CHAPTER II.
THE CHINESE—EMPTY FLOWERPOT—ADVERTISEMENT—MUSEUM—PORTRAITS—ON THE MOVE—OUR REES-WAGEN—BOY DRAHMAN—WE LEAVE BATAVIA—BRIEF EXPLANATION—SOME OF THE PASSENGERS, RADEN RIO AND RADEN MAS, MAKING THEMSELVES COMFORTABLE—HOSPITALITY OF THE DUTCHMAN—WHAT WE SEE EN ROUTE—SAMARANG HARBOUR—THE CANAL—DRIVE TO TOWN—HOTEL—EVENING DRIVE—RICE SAWAHS—RECEPTION.
CHAPTER II.
It is no difficult matter for a traveller in the East to decide, amongst the various oriental nationalities that come under his notice, which is the most active and enterprising. Enter what large town he may, he finds the Chinese indefatigable in their efforts to gain money; success so far crowning their endeavours that the more indolent native of the soil is obliged to give way before them. In Java, notwithstanding all the difficulties the Dutch throw in their way, by levying considerably heavier imposts on them than on any other people, they "thrive," according to a simile of their own, "like the lotus plant." To a certain extent the severity of Dutch rule is beneficial to the Chinaman, for unless he is made subservient by a strong hand, he too frequently becomes so impudent and insolent as to be utterly intolerable. The Dutch must have been aware of this when they introduced their system of mulcting the Celestials, who, when they enter Java as settlers, when they become citizens, and when they leave the country, are heavily taxed by these unrelenting masters. Spite of all, however, they get on well—some as merchants and planters, others as shopkeepers, the poorer of their countrymen contriving to gain a livelihood in the towns as hawkers.
Their quarter in Batavia being near the city, the very heart of business, is that which best suits a Chinaman; for in general he prefers the close pent-up noisy streets of a town to the free pure air of the country.
After the work of the day, the traveller will find him seated on a cool stone bench under his portico, indulging in the luxury of a very loose baju, which, being unfastened, exposes to view the greater part of his chest; and should he be a fat man—the fatter he is, the more he is honoured by his countrymen—a considerable portion of his stomach, on which it is, to him, a luxury to feel the coolness of the evening air. Most probably also he will be found chewing the beetle-leaf and nut—a habit which he has contracted from the natives—or in drawing tobacco fumes through a long thick bamboo pipe.
As Europeans pass in their carriages, Chinamen rise, as a mark of respect—a striking contrast to their manner in Singapore and Penang.
The ladies in general associate more with their husbands than they are accustomed to do in the mother country, and are not usually considered so shy—partly owing probably to the fact that they are nearly all half castes, Chinawomen in general having a great aversion to emigration.
The houses in which these industrious people live are nearly always two stories high, the spine or chief beam of the upper roof turning up at the two ends. The walls on two sides of the domicile are generally what are termed dead walls, even a single window to admit light or air being exceedingly rare. Two windows, however, are placed in a plank wall in front of the house; and immediately beneath them, lying horizontally on the portico roof, often gapes an empty flower-pot, the signification of which we found it difficult to divine. If it had been a religious emblem, there would probably have been one on each house. On inquiry we were amused to find that it was placed there as a kind of notice or advertisement, which, being interpreted, meant—"A young lady is in the house. Husband wanted." How would the young ladies of England like to be provided with a husband in this fashion? Not much, I suppose! After all, in such matters custom is everything. What would a Celestial say to some of those strange advertisements that sometimes appear in our cheap periodicals?
There are but few sights to be seen in Batavia. The archæologist will doubtless be interested by a small museum of antiquities in the European quarter of the town, where he will find many relics of Buddhism, brought from the interior of Java, Bali, and Madura, especially from the ruins of Boroobodoo, Singasari, and Brambanan; and among the rest a group of Hindoo deities, found at Bali, where, Mahomedanism having but few converts, they are still worshipped.
There are also numerous kinds of weapons, shields, chain armour, and other arms, used by the natives of the neighbouring isles, and some ancient urns, vessels, and jewelry.
The Governor's town palace, as we have already mentioned, is now converted into public offices; all but one room, which is set apart for portraits of the Governor-Generals from the first to Pahud, who gave up office during the time we were in Java.
During our short sojourn, the Dutch authorities had become possessed of all the knowledge they required respecting our position, "profession," and destination; all of which proving satisfactory, our consul, without difficulty, obtained for us a pass to enable us to leave Batavia, promising to forward the permission to visit the Vorsten Landen, or land of the native princes, as soon as my request to that effect—then under the consideration of the governor—should be granted.
Being informed that the hire of government carriages was very exorbitant, and the discomforts many and various, I was glad to hear of an opportunity of purchasing the very kind of vehicle we needed; and, accompanied by a friend, we went to an auction, where I became the purchaser of a cumbrous-looking but comfortable carriage, known in that country as a Rees-Wagen. It stood about four feet from the ground, and was entered by means of three steps, which were afterwards folded in a compact space immediately below the door.
There was sufficient room in the body of the carriage for four persons, who, if they chose, might with ease stretch themselves at full length. Under the seats, boxes for stowing away provisions and other desiderata were arranged. Behind was a seat sufficiently commodious for two, and in front a coach-box with equal accommodation. The whole of the top, which was flat, was covered with leather, as were also the front and sides, that of the latter being so arranged as to admit of being furled or unfurled at pleasure. Below the back seat was a board for the lopers, or whippers-up, whose duty we shall have an opportunity of describing more minutely hereafter.
