia leschenaultii, whose wings of the deepest purple are
bordered with buff in such a manner as to resemble at first sight our own
Camberwell beauty, although it belongs to a different genus. The most
abundant butterflies were the whites and yellows (Pieridae), several of
which I had already found at Lombock and at Coupang, while others were
new to me.
Early in February we made arrangements to stay for a week at a village
called Baliba, situated about four miles off on the mountains, at an elevation
of 2,000 feet. We took our baggage and a supply of all necessaries on
packhorses; and though the distance by the route we took was not more than
six or seven miles, we were half a day getting there. The roads were mere
tracks, sometimes up steep rocky stairs, sometimes in narrow gullies worn
by the horses' feet, and where it was necessary to tuck up our legs on our
horses' necks to avoid having them crushed. At some of these places the
baggage had to be unloaded, at others it was knocked off. Sometimes the
ascent or descent was so steep that it was easier to walk than to cling to our
ponies' backs; and thus we went up and down over bare hills whose surface
was covered with small pebbles and scattered over with Eucalypti,
reminding me of what I had read of parts of the interior of Australia rather
than of the Malay Archipelago.
The village consisted of three houses only, with low walls raised a few
feet on posts, and very high roofs thatched with grass hanging down to
within two or three feet of the ground. A house which was unfinished and
partly open at the back was given for our use, and in it we rigged up a table,
some benches, and a screen, while an inner enclosed portion served us for a
sleeping apartment. We had a splendid view down upon Delli and the sea
beyond. The country around was undulating and open, except in the
hollows, where there were some patches of forest, which Mr. Geach, who
had been all over the eastern part of Timor, assured me was the most
luxuriant he had yet seen in the island. I was in hopes of finding some
insects here, but was much disappointed, owing perhaps to the dampness of
the climate; for it was not until the sun was pretty high that the mists
cleared away, and by noon we were generally clouded up again, so that
there was seldom more than an hour or two of fitful sunshine. We searched
in every direction for birds and other game, but they were very scarce. On

our way I had shot the fine white-headed pigeon, Ptilonopus cinctus, and
the pretty little lorikeet, Trichoglossus euteles. I got a few more of these at
the blossoms of the Eucalypti, and also the allied species Trichoglossus iris,
and a few other small but interesting birds. The common jungle-cock of
India (Gallus bankiva) was found here, and furnished us with some
excellent meals; but we could get no deer. Potatoes are grown higher up the
mountains in abundance, and are very good. We had a sheep killed every
other day, and ate our mutton with much appetite in the cool climate, which
rendered a fire always agreeable.
Although one-half the European residents in Delli are continually ill from
fever, and the Portuguese have occupied the place for three centuries, no
one has yet built a house on these fine hills, which, if a tolerable road were
made, would be only an hour's ride from the town; and almost equally good
situations might be found on a lower level at half an hour's distance. The
fact that potatoes and wheat of excellent quality are grown in abundance at
from 3,000 to 3,500 feet elevation, shows what the climate and soil are
capable of if properly cultivated. From one to two thousand feet high,
coffee would thrive; and there are hundreds of square miles of country over
which all the varied products which require climates between those of
coffee and wheat would flourish; but no attempt has yet been made to form
a single mile of road, or a single acre of plantation!
There must be something very unusual in the climate of Timor to permit
wheat being grown at so moderate an elevation. The grain is of excellent
quality, the bread made from it being equal to any I have ever tasted, and it
is universally acknowledged to be unsurpassed by any made from imported
European or American flour. The fact that the natives have (quite of their
own accord) taken to cultivating such foreign articles as wheat and
potatoes, which they bring in small quantities on the backs of ponies by the
most horrible mountain tracks, and sell very cheaply at the seaside,
sufficiently indicates what might be done if good roads were made, and if
the people were taught, encouraged, and protected. Sheep also do well on
the mountains; and a breed of hardy ponies in much repute all over the
Archipelago, runs half-wild, so that it appears as if this island, so barren-
looking and devoid of the usual features of tropical vegetation, were yet
especially adapted to supply a variety of products essential to Europeans,
which the other islands will not produce, and which they accordingly
import from the other side of the globe.

On the 24th of February my friend Mr. Geach left Timor, having finally
reported that no minerals worth working were to be found. The Portuguese
were very much annoyed, having made up their minds that copper is
abundant, and still believing it to be so. It appears that from time
immemorial pure native copper has been found at a place on the coast about
thirty miles east of Delli.
The natives say they find it in the bed of a ravine, and many years ago a
captain of a vessel is said to have got some hundreds-weight of it. Now,
however, it is evidently very scarce, as during the two years Mr. Geach
resided in the country, none was found. I was shown one piece several
pounds' weight, having much the appearance of one of the larger Australian
nuggets, but of pure copper instead of gold. The natives and the Portuguese
have very naturally imagined that where these fragments come from there
must be more; and they have a report or tradition, that a mountain at the
head of the ravine is almost pure copper, and of course of immense value.
After much difficulty a company was at length formed to work the
copper mountain, a Portuguese merchant of Singapore supplying most of
the capital. So confident were they of the existence of the copper, that they
thought it would be waste of time and money to have any exploration made
first; and accordingly, sent to England for a mining engineer, who was to
bring out all necessary tools, machinery, laboratory, utensils, a number of
mechanics, and stores of all kinds for two years, in order to commence
work on a copper-mine which he was told was already discovered. On
reaching Singapore a ship was freighted to take the men and stores to
Timor, where they at length arrived after much delay, a long voyage, and
very great expense.
A day was then fixed to "open the mines." Captain Hart accompanied Mr.
Geach as interpreter. The Governor, the Commandante, the Judge, and all
the chief people of the place went in state to the mountain, with Mr. Geach's
assistant and some of the workmen. As they went up the valley Mr. Geach
examined the rocks, but saw no signs of copper. They went on and on, but
still nothing except a few mere traces of very poor ore. At length they stood
on the copper mountain itself. The Governor stopped, the officials formed a
circle, and he then addressed them, saying, that at length the day had
arrived they had all been so long expecting, when the treasures of the soil of
Timor would be brought to light, and much more in very grandiloquent

Portuguese; and concluded by turning to Mr. Geach, and requesting him to
point out the best spot for them to begin work at once, and uncover the
mass of virgin copper. As the ravines and precipices among which they had
passed, and which had been carefully examined, revealed very clearly the
nature and mineral constitution of the country, Mr. Geach simply told them
that there was not a trace of copper there, and that it was perfectly useless to
begin work. The audience were thunderstruck! The Governor could not
believe his ears. At length, when Mr. Geach had repeated his statement, the
Governor told him severely that he was mistaken; that they all knew there
was copper there in abundance, and all they wanted him to tell them, as a
mining-engineer, was how best to get at it; and that at all events he was to
begin work somewhere. This Mr. Geach refused to do, trying to explain that
the ravines had cut far deeper into the hill than he could do in years, and
that he would not throw away money or time on any such useless attempt.
After this speech had been interpreted to him, the Governor saw it was no
use, and without saying a word turned his horse and rode away, leaving my
friends alone on the mountain. They all believed there was some conspiracy
that the Englishman would not find the copper, and that they had been
cruelly betrayed.
Mr. Geach then wrote to the Singapore merchant who was his employer,
and it was arranged that he should send the mechanics home again, and
himself explore the country for minerals. At first the Government threw
obstacles in his way and entirely prevented his moving; but at length he was
allowed to travel about, and for more than a year he and his assistant
explored the eastern part of Timor, crossing it in several places from sea to
sea, and ascending every important valley, without finding any minerals
that would pay the expense of working. Copper ore exists in several places,
but always too poor in quality. The best would pay well if situated in
England; but in the interior of an utterly barren country, with roads to make,
and all skilled labour and materials to import, it would have been a losing
concern. Gold also occurs, but very sparingly and of poor quality. A fine
spring of pure petroleum was discovered far in the interior, where it can
never be available until the country is civilized. The whole affair was a
dreadful disappointment to the Portuguese Government, who had
considered it such a certain thing that they had contracted for the Dutch
mail steamers to stop at Delli and several vessels from Australia were
induced to come with miscellaneous cargoes, for which they expected to

find a ready sale among the population at the newly-opened mines. The
lumps of native copper are still, however, a mystery. Mr. Geach has
examined the country in every direction without being able to trace their
origin; so that it seems probable that they result from the debris of old
copper-bearing strata, and are not really more abundant than gold nuggets
are in Australia or California. A high reward was offered to any native who
should find a piece and show the exact spot where he obtained it, but
without effect.
The mountaineers of Timor are a people of Papuan type, having rather
slender forms, bushy frizzled hair, and the skin of a dusky brown colour.
They have the long nose with overhanging apex which is so characteristic
of the Papuan, and so absolutely unknown among races of Malayan origin.
On the coast there has been much admixture of some of the Malay races,
and perhaps of Hindu, as well as of Portuguese. The general stature there is
lower, the hair wavy instead of frizzled, and the features less prominent.
The houses are built on the ground, while the mountaineers raise theirs on
posts three or four feet high. The common dress is a long cloth, twisted
around the waist and hanging to the knee, as shown in the illustration (page
305), copied from a photograph. Both men carry the national umbrella,
made of an entire fan-shaped palm leaf, carefully stitched at the fold of each
leaflet to prevent splitting. This is opened out, and held sloping over the
head and back during a shower. The small water-bucket is made from an
entire unopened leaf of the same palm, and the covered bamboo probably
contains honey for sale. A curious wallet is generally carried, consisting of a
square of strongly woven cloth, the four corners of which are connected by
cords, and often much ornamented with beads and tassels. Leaning against
the house behind the figure on the right are bamboos, used instead of water
jars.
A prevalent custom is the "pomali," exactly equivalent to the "taboo" of
the Pacific islanders, and equally respected. It is used on the commonest
occasions, and a few palm leaves stuck outside a garden as a sign of the
"pomali" will preserve its produce from thieves as effectually as the
threatening notice of man-traps, spring guns, or a savage dog would do with
us. The dead are placed on a stage, raised six or eight feet above the ground,
sometimes open and sometimes covered with a roof. Here the body remains
until the relatives can afford to make a feast, when it is buried. The
Timorese are generally great thieves, but are not bloodthirsty. They fight

continually among themselves, and take every opportunity of kidnapping
unprotected people of other tribes for slaves; but Europeans may pass
anywhere through the country in safety. Except for a few half-breeds in the
town, there are no native Christians in the island of Timor. The people
retain their independence in a great measure, and both dislike and despise
their would-be rulers, whether Portuguese or Dutch.
The Portuguese government in Timor is a most miserable one. Nobody
seems to care the least about the improvement of the country, and at this
time, after three hundred years of occupation, there has not been a mile of
road made beyond the town, and there is not a solitary European resident
anywhere in the interior. All the Government officials oppress and rob the
natives as much as they can, and yet there is no care taken to render the
town defensible should the Timorese attempt to attack it. So ignorant are the
military officers, that having received a small mortar and some shells, no
one could be found who knew how to use them; and during an insurrection
of the natives (while I was at Delli) the officer who expected to be sent
against the insurgents was instantly taken ill! And they were allowed to get
possession of an important pass within three miles of the town, where they
could defend themselves against ten times the force. The result was that no
provisions were brought down from the hills; a famine was imminent; and
the Governor had to send off to beg for supplies from the Dutch Governor
of Amboyna.
In its present state Timor is more trouble than profit to its Dutch and
Portuguese rulers, and it will continue to be so unless a different system is
pursued. A few good roads into the elevated districts of the interior; a
conciliatory policy and strict justice towards the natives, and the
introduction of a good system of cultivation as in Java and northern
Celebes, might yet make Timor a productive and valuable island. Rice
grows well on the marshy flats, which often fringe the coast, and maize
thrives in all the lowlands, and is the common food of the natives as it was
when Dampier visited the island in 1699. The small quantity of coffee now
grown is of very superior quality, and it might be increased to any extent.
Sheep thrive, and would always be valuable as fresh food for whalers and to
supply the adjacent islands with mutton, if not for their wool; although it is
probable that on the mountains this product might soon be obtained by
judicious breeding. Horses thrive amazingly; and enough wheat might be
grown to supply the whole Archipelago if there were sufficient inducements

to the natives to extend its cultivation, and good roads by which it could be
cheaply transported to the coast.
Under such a system the natives would soon perceive that European
government was advantageous to them. They would begin to save money,
and property being rendered secure they would rapidly acquire new wants
and new tastes, and become large consumers of European goods. This
would be a far surer source of profit to their rulers than imposts and
extortion, and would be at the same time more likely to produce peace and
obedience than the mock-military rule which has hitherto proved most
ineffective. To inaugurate such a system would however require an
immediate outlay of capital, which neither Dutch nor Portuguese seem
inclined to make, and a number of honest and energetic officials, which the
latter nation at least seems unable to produce; so that it is much to be feared
that Timor will for many years to come remain in its present state of chronic
insurrection and misgovernment.
Morality at Delli is at as low an ebb as in the far interior of Brazil, and
crimes are connived at which would entail infamy and criminal prosecution
in Europe. While I was there it was generally asserted and believed in the
place, that two officers had poisoned the husbands of women with whom
they were carrying on intrigues, and with whom they immediately
cohabited on the death of their rivals. Yet no one ever thought for a moment
of showing disapprobation of the crime, or even of considering it a crime at
all, the husbands in question being low half-castes, who of course ought to
make way for the pleasures of their superiors.
Judging from what I saw myself and by the descriptions of Mr. Geach,
the indigenous vegetation of Timor is poor and monotonous. The lower
ranges of the hills are everywhere covered with scrubby Eucalypti, which
only occasionally grow into lofty forest trees. Mingled with these in smaller
quantities are acacias and the fragrant sandalwood, while the higher
mountains, which rise to about six or seven thousand feet, are either
covered with coarse grass or are altogether barren. In the lower grounds are
a variety of weedy bushes, and open waste places are covered everywhere
with a nettle-like wild mint. Here is found the beautiful crown lily, Gloriosa
superba, winding among the bushes, and displaying its magnificent
blossoms in great profusion. A wild vine also occurs, bearing great irregular
bunches of hairy grapes of a coarse but very luscious flavour. In some of the

valleys where the vegetation is richer, thorny shrubs and climbers are so
abundant as to make the thickets quite impenetrable.
The soil seems very poor, consisting chiefly of decomposing clayey
shales; and the bare earth and rock is almost everywhere visible. The
drought of the hot season is so severe that most of the streams dry up in the
plains before they reach the sea; everything becomes burned up, and the
leaves of the larger trees fall as completely as in our winter. On the
mountains from two to four thousand feet elevation there is a much moister
atmosphere, so that potatoes and other European products can be grown all
the year round. Besides ponies, almost the only exports of Timor are
sandalwood and beeswax. The sandalwood (Santalum sp.) is the produce of
a small tree, which grows sparingly in the mountains of Timor and many of
the other islands in the far East. The wood is of a fine yellow colour, and
possesses a well-known delightful fragrance which is wonderfully
permanent. It is brought down to Delli in small logs, and is chiefly exported
to China, where it is largely used to burn in the temples, and in the houses
of the wealthy.
The beeswax is a still more important and valuable product, formed by
the wild bees (Apis dorsata), which build huge honeycombs, suspended in
the open air from the underside of the lofty branches of the highest trees.
These are of a semicircular form, and often three or four feet in diameter. I
once saw the natives take a bees' nest, and a very interesting sight it was. In
the valley where I used to collect insects, I one day saw three or four
Timorese men and boys under a high tree, and, looking up, saw on a very
lofty horizontal branch three large bees' combs. The tree was straight and
smooth-barked and without a branch, until at seventy or eighty feet from the
ground it gave out the limb which the bees had chosen for their home. As
the men were evidently looking after the bees, I waited to watch their
operations. One of them first produced a long piece of wood apparently the
stem of a small tree or creeper, which he had brought with him, and began
splitting it through in several directions, which showed that it was very
tough and stringy. He then wrapped it in palm-leaves, which were secured
by twisting a slender creeper round them. He then fastened his cloth tightly
round his loins, and producing another cloth wrapped it around his head,
neck, and body, and tied it firmly around his neck, leaving his face, arms,
and legs completely bare. Slung to his girdle he carried a long thin coil of
cord; and while he had been making these preparations, one of his

companions had cut a strong creeper or bush-rope eight or ten yards long, to
one end of which the wood-torch was fastened, and lighted at the bottom,
emitting a steady stream of smoke. Just above the torch a chopping-knife
was fastened by a short cord.
The bee-hunter now took hold of the bush-rope just above the torch and
passed the other end around the trunk of the tree, holding one end in each
hand. Jerking it up the tree a little above his head he set his foot against the
trunk, and leaning back began walking up it. It was wonderful to see the
skill with which he took advantage of the slightest irregularities of the bark
or obliquity of the stem to aid his ascent, jerking the stiff creeper a few feet
higher when he had found a firm hold for his bare foot. It almost made me
giddy to look at him as he rapidly got up—thirty, forty, fifty feet above the
ground; and I kept wondering how he could possibly mount the next few
feet of straight smooth trunk. Still, however, he kept on with as much
coolness and apparent certainty as if he were going up a ladder, until he got
within ten or fifteen feet of the bees. Then he stopped a moment, and took
care to swing the torch (which hung just at his feet) a little towards these
dangerous insects, so as to send up the stream of smoke between him and
them. Still going on, in a minute more he brought himself under the limb,
and, in a manner quite unintelligible to me, seeing that both hands were
occupied in supporting himself by the creeper, managed to get upon it.
By this time the bees began to be alarmed, and formed a dense buzzing
swarm just over him, but he brought the torch up closer to him, and coolly
brushed away those that settled on his arms or legs. Then stretching himself
along the limb, he crept towards the nearest comb and swung the torch just
under it. The moment the smoke touched it, its colour changed in a most
curious manner from black to white, the myriads of bees that had covered it
flying off and forming a dense cloud above and around. The man then lay at
full length along the limb, and brushed off the remaining bees with his
hand, and then drawing his knife cut off the comb at one slice close to the
tree, and attaching the thin cord to it, let it down to his companions below.
He was all this time enveloped in a crowd of angry bees, and how he bore
their stings so coolly, and went on with his work at that giddy height so
deliberately, was more than I could understand. The bees were evidently not
stupified by the smoke or driven away far by it, and it was impossible that
the small stream from the torch could protect his whole body when at work.
There were three other combs on the same tree, and all were successively

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

CHAPTER XIV. THE NATURAL HISTORY OF
THE TIMOR GROUP.
IF we look at a map of the Archipelago, nothing seems more unlikely
than that the closely connected chain of islands from Java to Timor should
differ materially in their natural productions. There are, it is true, certain
differences of climate and of physical geography, but these do not
correspond with the division the naturalist is obliged to make. Between the
two ends of the chain there is a great contrast of climate, the west being
exceedingly moist and leaving only a short and irregular dry season, the
east being as dry and parched up, and having but a short wet season. This
change, however, occurs about the middle of Java, the eastern portion of
that island having as strongly marked seasons as Lombock and Timor.
There is also a difference in physical geography; but this occurs at the
eastern termination of the chain where the volcanoes which are the marked
feature of Java, Bali, Lombock, Sumbawa, and Flores, turn northwards
through Gunong Api to Banda, leaving Timor with only one volcanic peak
near its centre, while the main portion of the island consists of old
sedimentary rocks. Neither of these physical differences corresponds with
the remarkable change in natural productions which occurs at the Straits of
Lombock, separating the island of that name from Bali, and which is at
once so large in amount and of so fundamental a character, as to form an
important feature in the zoological geography of our globe.
The Dutch naturalist Zollinger, who resided a long time on the island of
Bali, informs us that its productions completely assimilate with those of
Java, and that he is not aware of a single animal found in it which does not
inhabit the larger island. During the few days which I stayed on the north
coast of Bali on my way to Lombock, I saw several birds highly
characteristic of Javan ornithology. Among these were the yellow-headed
weaver (Ploceus hypoxantha), the black grasshopper thrush (Copsychus
amoenus), the rosy barbet (Megalaema rosea), the Malay oriole (Oriolus
horsfieldi), the Java ground starling (Sturnopastor jalla), and the Javanese
three-toed woodpecker (Chrysonotus tiga). On crossing over to Lombock,
separated from Bali by a strait less than twenty miles wide, I naturally

expected to meet with some of these birds again; but during a stay there of
three months I never saw one of them, but found a totally different set of
species, most of which were utterly unknown not only in Java, but also in
Borneo, Sumatra, and Malacca. For example, among the commonest birds
in Lombock were white cockatoos and three species of Meliphagidae or
honeysuckers, belonging to family groups which are entirely absent from
the western or Indo-Malayan region of the Archipelago. On passing to
Flores and Timor the distinctness from the Javanese productions increases,
and we find that these islands form a natural group, whose birds are related
to those of Java and Australia, but are quite distinct from either. Besides my
own collections in Lombock and Timor, my assistant Mr. Allen made a
good collection in Flores; and these, with a few species obtained by the
Dutch naturalists, enable us to form a very good idea of the natural history
of this group of islands, and to derive therefrom some very interesting
results.
The number of birds known from these islands up to this date is: 63 from
Lombock, 86 from Flores, and 118 from Timor; and from the whole group,
188 species. With the exception of two or three species which appear to
have been derived from the Moluccas, all these birds can be traced, either
directly or by close allies, to Java on the one side or to Australia on the
other; although no less than 82 of them are found nowhere out of this small
group of islands. There is not, however, a single genus peculiar to the
group, or even one which is largely represented in it by peculiar species;
and this is a fact which indicates that the fauna is strictly derivative, and
that its origin does not go back beyond one of the most recent geological
epochs. Of course there are a large number of species (such as most of the
waders, many of the raptorial birds, some of the kingfishers, swallows, and
a few others), which range so widely over a large part of the Archipelago
that it is impossible to trace them as having come from any one part rather
than from another. There are fifty-seven such species in my list, and besides
these there are thirty-five more which, though peculiar to the Timor group,
are yet allied to wide-ranging forms. Deducting these ninety-two species,
we have nearly a hundred birds left whose relations with those of other
countries we will now consider.
If we first take those species which, as far as we yet know, are absolutely
confined to each island, we find, in:

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

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

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

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

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

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

We now see that the total number of birds which seem to have been
derived from Java and Australia is very nearly equal, but there is this
remarkable difference between the two series: that whereas the larger
proportion by far of the Java set are identical with those still inhabiting that
country, an almost equally large proportion of the Australian set are distinct,
though often very closely allied species. It is to be observed also, that these
representative or allied species diminish in number as they recede from
Australia, while they increase in number as they recede from Java. There
are two reasons for this, one being that the islands decrease rapidly in size
from Timor to Lombock, and can therefore support a decreasing number of
species; the other and the more important is, that the distance of Australia
from Timor cuts off the supply of fresh immigrants, and has thus allowed
variation to have full play; while the vicinity of Lombock to Bali and Java
has allowed a continual influx of fresh individuals which, by crossing with
the earlier immigrants, has checked variation.
To simplify our view of the derivative origin of the birds of these islands
let us treat them as a whole, and thus perhaps render more intelligible their
respective relations to Java and Australia.
The Timor group of islands contains:
Javan birds....... 36 Australian birds... 13 Closely allied species.. 11
Closely allied species.. 35 Derived from Java .... 47 Derived from
Australia... 48
We have here a wonderful agreement in the number of birds belonging to
Australian and Javanese groups, but they are divided in exactly a reverse
manner, three-fourths of the Javan birds being identical species and one-
fourth representatives, while only one-fourth of the Australian forms are
identical and three-fourths representatives. This is the most important fact
which we can elicit from a study of the birds of these islands, since it gives
us a very complete clue to much of their past history.
Change of species is a slow process—on that we are all agreed, though
we may differ about how it has taken place. The fact that the Australian
species in these islands have mostly changed, while the Javan species have
almost all remained unchanged, would therefore indicate that the district
was first peopled from Australia. But, for this to have been the case, the
physical conditions must have been very different from what they are now.
Nearly three hundred miles of open sea now separate Australia from Timor,

which island is connected with Java by a chain of broken land divided by
straits which are nowhere more than about twenty miles wide. Evidently
there are now great facilities for the natural productions of Java to spread
over and occupy the whole of these islands, while those of Australia would
find very great difficulty in getting across. To account for the present state
of things, we should naturally suppose that Australia was once much more
closely connected with Timor than it is at present; and that this was the case
is rendered highly probable by the fact of a submarine bank extending along
all the north and west coast of Australia, and at one place approaching
within twenty miles of the coast of Timor. This indicates a recent
subsidence of North Australia, which probably once extended as far as the
edge of this bank, between which and Timor there is an unfathomed depth
of ocean.
I do not think that Timor was ever actually connected with Australia,
because such a large number of very abundant and characteristic groups of
Australian birds are quite absent, and not a single Australian mammal has
entered Timor—which would certainly not have been the case had the lands
been actually united. Such groups as the bower birds (Ptilonorhynchus), the
black and red cockatoos (Calyptorhynchus), the blue wrens (Malurus), the
crowshrikes (Cracticus), the Australian shrikes (Falcunculus and
Colluricincla), and many others, which abound all over Australia, would
certainly have spread into Timor if it had been united to that country, or
even if for any long time it had approached nearer to it than twenty miles.
Neither do any of the most characteristic groups of Australian insects occur
in Timor; so that everything combines to indicate that a strait of the sea has
always separated it from Australia, but that at one period this strait was
reduced to a width of about twenty miles.
But at the time when this narrowing of the sea took place in one
direction, there must have been a greater separation at the other end of the
chain, or we should find more equality in the numbers of identical and
representative species derived from each extremity. It is true that the
widening of the strait at the Australian end by subsidence, would, by putting
a stop to immigration and intercrossing of individuals from the mother
country, have allowed full scope to the causes which have led to the
modification of the species; while the continued stream of immigrants from
Java, would, by continual intercrossing, check such modification. This view
will not, however, explain all the facts; for the character of the fauna of the

Timorese group is indicated as well by the forms which are absent from it
as by those which it contains, and is by this kind of evidence shown to be
much more Australian than Indian. No less than twenty-nine genera, all
more or less abundant in Java, and most of which range over a wide area,
are altogether absent; while of the equally diffused Australian genera only
about fourteen are wanting. This would clearly indicate that there has been,
until recently, a wide separation from Java; and the fact that the islands of
Bali and Lombock are small, and are almost wholly volcanic, and contain a
smaller number of modified forms than the other islands, would point them
out as of comparatively recent origin. A wide arm of the sea probably
occupied their place at the time when Timor was in the closest proximity to
Australia; and as the subterranean fires were slowly piling up the now
fertile islands of Bali and Lombock, the northern shores of Australia would
be sinking beneath the ocean. Some such changes as have been here
indicated, enable us to understand how it happens, that though the birds of
this group are on the whole almost as much Indian as Australian, yet the
species which are peculiar to the group are mostly Australian in character;
and also why such a large number of common Indian forms which extend
through Java to Bali, should not have transmitted a single representative to
the island further east.
The Mammalia of Timor as well as those of the other islands of the group
are exceedingly scanty, with the exception of bats. These last are tolerably
abundant, and no doubt many more remain to be discovered. Out of fifteen
species known from Timor, nine are found also in Java, or the islands west
of it; three are Moluccan species, most of which are also found in Australia,
and the rest are peculiar to Timor.
The land mammals are only seven in number, as follows: 1. The common
monkey, Macacus cynomolgus, which is found in all the Indo-Malayan
islands, and has spread from Java through Bali and Lombock to Timor. This
species is very frequent on the banks of rivers, and may have been
conveyed from island to island on trees carried down by floods. 2.
Paradoxurus fasciatus; a civet cat, very common over a large part of the
Archipelago. 3. Felis megalotis; a tiger cat, said to be peculiar to Timor,
where it exists only in the interior, and is very rare. Its nearest allies are in
Java. 4. Cervus timoriensis; a deer, closely allied to the Javan and Moluccan
species, if distinct. 5. A wild pig, Sus timoriensis; perhaps the same as some
of the Moluccan species. 6. A shrew mouse, Sorex tenuis; supposed to be

peculiar to Timor. 7. An Eastern opossum, Cuscus orientalis; found also in
the Moluccas, if not a distinct species.
The fact that not one of these species is Australian or nearly allied to any
Australian form, is strongly corroborative of the opinion that Timor has
never formed a part of that country; as in that case some kangaroo or other
marsupial animal would almost certainly be found there. It is no doubt very
difficult to account for the presence of some of the few mammals that do
exist in Timor, especially the tiger cat and the deer. We must consider,
however, that during thousands, and perhaps hundreds of thousands of
years, these islands and the seas between them have been subjected to
volcanic action. The land has been raised and has sunk again; the straits
have been narrowed or widened; many of the islands may have been joined
and dissevered again; violent floods have again and again devastated the
mountains and plains, carrying out to sea hundreds of forest trees, as has
often happened during volcanic eruptions in Java; and it does not seem
improbable that once in a thousand, or ten thousand years, there should
have occurred such a favourable combination of circumstances as would
lead to the migration of two or three land animals from one island to
another. This is all that we need ask to account for the very scanty and
fragmentary group of Mammalia which now inhabit the large island of
Timor. The deer may very probably have been introduced by man, for the
Malays often keep tame fawns; and it may not require a thousand, or even
five hundred years, to establish new characters in an animal removed to a
country so different in climate and vegetation as is Timor from the
Moluccas. I have not mentioned horses, which are often thought to be wild
in Timor, because there are no grounds whatever for such a belief. The
Timor ponies have every one an owner, and are quite as much domesticated
animals as the cattle on a South American hacienda.
I have dwelt at some length upon the origin of the Timorese fauna
because it appears to be a most interesting and instructive problem. It is
very seldom that we can trace the animals of a district so clearly as we can
in this case to two definite sources, and still more rarely that they furnish
such decisive evidence of the time, the manner, and the proportions of their
introduction. We have here a group of Oceanic Islands in miniature—
islands which have never formed part of the adjacent lands, although so
closely approaching them; and their productions have the characteristics of
true Oceanic Islands slightly modified. These characteristics are: the

absence all Mammalia except bats; and the occurrence of peculiar species
of birds, insects, and land shells, which, though found nowhere else, are
plainly related to those of the nearest land. Thus, we have an entire absence
of all Australian mammals, and the presence of only a few stragglers from
the west which can be accounted for in the manner already indicated. Bats
are tolerably abundant.
Birds have many peculiar species, with a decided relationship to those of
the two nearest masses of land. The insects have similar relations with the
birds. As an example, four species of the Papilionidae are peculiar to Timor,
three others are also found in Java, and one in Australia. Of the four
peculiar species two are decided modifications of Javanese forms, while the
others seem allied to those of the Moluccas and Celebes. The very few land
shells known are all, curiously enough, allied to or identical with Moluccan
or Celebes forms. The Pieridae (white and yellow butterflies) which wander
more, and from frequenting open grounds, are more liable to be blown out
to sea, seem about equally related to those of Java, Australia, and the
Moluccas.
It has been objected to in Mr. Darwin's theory, of Oceanic Islands having
never been connected with the mainland, that this would imply that their
animal population was a matter of chance; it has been termed the "flotsam
and jetsam theory," and it has been maintained that nature does not work by
the "CHAPTER of accidents." But in the case which I have here described,
we have the most positive evidence that such has been the mode of peopling
the islands. Their productions are of that miscellaneous character which we
should expect from such an origin; and to suppose that they have been
portions of Australia or of Java will introduce perfectly gratuitous
difficulties, and render it quite impossible to explain those curious relations
which the best known group of animals (the birds) have been shown to
exhibit. On the other hand, the depth of the surrounding seas, the form of
the submerged banks, and the volcanic character of most of the islands, all
point to an independent origin.
Before concluding, I must make one remark to avoid misapprehension.
When I say that Timor has never formed part of Australia, I refer only to
recent geological epochs. In Secondary or even Eocene or Miocene times,
Timor and Australia may have been connected; but if so, all record of such
a union has been lost by subsequent submergence, and in accounting for the

present land-inhabitants of any country we have only to consider those
changes which have occurred since its last elevation above the waters.
Since such last elevation, I feel confident that Timor has not formed part of
Australia.

CHAPTER XV. CELEBES.
(MACASSAR, SEPTEMBER TO NOVEMBER, 1856.)

I LEFT Lombock on the 30th of August, and reached Macassar in three
days. It was with great satisfaction that I stepped on a shore which I had
been vainly trying to reach since February, and where I expected to meet
with so much that was new and interesting.
The coast of this part of Celebes is low and flat, lined with trees and
villages so as to conceal the interior, except at occasional openings which
show a wide extent of bare and marshy rice-fields. A few hills of no great
height were visible in the background; but owing to the perpetual haze over
the land at this time of the year, I could nowhere discern the high central
range of the peninsula, or the celebrated peak of Bontyne at its southern
extremity. In the roadstead of Macassar there was a fine 42-gun frigate, the
guardship of the place, as well as a small war steamer and three or four little
cutters used for cruising after the pirates which infest these seas. There were
also a few square-rigged trading-vessels, and twenty or thirty native praus
of various sizes. I brought letters of introduction to a Dutch gentleman, Mr.
Mesman, and also to a Danish shopkeeper, who could both speak English
and who promised to assist me in finding a place to stay, suitable for my
pursuits. In the meantime, I went to a kind of clubhouse, in default of any
hotel in the place.
Macassar was the first Dutch town I had visited, and I found it prettier
and cleaner than any I had yet seen in the East. The Dutch have some
admirable local regulations. All European houses must be kept well white-
washed, and every person must, at four in the afternoon, water the road in
front of his house. The streets are kept clear of refuse, and covered drains
carry away all impurities into large open sewers, into which the tide is
admitted at high-water and allowed to flow out when it has ebbed, carrying
all the sewage with it into the sea. The town consists chiefly of one long
narrow street along the seaside, devoted to business, and principally
occupied by the Dutch and Chinese merchants' offices and warehouses, and
the native shops or bazaars. This extends northwards for more than a mile,

gradually merging into native houses often of a most miserable description,
but made to have a neat appearance by being all built up exactly to the
straight line of the street, and being generally backed by fruit trees. This
street is usually thronged with a native population of Bugis and Macassar
men, who wear cotton trousers about twelve inches long, covering only
from the hip to half-way down the thigh, and the universal Malay sarong, of
gay checked colours, worn around the waist or across the shoulders in a
variety of ways. Parallel to this street run two short ones which form the old
Dutch town, and are enclosed by gates. These consist of private houses, and
at their southern end is the fort, the church, and a road at right angles to the
beach, containing the houses of the Governor and of the principal officials.
Beyond the fort, again along the beach, is another long street of native huts
and many country-houses of the tradesmen and merchants. All around
extend the flat rice-fields, now bare and dry and forbidding, covered with
dusty stubble and weeds. A few months back these were a mass of verdure,
and their barren appearance at this season offered a striking contrast to the
perpetual crops on the same kind of country in Lombock and Bali, where
the seasons are exactly similar, but where an elaborate system of irrigation
produces the effect of a perpetual spring.
The day after my arrival I paid a visit of ceremony to the Governor,
accompanied by my friend the Danish merchant, who spoke excellent
English. His Excellency was very polite, and offered me every facility for
travelling about the country and prosecuting my researches in natural
history. We conversed in French, which all Dutch officials speak very well.
Finding it very inconvenient and expensive to stay in the town, I removed
at the end of a week to a little bamboo house, kindly offered me by Mr.
Mesman. It was situated about two miles away, on a small coffee plantation
and farm, and about a mile beyond Mr. M.'s own country-house. It
consisted of two rooms raised about seven feet above the ground, the lower
part being partly open (and serving excellently to skin birds in) and partly
used as a granary for rice. There was a kitchen and other outhouses, and
several cottages nearby, occupied by men in Mr. M.'s employ.
After being settled a few days in my new house, I found that no
collections could be made without going much further into the country. The
rice-fields for some miles around resembled English stubbles late in
autumn, and were almost as unproductive of bird or insect life. There were

several native villages scattered about, so embosomed in fruit trees that at a
distance they looked like clumps or patches of forest. These were my only
collecting places; but they produced a very limited number of species, and
were soon exhausted. Before I could move to any more promising district it
was necessary to obtain permission from the Rajah of Goa, whose
territories approach to within two miles of the town of Macassar. I therefore
presented myself at the Governor's office and requested a letter to the
Rajah, to claim his protection, and permission to travel in his territories
whenever I might wish to do so. This was immediately granted, and a
special messenger was sent with me to carry the letter.
My friend Mr. Mesman kindly lent me a horse, and accompanied me on
my visit to the Rajah, with whom he was great friends. We found his
Majesty seated out of doors, watching the erection of a new house. He was
naked from the waist up, wearing only the usual short trousers and sarong.
Two chairs were brought out for us, but all the chiefs and other natives were
seated on the ground. The messenger, squatting down at the Rajah's feet,
produced the letter, which was sewn up in a covering of yellow silk. It was
handed to one of the chief officers, who ripped it open and returned it to the
Rajah, who read it, and then showed it to Mr. M., who both speaks and
reads the Macassar language fluently, and who explained fully what I
required. Permission was immediately granted me to go where I liked in the
territories of Goa, but the Rajah desired, that should I wish to stay any time
at a place I would first give him notice, in order that he might send someone
to see that no injury was done me. Some wine was then brought us, and
afterwards some detestable coffee and wretched sweetmeats, for it is a fact
that I have never tasted good coffee where people grow it themselves.
Although this was the height of the dry season, and there was a fine wind
all day, it was by no means a healthy time of year. My boy Ali had hardly
been a day on shore when he was attacked by fever, which put me to great
inconvenience, as at the house where I was staying, nothing could be
obtained but at mealtime. After having cured Ali, and with much difficulty
got another servant to cook for me, I was no sooner settled at my country
abode than the latter was attacked with the same disease; and, having a wife
in the town, left me. Hardly was he gone than I fell ill myself with strong
intermittent fever every other day. In about a week I got over it, by a liberal
use of quinine, when scarcely was I on my legs than Ali again became
worse than ever. Ali's fever attacked him daily, but early in the morning he

was pretty well, and then managed to cook enough for me for the day. In a
week I cured him, and also succeeded in getting another boy who could
cook and shoot, and had no objection to go into the interior. His name was
Baderoon, and as he was unmarried and had been used to a roving life,
having been several voyages to North Australia to catch trepang or "beche
de mer", I was in hopes of being able to keep him. I also got hold of a little
impudent rascal of twelve or fourteen, who could speak some Malay, to
carry my gun or insect-net and make himself generally useful. Ali had by
this time become a pretty good bird-skinner, so that I was fairly supplied
with servants.
I made many excursions into the country, in search of a good station for
collecting birds and insects. Some of the villages a few miles inland are
scattered about in woody ground which has once been virgin forest, but of
which the constituent trees have been for the most part replaced by fruit
trees, and particularly by the large palm, Arenga saccharifera, from which
wine and sugar are made, and which also produces a coarse black fibre used
for cordage. That necessary of life, the bamboo, has also been abundantly
planted. In such places I found a good many birds, among which were the
fine cream-coloured pigeon, Carpophaga luctuosa, and the rare blue-headed
roller, Coracias temmincki, which has a most discordant voice, and
generally goes in pairs, flying from tree to tree, and exhibiting while at rest
that all-in-a-heap appearance and jerking motion of the head and tail which
are so characteristic of the great Fissirostral group to which it belongs.
From this habit alone, the kingfishers, bee-eaters, rollers, trogons, and
South American puff-birds, might be grouped together by a person who had
observed them in a state of nature, but who had never had an opportunity of
examining their form and structure in detail. Thousands of crows, rather
smaller than our rook, keep up a constant cawing in these plantations; the
curious wood-swallows (Artami), which closely resemble swallows in their
habits and flight but differ much in form and structure, twitter from the tree-
tops; while a lyre-tailed drongo-shrike, with brilliant black plumage and
milk-white eyes, continually deceives the naturalist by the variety of its
unmelodious notes.
In the more shady parts butterflies were tolerably abundant; the most
common being species of Euplaea and Danais, which frequent gardens and
shrubberies, and owing to their weak flight are easily captured. A beautiful
pale blue and black butterfly, which flutters along near the ground among

the thickets, and settles occasionally upon flowers, was one of the most
striking; and scarcely less so, was one with a rich orange band on a blackish
ground—these both belong to the Pieridae, the group that contains our
common white butterflies, although differing so much from them in
appearance. Both were quite new to European naturalists. [The former has
been named Eronia tritaea; the latter Tachyris ithonae.] Now and then I
extended my walks some miles further, to the only patch of true forest I
could find, accompanied by my two boys with guns and insect-net. We used
to start early, taking our breakfast with us, and eating it wherever we could
find shade and water. At such times my Macassar boys would put a minute
fragment of rice and meat or fish on a leaf, and lay it on a stone or stump as
an offering to the deity of the spot; for though nominal Mahometans the
Macassar people retain many pagan superstitions, and are but lax in their
religious observances. Pork, it is true, they hold in abhorrence, but will not
refuse wine when offered them, and consume immense quantities of
"sagueir," or palm-wine, which is about as intoxicating as ordinary beer or
cider. When well made it is a very refreshing drink, and we often took a
draught at some of the little sheds dignified by the name of bazaars, which
are scattered about the country wherever there is any traffic.
One day Mr. Mesman told me of a larger piece of forest where he
sometimes went to shoot deer, but he assured me it was much further off,
and that there were no birds. However, I resolved to explore it, and the next
morning at five o'clock we started, carrying our breakfast and some other
provisions with us, and intending to stay the night at a house on the borders
of the wood. To my surprise two hours' hard walking brought us to this
house, where we obtained permission to pass the night. We then walked on,
Ali and Baderoon with a gun each, Baso carrying our provisions and my
insect-box, while I took only my net and collecting-bottle and determined to
devote myself wholly to the insects. Scarcely had I entered the forest when
I found some beautiful little green and gold speckled weevils allied to the
genus Pachyrhynchus, a group which is almost confined to the Philippine
Islands, and is quite unknown in Borneo, Java, or Malacca. The road was
shady and apparently much trodden by horses and cattle, and I quickly
obtained some butterflies I had not before met with. Soon a couple of
reports were heard, and coming up to my boys I found they had shot two
specimens of one of the finest of known cuckoos, Phoenicophaus
callirhynchus. This bird derives its name from its large bill being coloured

of a brilliant yellow, red, and black, in about equal proportions. The tail is
exceedingly long, and of a fine metallic purple, while the plumage of the
body is light coffee brown. It is one of the characteristic birds of the island
of Celebes, to which it is confined.
After sauntering along for a couple of hours we reached a small river, so
deep that horses could only cross it by swimming, so we had to turn back;
but as we were getting hungry, and the water of the almost stagnant river
was too muddy to drink, we went towards a house a few hundred yards off.
In the plantation we saw a small raised hut, which we thought would do
well for us to breakfast in, so I entered, and found inside a young woman
with an infant. She handed me a jug of water, but looked very much
frightened. However, I sat down on the doorstep, and asked for the
provisions. In handing them up, Baderoon saw the infant, and started back
as if he had seen a serpent. It then immediately struck me that this was a hut
in which, as among the Dyaks of Borneo and many other savage tribes, the
women are secluded for some time after the birth of their child, and that we
did very wrong to enter it; so we walked off and asked permission to eat our
breakfast in the family mansion close at hand, which was of course granted.
While I ate, three men, two women, and four children watched every
motion, and never took eyes off me until I had finished.
On our way back in the heat of the day, I had the good fortune to capture
three specimens of a fine Ornithoptera, the largest, the most perfect, and the
most beautiful of butterflies. I trembled with excitement as I took the first
out of my net and found it to be in perfect condition. The ground colour of
this superb insect was a rich shining bronzy black, the lower wings
delicately grained with white, and bordered by a row of large spots of the
most brilliant satiny yellow. The body was marked with shaded spots of
white, yellow, and fiery orange, while the head and thorax were intense
black. On the under-side the lower wings were satiny white, with the
marginal spots half black and half yellow. I gazed upon my prize with
extreme interest, as I at first thought it was quite a new species. It proved
however to be a variety of Ornithoptera remus, one of the rarest and most
remarkable species of this highly esteemed group. I also obtained several
other new and pretty butterflies. When we arrived at our lodging-house,
being particularly anxious about my insect treasures, I suspended the box
from a bamboo on which I could detect no sign of ants, and then began
skinning some of my birds. During my work I often glanced at my precious

box to see that no intruders had arrived, until after a longer spell of work
than usual I looked again, and saw to my horror that a column of small red
ants were descending the string and entering the box. They were already
busy at work at the bodies of my treasures, and another half-hour would
have seen my whole day's collection destroyed. As it was, I had to take
every insect out, clean them thoroughly as well as the box, and then seek a
place of safety for them. As the only effectual one, I begged a plate and a
basin from my host, filled the former with water, and standing the latter in it
placed my box on the top, and then felt secure for the night; a few inches of
clean water or oil being the only barrier these terrible pests are not able to
pass.
On returning home to Mamajam (as my house was called) I had a slight
return of intermittent fever, which kept me some days indoors. As soon as I
was well, I again went to Goa, accompanied by Mr. Mesman, to beg the
Rajah's assistance in getting a small house built for me near the forest. We
found him at a cock-fight in a shed near his palace, which however, he
immediately left to receive us, and walked with us up an inclined plane of
boards which serves for stairs to his house. This was large, well-built, and
lofty, with bamboo floor and glass windows. The greater part of it seemed
to be one large hall divided by the supporting posts. Near a window sat the
Queen, squatting on a rough wooden arm-chair, chewing the everlasting
sirih and betel-nut, while a brass spittoon by her side and a sirih-box in
front were ready to administer to her wants. The Rajah seated himself
opposite to her in a similar chair, and a similar spittoon and sirih-box were
held by a little boy squatting at his side. Two other chairs were brought for
us. Several young women, some the Rajah's daughters, others slaves, were
standing about; a few were working at frames making sarongs, but most of
them were idle.
And here I might (if I followed the example of most travellers) launch
out into a glowing description of the charms of these damsels, the elegant
costumes they wore, and the gold and silver ornaments with which they
were adorned. The jacket or body of purple gauze would figure well in such
a description, allowing the heaving bosom to be seen beneath it, while
"sparkling eyes," and "jetty tresses," and "tiny feet" might be thrown in
profusely. But, alas! regard for truth will not permit me to expatiate too
admiringly on such topics, determined as I am to give as far as I can a true
picture of the people and places I visit. The princesses were, it is true,

sufficiently good-looking, yet neither their persons nor their garments had
that appearance of freshness and cleanliness without which no other charms
can be contemplated with pleasure. Everything had a dingy and faded
appearance, very disagreeable and unroyal to a European eye. The only
thing that excited some degree of admiration was the quiet and dignified
manner of the Rajah and the great respect always paid to him. None can
stand erect in his presence, and when he sits on a chair, all present
(Europeans of course excepted) squat upon the ground. The highest seat is
literally, with these people, the place of honour and the sign of rank. So
unbending are the rules in this respect, that when an English carriage which
the Rajah of Lombock had sent for arrived, it was found impossible to use it
because the driver's seat was the highest, and it had to be kept as a show in
its coach house. On being told the object of my visit, the Rajah at once said
that he would order a house to be emptied for me, which would be much
better than building one, as that would take a good deal of time. Bad coffee
and sweetmeats were given us as before.
Two days afterwards, I called on the Rajah to ask him to send a guide
with me to show me the house I was to occupy. He immediately ordered a
man to be sent for, gave him instructions, and in a few minutes we were on
our way. My conductor could speak no Malay, so we walked on in silence
for an hour, when we turned into a pretty good house and I was asked to sit
down. The head man of the district lived here, and in about half an hour we
started again, and another hour's walk brought us to the village and where I
was to be lodged. We went to the residence of the village chief, who
conversed with my conductor for some time.
Getting tired, I asked to be shown the house that was prepared for me,
but the only reply I could get was, "Wait a little," and the parties went on
talking as before. So I told them I could not wait, as I wanted to see the
house and then to go shooting in the forest. This seemed to puzzle them,
and at length, in answer to questions, very poorly explained by one or two
bystanders who knew a little Malay, it came out that no house was ready,
and no one seemed to have the least idea where to get one. As I did not
want to trouble the Rajah any more, I thought it best to try to frighten them
a little; so I told them that if they did not immediately find me a house as
the Rajah had ordered, I should go back and complain to him, but that if a
house was found me I would pay for the use of it. This had the desired
effect, and one of the head men of the village asked me to go with him and

look for a house. He showed me one or two of the most miserable and
ruinous description, which I at once rejected, saying, "I must have a good
one, and near to the forest." The next he showed me suited very well, so I
told him to see that it was emptied the next day, for that the day after I
should come and occupy it.
On the day mentioned, as I was not quite ready to go, I sent my two
Macassar boys with brooms to sweep out the house thoroughly. They
returned in the evening and told me that when they got there the house was
inhabited, and not a single article removed. However, on hearing they had
come to clean and take possession, the occupants made a move, but with a
good deal of grumbling, which made me feel rather uneasy as to how the
people generally might take my intrusion into their village. The next
morning we took our baggage on three packhorses, and, after a few break-
downs, arrived about noon at our destination.
After getting all my things set straight, and having made a hasty meal, I
determined if possible to make friends with the people. I therefore sent for
the owner of the house and as many of his acquaintances as liked to come,
to have a "bitchara," or talk. When they were all seated, I gave them a little
tobacco all around, and having my boy Baderoon for interpreter, tried to
explain to them why I came there; that I was very sorry to turn them out of
the house, but that the Rajah had ordered it rather than build a new one,
which was what I had asked for, and then placed five silver rupees in the
owner's hand as one month's rent. I then assured them that my being there
would be a benefit to them, as I should buy their eggs and fowls and fruit;
and if their children would bring me shells and insects, of which I showed
them specimens, they also might earn a good many coppers. After all this
had been fully explained to them, with a long talk and discussion between
every sentence, I could see that I had made a favourable impression; and
that very afternoon, as if to test my promise to buy even miserable little
snail-shells, a dozen children came one after another, bringing me a few
specimens each of a small Helix, for which they duly received "coppers,"
and went away amazed but rejoicing.
A few days' exploration made me well acquainted with the surrounding
country. I was a long way from the road in the forest which I had first
visited, and for some distance around my house were old clearings and
cottages. I found a few good butterflies, but beetles were very scarce, and

even rotten timber and newly-felled trees (generally so productive) here
produced scarcely anything. This convinced me that there was not a
sufficient extent of forest in the neighbourhood to make the place worth
staying at long, but it was too late now to think of going further, as in about
a month the wet season would begin; so I resolved to stay here and get what
was to be had. Unfortunately, after a few days I became ill with a low fever
which produced excessive lassitude and disinclination to all exertion. In
vain I endeavoured to shake it off; all I could do was to stroll quietly each
day for an hour about the gardens near, and to the well, where some good
insects were occasionally to be found; and the rest of the day to wait quietly
at home, and receive what beetles and shells my little corps of collectors
brought me daily. I imputed my illness chiefly to the water, which was
procured from shallow wells, around which there was almost always a
stagnant puddle in which the buffaloes wallowed. Close to my house was an
enclosed mudhole where three buffaloes were shut up every night, and the
effluvia from which freely entered through the open bamboo floor. My
Malay boy Ali was affected with the same illness, and as he was my chief
bird-skinner I got on but slowly with my collections.
The occupations and mode of life of the villagers differed but little from
those of all other Malay races. The time of the women was almost wholly
occupied in pounding and cleaning rice for daily use, in bringing home
firewood and water, and in cleaning, dyeing, spinning, and weaving the
native cotton into sarongs. The weaving is done in the simplest kind of
frame stretched on the floor; and is a very slow and tedious process. To
form the checked pattern in common use, each patch of coloured threads
has to be pulled up separately by hand and the shuttle passed between them;
so that about an inch a day is the usual progress in stuff a yard and a half
wide. The men cultivate a little sirih (the pungent pepper leaf used for
chewing with betel-nut) and a few vegetables; and once a year rudely
plough a small patch of ground with their buffaloes and plant rice, which
then requires little attention until harvest time. Now and then they have to
see to the repairs of their houses, and make mats, baskets, or other domestic
utensils, but a large part of their time is passed in idleness.
Not a single person in the village could speak more than a few words of
Malay, and hardly any of the people appeared to have seen a European
before. One most disagreeable result of this was that I excited terror alike in
man and beast. Wherever I went, dogs barked, children screamed, women

ran away, and men stared as though I were some strange and terrible
cannibal or monster. Even the pack-horses on the roads and paths would
start aside when I appeared and rush into the jungle; and as to those horrid,
ugly brutes, the buffaloes, they could never be approached by me; not for
fear of my own but of others' safety. They would first stick out their necks
and stare at me, and then on a nearer view break loose from their halters or
tethers, and rush away helter-skelter as if a demon were after them, without
any regard for what might be in their way. Whenever I met buffaloes
carrying packs along a pathway, or being driven home to the village, I had
to turn aside into the jungle and hide myself until they had passed, to avoid
a catastrophe which would increase the dislike with which I was already
regarded. Everyday about noon the buffaloes were brought into the villa,
and were tethered in the shade around the houses; and then I had to creep
about like a thief by back ways, for no one could tell what mischief they
might do to children and houses were I to walk among them. If I came
suddenly upon a well where women were drawing water or children
bathing, a sudden flight was the certain result; which things occurring day
after day, were very unpleasant to a person who does not like to be disliked,
and who had never been accustomed to be treated as an ogre.
About the middle of November, finding my health no better, and insects,
birds, and shells all very scarce, I determined to return to Mamajam, and
pack up my collections before the heavy rains commenced. The wind had
already begun to blow from the west, and many signs indicated that the
rainy season might set in earlier than usual; and then everything becomes
very damp, and it is almost impossible to dry collections properly. My kind
friend Mr. Mesman again lent me his pack-horses, and with the assistance
of a few men to carry my birds and insects, which I did not like to trust on
horses' backs, we got everything home safe. Few can imagine the luxury it
was to stretch myself on a sofa, and to take my supper comfortably at table
seated in my easy bamboo chair, after having for five weeks taken all my
meals uncomfortably on the floor. Such things are trifles in health, but when
the body is weakened by disease the habits of a lifetime cannot be so easily
set aside.
My house, like all bamboo structures in this country, was a leaning one,
the strong westerly winds of the wet season having set all its posts out of
the perpendicular to such a degree as to make me think it might someday
possibly go over altogether. It is a remarkable thing that the natives of

Celebes have not discovered the use of diagonal struts in strengthening
buildings. I doubt if there is a native house in the country two years old and
at all exposed to the wind, which stands upright; and no wonder, as they
merely consist of posts and joists all placed upright or horizontal, and
fastened rudely together with rattans. They may be seen in every stage of
the process of tumbling down, from the first slight inclination, to such a
dangerous slope that it becomes a notice to quit to the occupiers.
The mechanical geniuses of the country have only discovered two ways
of remedying the evil. One is, after it has commenced, to tie the house to a
post in the ground on the windward side by a rattan or bamboo cable. The
other is a preventive, but how they ever found it out and did not discover
the true way is a mystery. This plan is, to build the house in the usual way,
but instead of having all the principal supports of straight posts, to have two
or three of them chosen as crooked as possible. I had often noticed these
crooked posts in houses, but imputed it to the scarcity of good, straight
timber, until one day I met some men carrying home a post shaped
something like a dog's hind leg, and inquired of my native boy what they
were going to do with such a piece of wood. "To make a post for a house,"
said he. "But why don't they get a straight one, there are plenty here?" said
I. "Oh," replied he, "they prefer some like that in a house, because then it
won't fall," evidently imputing the effect to some occult property of crooked
timber. A little consideration and a diagram will, however, show, that the
effect imputed to the crooked post may be really produced by it. A true
square changes its figure readily into a rhomboid or oblique figure, but
when one or two of the uprights are bent or sloping, and placed so as to
oppose each other, the effect of a strut is produced, though in a rude and
clumsy manner.
Just before I had left Mamajam the people had sown a considerable
quantity of maize, which appears above ground in two or three days, and in
favourable seasons ripens in less than two months. Owing to a week's
premature rains the ground was all flooded when I returned, and the plants
just coming into ear were yellow and dead. Not a grain would be obtained
by the whole village, but luckily it is only a luxury, not a necessity of life.
The rain was the signal for ploughing to begin, in order to sow rice on all
the flat lands between us and the town. The plough used is a rude wooden
instrument with a very short single handle, a tolerably well-shaped coulter,
and the point formed of a piece of hard palm-wood fastened in with

wedges. One or two buffaloes draw it at a very slow pace. The seed is sown
broadcast, and a rude wooden harrow is used to smooth the surface.
By the beginning of December the regular wet season had set in.
Westerly winds and driving rains sometimes continued for days together;
the fields for miles around were under water, and the ducks and buffaloes
enjoyed themselves amazingly. All along the road to Macassar, ploughing
was daily going on in the mud and water, through which the wooden plough
easily makes its way, the ploughman holding the plough-handle with one
hand while a long bamboo in the other serves to guide the buffaloes. These
animals require an immense deal of driving to get them on at all; a
continual shower of exclamations is kept up at them, and "Oh! ah! Gee!
ugh!" are to be heard in various keys and in an uninterrupted succession all
day long. At night we were favoured with a different kind of concert. The
dry ground around my house had become a marsh tenanted by frogs, who
kept up a most incredible noise from dusk to dawn. They were somewhat
musical too, having a deep vibrating note which at times closely resembles
the tuning of two or three bass-viols in an orchestra. In Malacca and Borneo
I had heard no such sounds as these, which indicates that the frogs, like
most of the animals of Celebes, are of species peculiar to it.
My kind friend and landlord, Mr. Mesman, was a good specimen of the
Macassar-born Dutchman. He was about thirty-five years of age, had a large
family, and lived in a spacious house near the town, situated in the midst of
a grove of fruit trees, and surrounded by a perfect labyrinth of offices,
stables, and native cottages occupied by his numerous servants, slaves, or
dependants. He usually rose before the sun, and after a cup of coffee looked
after his servants, horses, and dogs, until seven, when a substantial
breakfast of rice and meat was ready in a cool verandah. Putting on a clean
white linen suit, he then drove to town in his buggy, where he had an office,
with two or three Chinese clerks who looked after his affairs. His business
was that of a coffee and opium merchant. He had a coffee estate at Bontyne,
and a small prau which traded to the Eastern islands near New Guinea, for
mother-of-pearl and tortoiseshell. About one he would return home, have
coffee and cake or fried plantain, first changing his dress for a coloured
cotton shirt and trousers and bare feet, and then take a siesta with a book.
About four, after a cup of tea, he would walk round his premises, and
generally stroll down to Mamajam to pay me a visit, and look after his
farm.

This consisted of a coffee plantation and an orchard of fruit trees, a dozen
horses and a score of cattle, with a small village of Timorese slaves and
Macassar servants. One family looked after the cattle and supplied the
house with milk, bringing me also a large glassful every morning, one of
my greatest luxuries. Others had charge of the horses, which were brought
in every afternoon and fed with cut grass. Others had to cut grass for their
master's horses at Macassar—not a very easy task in the dry season, when
all the country looks like baked mud; or in the rainy season, when miles in
every direction are flooded. How they managed it was a mystery to me, but
they know grass must be had, and they get it. One lame woman had charge
of a flock of ducks. Twice a day she took them out to feed in the marshy
places, let them waddle and gobble for an hour or two, and then drove them
back and shut them up in a small dark shed to digest their meal, whence
they gave forth occasionally a melancholy quack. Every night a watch was
set, principally for the sake of the horses—the people of Goa, only two
miles off, being notorious thieves, and horses offering the easiest and most
valuable spoil. This enabled me to sleep in security, although many people
in Macassar thought I was running a great risk, living alone in such a
solitary place and with such bad neighbours.
My house was surrounded by a kind of straggling hedge of roses,
jessamines, and other flowers, and every morning one of the women
gathered a basketful of the blossoms for Mr. Mesman's family. I generally
took a couple for my own breakfast table, and the supply never failed
during my stay, and I suppose never does. Almost every Sunday Mr. M.
made a shooting excursion with his eldest son, a lad of fifteen, and I
generally accompanied him; for though the Dutch are Protestants, they do
not observe Sunday in the rigid manner practised in England and English
colonies. The Governor of the place has his public reception every Sunday
evening, when card-playing is the regular amusement.
On December 13th I went on board a prau bound for the Aru Islands, a
journey which will be described in the latter part of this work.
On my return, after a seven months' absence, I visited another district to
the north of Macassar, which will form the subject of the next CHAPTER.

CHAPTER XVI. CELEBES.
(MACASSAR, JULY TO NOVEMBER, 1857.)

I REACHED Macassar again on the 11th of July, and established myself
in my old quarters at Mamajam, to sort, arrange, clean, and pack up my Aru
collections. This occupied me a month; and having shipped them off for
Singapore, had my guns repaired, and received a new one from England,
together with a stock of pins, arsenic, and other collecting requisites. I
began to feel eager for work again, and had to consider where I should
spend my time until the end of the year; I had left Macassar seven months
before, a flooded marsh being ploughed up for the rice-sowing. The rains
had continued for five months, yet now all the rice was cut, and dry and
dusty stubble covered the country just as when I had first arrived there.
After much inquiry I determined to visit the district of Maros, about
thirty miles north of Macassar, where Mr. Jacob Mesman, a brother of my
friend, resided, who had kindly offered to find me house-room and give me
assistance should I feel inclined to visit him. I accordingly obtained a pass
from the Resident, and having hired a boat set off one evening for Maros.
My boy Ali was so ill with fever that I was obliged to leave him in the
hospital, under the care of my friend the German doctor, and I had to make
shift with two new servants utterly ignorant of everything. We coasted
along during the night, and at daybreak entered the Maros river, and by
three in the afternoon reached the village. I immediately visited the
Assistant Resident, and applied for ten men to carry my baggage, and a
horse for myself. These were promised to be ready that night, so that I could
start as soon as I liked in the morning. After having taken a cup of tea I took
my leave, and slept in the boat. Some of the men came at night as promised,
but others did not arrive until the next morning. It took some time to divide
my baggage fairly among them, as they all wanted to shirk the heavy boxes,
and would seize hold of some light article and march off with it, until made
to come back and wait until the whole had been fairly apportioned. At
length about eight o'clock all was arranged, and we started for our walk to
Mr. M.'s farm.

The country was at first a uniform plain of burned-up rice-grounds, but at
a few miles' distance precipitous hills appeared, backed by the lofty central
range of the peninsula. Towards these our path lay, and after having gone
six or eight miles the hills began to advance into the plain right and left of
us, and the ground became pierced here and there with blocks and pillars of
limestone rock, while a few abrupt conical hills and peaks rose like islands.
Passing over an elevated tract forming the shoulder of one of the hills, a
picturesque scene lay before us. We looked down into a little valley almost
entirely surrounded by mountains, rising abruptly in huge precipices, and
forming a succession of knolls and peaks and domes of the most varied and
fantastic shapes. In the very centre of the valley was a large bamboo house,
while scattered around were a dozen cottages of the same material.
I was kindly received by Mr. Jacob Mesman in an airy saloon detached
from the house, and entirely built of bamboo and thatched with grass. After
breakfast he took me to his foreman's house, about a hundred yards off, half
of which was given up to me until I should decide where to have a cottage
built for my own use. I soon found that this spot was too much exposed to
the wind and dust, which rendered it very difficult to work with papers or
insects. It was also dreadfully hot in the afternoon, and after a few days I
got a sharp attack of fever, which determined me to move. I accordingly
fixed on a place about a mile off, at the foot of a forest-covered hill, where
in a few days Mr. M. built for me a nice little house, consisting of a good-
sized enclosed verandah or open room, and a small inner sleeping-room,
with a little cookhouse outside. As soon as it was finished I moved into it,
and found the change most agreeable.
The forest which surrounded me was open and free from underwood,
consisting of large trees, widely scattered with a great quantity of palm-
trees (Arenga saccharifera), from which palm wine and sugar are made.
There were also great numbers of a wild Jack-fruit tree (Artocarpus), which
bore abundance of large reticulated fruit, serving as an excellent vegetable.
The ground was as thickly covered with dry leaves as it is in an English
wood in November; the little rocky streams were all dry, and scarcely a
drop of water or even a damp place was anywhere to be seen. About fifty
yards below my house, at the foot of the hill, was a deep hole in a
watercourse where good water was to be had, and where I went daily to
bathe by having buckets of water taken out and pouring it over my body.

My host Mr. M. enjoyed a thoroughly country life, depending almost
entirely on his gun and dogs to supply his table. Wild pigs of large size were
very plentiful and he generally got one or two a week, besides deer
occasionally, and abundance of jungle-fowl, hornbills, and great fruit
pigeons. His buffaloes supplied plenty of milk from which he made his own
butter; he grew his own rice and coffee, and had ducks, fowls, and their
eggs, in profusion. His palm-trees supplied him all the year round with
"sagueir," which takes the place of beer; and the sugar made from them is
an excellent sweetmeat. All the fine tropical vegetables and fruits were
abundant in their season, and his cigars were made from tobacco of his own
raising. He kindly sent me a bamboo of buffalo-milk every morning; it was
as thick as cream, and required diluting with water to keep it fluid during
the day. It mixes very well with tea and coffee, although it has a slight
peculiar flavour, which after a time is not disagreeable. I also got as much
sweet "sagueir" as I liked to drink, and Mr. M. always sent me a piece of
each pig he killed, which with fowls, eggs, and the birds we shot ourselves,
and buffalo beef about once a fortnight, kept my larder sufficiently well
supplied.
Every bit of flatland was cleared and used as rice-fields, and on the lower
slopes of many of the hills tobacco and vegetables were grown. Most of the
slopes are covered with huge blocks of rock, very fatiguing to scramble
over, while a number of the hills are so precipitous as to be quite
inaccessible. These circumstances, combined with the excessive drought,
were very unfavourable for my pursuits. Birds were scarce, and I got but
few new to me. Insects were tolerably plentiful, but unequal. Beetles,
usually so numerous and interesting, were exceedingly scarce, some of the
families being quite absent and others only represented by very minute
species. The Flies and Bees, on the other hand, were abundant, and of these
I daily obtained new and interesting species. The rare and beautiful
Butterflies of Celebes were the chief object of my search, and I found many
species altogether new to me, but they were generally so active and shy as
to render their capture a matter of great difficulty. Almost the only good
place for them was in the dry beds of the streams in the forest, where, at
damp places, muddy pools, or even on the dry rocks, all sorts of insects
could be found. In these rocky forests dwell some of the finest butterflies in
the world. Three species of Ornithoptera, measuring seven or eight inches
across the wings, and beautifully marked with spots or masses of satiny

yellow on a black ground, wheel through the thickets with a strong sailing
flight. About the damp places are swarms of the beautiful blue-banded
Papilios, miletus and telephus, the superb golden green P. macedon, and the
rare little swallow-tail Papilio rhesus, of all of which, though very active, I
succeeded in capturing fine series of specimens.
I have rarely enjoyed myself more than during my residence here. As I
sat taking my coffee at six in the morning, rare birds would often be seen on
some tree close by, when I would hastily sally out in my slippers, and
perhaps secure a prize I had been seeking after for weeks. The great
hornbills of Celebes (Buceros cassidix) would often come with loud-
flapping wings, and perch upon a lofty tree just in front of me; and the
black baboon-monkeys, Cynopithecus nigrescens, often stared down in
astonishment at such an intrusion into their domains while at night herds of
wild pigs roamed about the house, devouring refuse, and obliging us to put
away everything eatable or breakable from our little cooking-house. A few
minutes' search on the fallen trees around my house at sunrise and sunset,
would often produce me more beetles than I would meet with in a day's
collecting, and odd moments could be made valuable which when living in
villages or at a distance from the forest are inevitably wasted. Where the
sugar-palms were dripping with sap, flies congregated in immense numbers,
and it was by spending half an hour at these when I had the time to spare,
that I obtained the finest and most remarkable collection of this group of
insects that I have ever made.
Then what delightful hours I passed wandering up and down the dry
river-courses, full of water-holes and rocks and fallen trees, and
overshadowed by magnificent vegetation. I soon got to know every hole
and rock and stump, and came up to each with cautious step and bated
breath to see what treasures it would produce. At one place I would find a
little crowd of the rare butterfly Tachyris zarinda, which would rise up at
my approach, and display their vivid orange and cinnabar-red wings, while
among them would flutter a few of the fine blue-banded Papilios. Where
leafy branches hung over the gully, I might expect to find a grand
Ornithoptera at rest and an easy prey. At certain rotten trunks I was sure to
get the curious little tiger beetle, Therates flavilabris. In the denser thickets I
would capture the small metal-blue butterflies (Amblypodia) sitting on the
leaves, as well as some rare and beautiful leaf-beetles of the families
Hispidae and Chrysomelidae.

I found that the rotten jack-fruits were very attractive to many beetles,
and used to split them partly open and lay them about in the forest near my
house to rot. A morning's search at these often produced me a score of
species—Staphylinidae, Nitidulidae, Onthophagi, and minute Carabidae,
being the most abundant. Now and then the "sagueir" makers brought me a
fine rosechafer (Sternoplus schaumii) which they found licking up the
sweet sap. Almost the only new birds I met with for some time were a
handsome ground thrush (Pitta celebensis), and a beautiful violet-crowned
dove (Ptilonopus celebensis), both very similar to birds I had recently
obtained at Aru, but of distinct species.
About the latter part of September a heavy shower of rain fell,
admonishing us that we might soon expect wet weather, much to the
advantage of the baked-up country. I therefore determined to pay a visit to
the falls of the Maros river, situated at the point where it issues from the
mountains—a spot often visited by travellers and considered very beautiful.
Mr. M. lent me a horse, and I obtained a guide from a neighbouring village;
and taking one of my men with me, we started at six in the morning, and
after a ride of two hours over the flat rice-fields skirting the mountains
which rose in grand precipices on our left, we reached the river about half-
way between Maros and the falls, and thence had a good bridle-road to our
destination, which we reached in another hour. The hills had closed in
around us as we advanced; and when we reached a ruinous shed which had
been erected for the accommodation of visitors, we found ourselves in a
flat-bottomed valley about a quarter of a mile wide, bounded by precipitous
and often overhanging limestone rocks. So far the ground had been
cultivated, but it now became covered with bushes and large scattered trees.
As soon as my scanty baggage had arrived and was duly deposited in the
shed, I started off alone for the fall, which was about a quarter of a mile
further on. The river is here about twenty yards wide, and issues from a
chasm between two vertical walls of limestone, over a rounded mass of
basaltic rock about forty feet high, forming two curves separated by a slight
ledge. The water spreads beautifully over this surface in a thin sheet of
foam, which curls and eddies in a succession of concentric cones until it
falls into a fine deep pool below. Close to the very edge of the fall a narrow
and very rugged path leads to the river above, and thence continues close
under the precipice along the water's edge, or sometimes in the water, for a
few hundred yards, after which the rocks recede a little, and leave a wooded

bank on one side, along which the path is continued, until in about half a
mile, a second and smaller fall is reached. Here the river seems to issue
from a cavern, the rocks having fallen from above so as to block up the
channel and bar further progress. The fall itself can only be reached by a
path which ascends behind a huge slice of rock which has partly fallen
away from the mountain, leaving a space two or three feet wide, but
disclosing a dark chasm descending into the bowels of the mountain, and
which, having visited several such, I had no great curiosity to explore.
Crossing the stream a little below the upper fall, the path ascends a steep
slope for about five hundred feet, and passing through a gap enters a narrow
valley, shut in by walls of rock absolutely perpendicular and of great height.
Half a mile further this valley turns abruptly to the right, and becomes a
mere rift in the mountain. This extends another half mile, the walls
gradually approaching until they are only two feet apart, and the bottom
rising steeply to a pass which leads probably into another valley, but which
I had no time to explore. Returning to where this rift had begun the main
path turns up to the left in a sort of gully, and reaches a summit over which
a fine natural arch of rock passes at a height of about fifty feet. Thence was
a steep descent through thick jungle with glimpses of precipices and distant
rocky mountains, probably leading into the main river valley again. This
was a most tempting region to explore, but there were several reasons why I
could go no further. I had no guide, and no permission to enter the Bugis
territories, and as the rains might at any time set in, I might be prevented
from returning by the flooding of the river. I therefore devoted myself
during the short time of my visit to obtaining what knowledge I could of the
natural productions of the place.
The narrow chasms produced several fine insects quite new to me, and
one new bird, the curious Phlaegenas tristigmata, a large ground pigeon
with yellow breast and crown, and purple neck. This rugged path is the
highway from Maros to the Bugis country beyond the mountains. During
the rainy season it is quite impassable, the river filling its bed and rushing
between perpendicular cliffs many hundred feet high. Even at the time of
my visit it was most precipitous and fatiguing, yet women and children
came over it daily, and men carrying heavy loads of palm sugar (of very
little value). It was along the path between the lower and the upper falls,
and about the margin of the upper pool, that I found most insects. The large
semi-transparent butterfly, Idea tondana, flew lazily along by dozens, and it

was here that I at length obtained an insect which I had hoped but hardly
expected to meet with—the magnificent Papilio androcles, one of the
largest and rarest known swallow-tailed butterflies. During my four days'
stay at the falls, I was so fortunate as to obtain six good specimens. As this
beautiful creature flies, the long white tails flicker like streamers, and when
settled on the beach it carries them raised upwards, as if to preserve them
from injury. It is scarce even here, as I did not see more than a dozen
specimens in all, and had to follow many of them up and down the river's
bank repeatedly before I succeeded in their capture. When the sun shone
hottest, about noon, the moist beach of the pool below the upper fall
presented a beautiful sight, being dotted with groups of gay butterflies—
orange, yellow, white, blue, and green—which on being disturbed rose into
the air by hundreds, forming clouds of variegated colours.
Such gorges, chasms, and precipices here abound, as I have nowhere seen
in the Archipelago. A sloping surface is scarcely anywhere to be found,
huge walls and rugged masses of rock terminating all the mountains and
enclosing the valleys. In many parts there are vertical or even overhanging
precipices five or six hundred feet high, yet completely clothed with a
tapestry of vegetation. Ferns, Pandanaceae, shrubs, creepers, and even
forest trees, are mingled in an evergreen network, through the interstices of
which appears the white limestone rock or the dark holes and chasms with
which it abounds. These precipices are enabled to sustain such an amount of
vegetation by their peculiar structure. Their surfaces are very irregular,
broken into holes and fissures, with ledges overhanging the mouths of
gloomy caverns; but from each projecting part have descended stalactites,
often forming a wild gothic tracery over the caves and receding hollows,
and affording an admirable support to the roots of the shrubs, trees, and
creepers, which luxuriate in the warm pure atmosphere and the gentle
moisture which constantly exudes from the rocks. In places where the
precipice offers smooth surfaces of solid rock, it remains quite bare, or only
stained with lichens, and dotted with clumps of ferns that grow on the small
ledges and in the minutest crevices.
The reader who is familiar with tropical nature only through the medium
of books and botanical gardens will picture to himself in such a spot many
other natural beauties. He will think that I have unaccountably forgotten to
mention the brilliant flowers, which, in gorgeous masses of crimson, gold or
azure, must spangle these verdant precipices, hang over the cascade, and

adorn the margin of the mountain stream. But what is the reality? In vain
did I gaze over these vast walls of verdure, among the pendant creepers and
bushy shrubs, all around the cascade on the river's bank, or in the deep
caverns and gloomy fissures—not one single spot of bright colour could be
seen, not one single tree or bush or creeper bore a flower sufficiently
conspicuous to form an object in the landscape. In every direction the eye
rested on green foliage and mottled rock. There was infinite variety in the
colour and aspect of the foliage; there was grandeur in the rocky masses and
in the exuberant luxuriance of the vegetation; but there was no brilliancy of
colour, none of those bright flowers and gorgeous masses of blossom so
generally considered to be everywhere present in the tropics. I have here
given an accurate sketch of a luxuriant tropical scene as noted down on the
spot, and its general characteristics as regards colour have been so often
repeated, both in South America and over many thousand miles in the
Eastern tropics, that I am driven to conclude that it represents the general
aspect of nature at the equatorial (that is, the most tropical) parts of the
tropical regions.
How is it then, that the descriptions of travellers generally give a very
different idea? and where, it may be asked, are the glorious flowers that we
know do exist in the tropics? These questions can be easily answered. The
fine tropical flowering-plants cultivated in our hothouses have been culled
from the most varied regions, and therefore give a most erroneous idea of
their abundance in any one region. Many of them are very rare, others
extremely local, while a considerable number inhabit the more arid regions
of Africa and India, in which tropical vegetation does not exhibit itself in its
usual luxuriance. Fine and varied foliage, rather than gay flowers, is more
characteristic of those parts where tropical vegetation attains its highest
development, and in such districts each kind of flower seldom lasts in
perfection more than a few weeks, or sometimes a few days. In every
locality a lengthened residence will show an abundance of magnificent and
gaily-blossomed plants, but they have to be sought for, and are rarely at any
one time or place so abundant as to form a perceptible feature in the
landscape. But it has been the custom of travellers to describe and group
together all the fine plants they have met with during a long journey, and
thus produce the effect of a gay and flower-painted landscape. They have
rarely studied and described individual scenes where vegetation was most
luxuriant and beautiful, and fairly stated what effect was produced in them

by flowers. I have done so frequently, and the result of these examinations
has convinced me that the bright colours of flowers have a much greater
influence on the general aspect of nature in temperate than in tropical
climates. During twelve years spent amid the grandest tropical vegetation, I
have seen nothing comparable to the effect produced on our landscapes by
gorse, broom, heather, wild hyacinths, hawthorn, purple orchises, and
buttercups.
The geological structure of this part of Celebes is interesting. The
limestone mountains, though of great extent, seem to be entirely superficial,
resting on a basis of basalt which in some places forms low rounded hills
between the more precipitous mountains. In the rocky beds of the streams
basalt is almost always found, and it is a step in this rock which forms the
cascade already described. From it the limestone precipices rise abruptly;
and in ascending the little stairway along the side of the fall, you step two
or three times from one rock on to the other—the limestone dry and rough,
being worn by the water and rains into sharp ridges and honeycombed holes
—the basalt moist, even, and worn smooth and slippery by the passage of
bare-footed pedestrians. The solubility of the limestone by rain-water is
well seen in the little blocks and peaks which rise thickly through the soil of
the alluvial plains as you approach the mountains. They are all skittle-
shaped, larger in the middle than at the base, the greatest diameter occurring
at the height to which the country is flooded in the wet season, and thence
decreasing regularly to the ground. Many of them overhang considerably,
and some of the slenderer pillars appear to stand upon a point. When the
rock is less solid it becomes curiously honeycombed by the rains of
successive winters, and I noticed some masses reduced to a complete
network of stone through which light could be seen in every direction.
From these mountains to the sea extends a perfectly flat alluvial plain,
with no indication that water would accumulate at a great depth beneath it,
yet the authorities at Macassar have spent much money in boring a well a
thousand feet deep in hope of getting a supply of water like that obtained by
the Artesian wells in the London and Paris basins. It is not to be wondered
at that the attempt was unsuccessful.
Returning to my forest hut, I continued my daily search after birds and
insects. The weather, however, became dreadfully hot and dry, every drop
of water disappearing from the pools and rock-holes, and with it the insects

which frequented them. Only one group remained unaffected by the intense
drought; the Diptera, or two-winged flies, continued as plentifully as ever,
and on these I was almost compelled to concentrate my attention for a week
or two, by which means I increased my collection of that Order to about
two hundred species. I also continued to obtain a few new birds, among
which were two or three kinds of small hawks and falcons, a beautiful
brush-tongued paroquet, Trichoglossus ornatus, and a rare black and white
crow, Corvus advena.
At length, about the middle of October, after several gloomy days, down
came a deluge of rain which continued to fall almost every afternoon,
showing that the early part of the wet season had commenced. I hoped now
to get a good harvest of insects, and in some respects I was not
disappointed. Beetles became much more numerous, and under a thick bed
of leaves that had accumulated on some rocks by the side of a forest stream,
I found an abundance of Carabidae, a family generally scarce in the tropics.
The butterflies, however, disappeared. Two of my servants were attacked
with fever, dysentery, and swelled feet, just at the time that the third had left
me, and for some days they both lay groaning in the house. When they got a
little better I was attacked myself, and as my stores were nearly finished
and everything was getting very damp, I was obliged to prepare for my
return to Macassar, especially as the strong westerly winds would render the
passage in a small open boat disagreeable, if not dangerous.
Since the rains began, numbers of huge millipedes, as thick as one's
finger and eight or ten inches long, crawled about everywhere—in the
paths, on trees, about the house—and one morning when I got up I even
found one in my bed! They were generally of a dull lead colour or of a deep
brick red, and were very nasty-looking things to be coming everywhere in
one's way, although quite harmless. Snakes too began to show themselves. I
killed two of a very abundant species—big-headed, and of a bright green
colour, which lie coiled up on leaves and shrubs and can scarcely be seen
until one is close upon them. Brown snakes got into my net while beating
among dead leaves for insects, and made me rather cautious about inserting
my hand until I knew what kind of game I had captured. The fields and
meadows which had been parched and sterile, now became suddenly
covered with fine long grass; the river-bed where I had so many times
walked over burning rocks, was now a deep and rapid stream; and numbers
of herbaceous plants and shrubs were everywhere springing up and bursting

into flower. I found plenty of new insects, and if I had had a good, roomy,
water-and-wind-proof house, I should perhaps have stayed during the wet
season, as I feel sure many things can then be obtained which are to be
found at no other time. With my summer hut, however, this was impossible.
During the heavy rains a fine drizzly mist penetrated into every part of it,
and I began to have the greatest difficulty in keeping my specimens dry.
Early in November I returned to Macassar, and having packed up my
collections, started in the Dutch mail steamer for Amboyna and Ternate.
Leaving this part of my journey for the present, I will in the next
CHAPTER conclude my account of Celebes, by describing the extreme
northern part of the island which I visited two years later.

CHAPTER XVII. CELEBES.
(MENADO, JUNE TO SEPTEMBER, 1859.)

IT was after my residence at Timor-Coupang that I visited the
northeastern extremity of Celebes, touching Banda, Amboyna, and Ternate
on my way. I reached Menado on the 10th of June, 1859, and was very
kindly received by Mr. Tower, an Englishman, but a very old resident in
Menado, where he carries on a general business. He introduced me to Mr.
L. Duivenboden (whose father had been my friend at Ternate), who had
much taste for natural history; and to Mr. Neys, a native of Menado, but
who was educated at Calcutta, and to whom Dutch, English, and Malay
were equally mother-tongues. All these gentlemen showed me the greatest
kindness, accompanied me in my earliest walks about the country, and
assisted me by every means in their power. I spent a week in the town very
pleasantly, making explorations and inquiries after a good collecting station,
which I had much difficulty in finding, owing to the wide cultivation of
coffee and cacao, which has led to the clearing away of the forests for many
miles around the town, and over extensive districts far into the interior.
The little town of Menado is one of the prettiest in the East. It has the
appearance of a large garden containing rows of rustic villas with broad
paths between, forming streets generally at right angles with each other.
Good roads branch off in several directions towards the interior, with a
succession of pretty cottages, neat gardens, and thriving plantations,
interspersed with wildernesses of fruit trees. To the west and south the
country is mountainous, with groups of fine volcanic peaks 6,000 or 7,000
feet high, forming grand and picturesque backgrounds to the landscape.
The inhabitants of Minahasa (as this part of Celebes is called) differ
much from those of all the rest of the island, and in fact from any other
people in the Archipelago. They are of a light-brown or yellow tint, often
approaching the fairness of a European; of a rather short stature, stout and
well-made; of an open and pleasing countenance, more or less disfigured as
age increases by projecting check-bones; and with the usual long, straight,
jet-black hair of the Malayan races. In some of the inland villages where

they may be supposed to be of the purest race, both men and women are
remarkably handsome; while nearer the coasts where the purity of their
blood has been destroyed by the intermixture of other races, they approach
to the ordinary types of the wild inhabitants of the surrounding countries.
In mental and moral characteristics they are also highly peculiar. They
are remarkably quiet and gentle in disposition, submissive to the authority
of those they consider their superiors, and easily induced to learn and adopt
the habits of civilized people. They are clever mechanics, and seem capable
of acquiring a considerable amount of intellectual education.
Up to a very recent period these people were thorough savages, and there
are persons now living in Menado who remember a state of things identical
with that described by the writers of the sixteenth and seventeenth
centuries. The inhabitants of the several villages were distinct tribes, each
under its own chief, speaking languages unintelligible to each other, and
almost always at war. They built their houses elevated upon lofty posts to
defend themselves from the attacks of their enemies. They were
headhunters like the Dyaks of Borneo, and were said to be sometimes
cannibals. When a chief died, his tomb was adorned with two fresh human
heads; and if those of enemies could not be obtained, slaves were killed for
the occasion. Human skulls were the great ornaments of the chiefs' houses.
Strips of bark were their only dress. The country was a pathless wilderness,
with small cultivated patches of rice and vegetables, or clumps of fruit-
trees, diversifying the otherwise unbroken forest. Their religion was that
naturally engendered in the undeveloped human mind by the contemplation
of grand natural phenomena and the luxuriance of tropical nature. The
burning mountain, the torrent and the lake, were the abode of their deities;
and certain trees and birds were supposed to have special influence over
men's actions and destiny. They held wild and exciting festivals to propitiate
these deities or demons, and believed that men could be changed by them
into animals—either during life or after death.
Here we have a picture of true savage life; of small isolated communities
at war with all around them, subject to the wants and miseries of such a
condition, drawing a precarious existence from the luxuriant soil, and living
on, from generation to generation, with no desire for physical amelioration,
and no prospect of moral advancement.

Such was their condition down to the year 1822, when the coffee-plant
was first introduced, and experiments were made as to its cultivation. It was
found to succeed admirably from fifteen hundred feet, up to four thousand
feet above the sea. The chiefs of villages were induced to undertake its
cultivation. Seed and native instructors were sent from Java; food was
supplied to the labourers engaged in clearing and planting; a fixed price was
established at which all coffee brought to the government collectors was to
be paid for, and the village chiefs who now received the titles of "Majors"
were to receive five percent of the produce. After a time, roads were made
from the port of Menado up to the plateau, and smaller paths were cleared
from village to village; missionaries settled in the more populous districts
and opened schools; and Chinese traders penetrated to the interior and
supplied clothing and other luxuries in exchange for the money which the
sale of the coffee had produced.
At the same time, the country was divided into districts, and the system
of "Controlleurs," which had worked so well in Java, was introduced. The
"Controlleur" was a European, or a native of European blood, who was the
general superintendent of the cultivation of the district, the adviser of the
chiefs, the protector of the people, and the means of communication
between both and the European Government. His duties obliged him to visit
every village in succession once a month, and to send in a report on their
condition to the Resident. As disputes between adjacent villages were now
settled by appeal to a superior authority, the old and inconvenient semi-
fortified houses were disused, and under the direction of the "Controlleurs"
most of the houses were rebuilt on a neat and uniform plan. It was this
interesting district which I was now about to visit.
Having decided on my route, I started at 8 A.M. on the 22d of June. Mr.
Tower drove me the first three miles in his chaise, and Mr. Neys
accompanied me on horseback three miles further to the village of Lotta.
Here we met the Controlleur of the district of Tondano, who was returning
home from one of his monthly tours, and who had agreed to act as my guide
and companion on the journey. From Lotta we had an almost continual
ascent for six miles, which brought us on to the plateau of Tondano at an
elevation of about 2,400 feet. We passed through three villages whose
neatness and beauty quite astonished me. The main road, along which all
the coffee is brought down from the interior in carts drawn by buffaloes, is
always turned aside at the entrance of a village, so as to pass behind it, and

thus allow the village street itself to be kept neat and clean. This is bordered
by neat hedges often formed entirely of rose-trees, which are perpetually in
blossom. There is a broad central path and a border of fine turf, which is
kept well swept and neatly cut. The houses are all of wood, raised about six
feet on substantial posts neatly painted blue, while the walls are
whitewashed. They all have a verandah enclosed with a neat balustrade, and
are generally surrounded by orange-trees and flowering shrubs. The
surrounding scenery is verdant and picturesque. Coffee plantations of
extreme luxuriance, noble palms and tree ferns, wooded hills and volcanic
peaks, everywhere meet the eye. I had heard much of the beauty of this
country, but the reality far surpassed my expectations.
About one o'clock we reached Tomohón, the chief place of a district,
having a native chief now called the "Major," at whose house we were to
dine. Here was a fresh surprise for me. The house was large, airy and very
substantially built of hard native timber, squared and put together in a most
workmanlike manner. It was furnished in European style, with handsome
chandelier lamps, and the chairs and tables all well made by native
workmen. As soon as we entered, madeira and bitters were offered us. Then
two handsome boys neatly dressed in white, and with smoothly brushed jet-
black hair, handed us each a basin of water and a clean napkin on a salver.
The dinner was excellent. Fowls cooked in various ways; wild pig roasted,
stewed and fried; a fricassee of bats, potatoes, rice and other vegetables; all
served on good china, with finger glasses and fine napkins, and abundance
of good claret and beer, seemed to me rather curious at the table of a native
chief on the mountains of Celebes. Our host was dressed in a suit of black
with patent-leather shoes, and really looked comfortable and almost
gentlemanly in them. He sat at the head of the table and did the honours
well, though he did not talk much. Our conversation was entirely in Malay,
as that is the official language here, and in fact the mother-tongue and only
language of the Controlleur, who is a native-born half-breed. The Major's
father who was chief before him, wore, I was informed, a strip of bark as
his sole costume, and lived in a rude but raised home on lofty poles, and
abundantly decorated with human heads. Of course we were expected, and
our dinner was prepared in the best style, but I was assured that the chiefs
all take a pride in adopting European customs, and in being able to receive
their visitors in a handsome manner.

After dinner and coffee, the Controlleur went on to Tondano, and I
strolled about the village waiting for my baggage, which was coming in a
bullock-cart, and did not arrive until after midnight. Supper was very
similar to dinner, and on retiring I found an elegant little room with a
comfortable bed, gauze curtains with blue and red hangings, and every
convenience. Next morning at sunrise the thermometer in the verandah
stood at 69°, which I was told is about the usual lowest temperature at this
place, 2,500 feet above the sea. I had a good breakfast of coffee, eggs, and
fresh bread and butter, which I took in the spacious verandah amid the
odour of roses, jessamine, and other sweet-scented flowers, which filled the
garden in front; and about eight o'clock left Tomohón with a dozen men
carrying my baggage.
Our road lay over a mountain ridge about 4,000 feet above the sea, and
then descended about 500 feet to the little village of Rurúkan, the highest in
the district of Minahasa, and probably in all Celebes. Here I had determined
to stay for some time to see whether this elevation would produce any
change in the zoology. The village had only been formed about ten years,
and was quite as neat as those I had passed through, and much more
picturesque. It is placed on a small level spot, from which there is an abrupt
wooded descent down to the beautiful lake of Tondano, with volcanic
mountains beyond. On one side is a ravine, and beyond it a fine
mountainous and wooded country.
Near the village are the coffee plantations. The trees are planted in rows,
and are kept topped to about seven feet high. This causes the lateral
branches to grow very strong, so that some of the trees become perfect
hemispheres, loaded with fruit from top to bottom, and producing from ten
to twenty pounds each of cleaned coffee annually. These plantations were
all formed by the Government, and are cultivated by the villagers under the
direction of their chief. Certain days are appointed for weeding or
gathering, and the whole working population are summoned by the sound
of a gong. An account is kept of the number of hours' work done by each
family, and at the year's end, the produce of the sale is divided among them
proportionately. The coffee is taken to Government stores established at
central places over the whole country, and is paid for at a low fixed price.
Out of this a certain percentage goes to the chiefs and majors, and the
remainder is divided among the inhabitants. This system works very well,
and I believe is at present far better for the people than free-trade would be.

There are also large rice-fields, and in this little village of seventy houses, I
was informed that a hundred pounds' worth of rice was sold annually.
I had a small house at the very end of the village, almost hanging over
the precipitous slope down to the stream, and with a splendid view from the
verandah. The thermometer in the morning often stood at 62° and never
rose so high as 80°, so that with the thin clothing used in the tropical plains
we were always cool and sometimes positively cold, while the spout of
water where I went daily for my bath had quite an icy feel. Although I
enjoyed myself very much among these fine mountains and forests, I was
somewhat disappointed as to my collections. There was hardly any
perceptible difference between the animal life in this temperate region and
in the torrid plains below, and what difference did exist was in most
respects disadvantageous to me. There seemed to be nothing absolutely
peculiar to this elevation. Birds and quadrupeds were less plentiful, but of
the same species. In insects there seemed to be more difference. The curious
beetles of the family Cleridae, which are found chiefly on bark and rotten
wood, were finer than I have seen them elsewhere. The beautiful
Longicorns were scarcer than usual, and the few butterflies were all of
tropical species. One of these, Papilio blumei, of which I obtained a few
specimens only, is among the most magnificent I have ever seen. It is a
green and gold swallow-tail, with azure-blue and spoon-shaped tails, and
was often seen flying about the village when the sun shone, but in a very
shattered condition. The great amount of wet and cloudy weather was a
great drawback all the time I was at Rurúkan.
Even in the vegetation there is very little to indicate elevation. The trees
are more covered with lichens and mosses, and the ferns and tree-ferns are
finer and more luxuriant than I had been accustomed to seeing on the low
grounds, both probably attributable to the almost perpetual moisture that
here prevails. Abundance of a tasteless raspberry, with blue and yellow
compositae, have somewhat of a temperate aspect; and minute ferns and
Orchideae, with dwarf Begonias on the rocks, make some approach to a
sub-alpine vegetation. The forest, however, is most luxuriant. Noble palms,
Pandani, and tree-ferns are abundant in it, while the forest trees are
completely festooned with Orchideae, Bromeliae, Araceae, Lycopodiums,
and mosses. The ordinary stemless ferns abound; some with gigantic fronds
ten or twelve feet long, others barely an inch high; some with entire and
massive leaves, others elegantly waving their finely-cut foliage, and adding

endless variety and interest to the forest paths. The cocoa-nut palm still
produces fruit abundantly, but is said to be deficient in oil. Oranges thrive
better than below, producing abundance of delicious fruit; but the shaddock
or pumplemous (Citrus decumana) requires the full force of a tropical sun,
for it will not thrive even at Tondano a thousand feet lower. On the hilly
slopes rice is cultivated largely, and ripens well, although the temperature
rarely or never rises to 80°, so that one would think it might be grown even
in England in fine summers, especially if the young plants were raised
under glass.
The mountains have an unusual quantity of earth and vegetable mould
spread over them. Even on the steepest slopes there is everywhere a
covering of clays and sands, and generally a good thickness of vegetable
soil. It is this which perhaps contributes to the uniform luxuriance of the
forest, and delays the appearance of that sub-alpine vegetation which
depends almost as much on the abundance of rocky and exposed surfaces as
on difference of climate. At a much lower elevation on Mount Ophir in
Malacca, Dacrydiums and Rhododendrons with abundance of Nepenthes,
ferns, and terrestrial orchids suddenly took the place of the lofty forest; but
this was plainly due to the occurrence of an extensive slope of bare, granitic
rock at an elevation of less than 3,000 feet. The quantity of vegetable soil,
and also of loose sands and clays, resting on steep slopes, hill-tops and the
sides of ravines, is a curious and important phenomenon. It may be due in
part to constant, slight earthquake shocks facilitating the disintegration of
rock; but, would also seem to indicate that the country has been long
exposed to gentle atmospheric action, and that its elevation has been
exceedingly slow and continuous.
During my stay at Rurúkan, my curiosity was satisfied by experiencing a
pretty sharp earthquake-shock. On the evening of June 29th, at a quarter
after eight, as I was sitting reading, the house began shaking with a very
gentle, but rapidly increasing motion. I sat still enjoying the novel sensation
for some seconds; but in less than half a minute it became strong enough to
shake me in my chair, and to make the house visibly rock about, and creak
and crack as if it would fall to pieces. Then began a cry throughout the
village of "Tana goyang! tana goyang!" (Earthquake! earthquake!)
Everybody rushed out of their houses—women screamed and children cried
—and I thought it prudent to go out too. On getting up, I found my head
giddy and my steps unsteady, and could hardly walk without falling. The