Previous to taking our departure, we engaged the services of a "boy," a euphonious term in general use in the East, as "garçon" is in France, for a full-grown man with a wife, and perhaps a brood of little ones. His name was Drahman, and he acted as my interpreter with the natives in the interior, the language in which I communicated with him being Malay.
All preparations for departure being made, my kind friend had our Rees-Wagen conveyed on board the S. S. Oenarang, in which we embarked on the 4th of October, and left the harbour of Batavia for Samarang and Surabaya.
Some people have asserted that, in order to see a country well, you ought either to go by yourself, or only with an intimate friend, but by no means with a lady, who is more likely to prove an encumbrance than anything else.
In nine cases out of ten, I doubt not but they are right; and as for travelling in Java, if your wife persisted in carrying about with her numerous portmanteaux, band-boxes, carpet-bags, &c., &c., you would certainly have little chance, in a ReesWagen, of seeing much of the country. Fortunately my wife had learnt by experience to avoid all superfluities, and to carry with her only what was actually necessary for the journey. Thus, although some luxuries had to be dispensed with, by which we might have been enabled to obtain a more unalloyed enjoyment of the beauties and wonders of nature, yet, with a limited quantity of luggage, and so spacious a vehicle, we had little in the way of discomfort to complain of.
Our frequent changes from one steamer to another since we left England having taught us the method of shaking ourselves into new quarters without much ado, we were not long in arranging our things in the very limited space allotted to us as a cabin; after which we hastened up-stairs to enjoy the breeze. Every available space on the deck was crammed with a miscellaneous cargo, the most prominent object being our own Rees-Wagen, which, being covered over with matting, to protect it from the inclement weather to which it might be exposed, looked more like the wigwam of an Indian chief than anything else. On all sides were innumerable boxes, portmanteaux, and flower-pots, with their drooping and almost withered plants; besides cages of birds, turkeys, ducks, geese, and fowls, the latter keeping up a constant chorus of recognition with the condemned inmates of the opposite hen-coop. Baskets of potatoes hung threateningly over the heads of passengers in all directions, while plantains and cabbages of a pale yellow hue swung to and fro in clusters of four and five. Chinamen sprawled on mats, smoking, and drinking insipid tea, without sugar or milk; Javanese sailors, in appearance not unlike dressed-up monkeys, ran backwards and forwards, climbing the rigging, and, at the shrill whistle of the sarang, darting down again with the speed of an arrow. Gentlemen's boys also were constantly ascending and descending the cabin stairs with api for their masters. It was such a scene of confusion as one sometimes sees in the streets of Cairo, but without the tall camel or the string of donkeys to force their way through it. Gradually, however, something like order began to appear. Boxes, cages, and flower-pots were arranged to the satisfaction of their owners. Yellow-faced Chinamen and bearded Arabs, listening to the suggestions of the mate, were at length induced to subside into something like order; and the man at the wheel, now able to see the ship's head, could steer her with safety in her right course.
Amongst the passengers on board were two Javanese youths, whose rich costume and numerous retinue betokened persons of rank, and whom we afterwards discovered to be princes. Many came to see them off, and while the crew were raising the anchor, the last farewells were said—the ceremony, which occupied a longer time than our good-byes, being to a certain extent both novel and curious. Each one advanced in turn, and taking the right hand of one of the princes in both his own, the two stood a short time repeating some words in whispers, after which they drew their hands away, simultaneously, and kissed them. Then shaking hands in the European fashion, they came closer to each other, and once more saying a few words, and kissing their hands, they separated. Only a few of the more distinguished visitors, however, took part in the ceremony; the others, who came within a yard of the princes, confining themselves to a low and lengthy obeisance.
We soon learnt that these two princes were Raden Mas and Raden Rio. The former, like the Javanese in general, was of short stature; his skin was very dark—almost black; his eyes were quick and restless, and his thick lips concealed teeth of the hue of ebony. The general expression of his face more resembled that of a Siamese than a native of Java. His hair, almost the colour of jet, was pulled backwards, and tied up in a large knot behind, which, with a great portion of his head, was covered with a kerchief of the favourite blue. This style of dressing the hair struck me as resembling that of the Cingalese, with this difference, that the heads of the latter are always uncovered.
Being, as I was informed, a lieutenant in the native regiment of his uncle, Munko Nagoro, he wore a military shako and uniform, all the appointments, except a richly ornamented kriss and scabbard which hung by his side, being such as are worn in the Dutch service.
The other youth, Raden Rio, was the son of the prime minister to one of the princes in Djokdja. He was a young man of twenty, taller than the generality of natives, with more regular features than his companion, milder and finer eyes, but with that which, according to Javanese ideas of beauty, is altogether indispensable, equally black teeth. His hair was dressed like that of Raden Mas, but, instead of the blue kerchief, he wore one of baték,[1] with one corner left to hang slightly over his forehead; and over this a blue velvet cap, similar to those worn by jockeys, only that the brim projected more, and that on both sides, immediately above the ear, were fixed two wing-like appendages, made of the same material as the cap.
His jacket was of dark blue velvet, lined with golden cloth, and embroidered with flowers of gold and silver; and underneath was a kind of coat, of a lighter shade of blue, and, like an officer s shell jacket, buttoned up to the throat with diamonds of the first water. His trowsers were of black cloth, with a broad band of gold down each side. The baték which he wore over all was of a gaudy pattern, and was fastened to the waist by a very rich silk scarf, worked with gold, from which hung tassels of the same rich material. Into the folds of this were thrust two krisses, one of which was sheathed in a scabbard of gold, minutely carved and profusely ornamented with filigree work, and the other with a hilt of ivory, also exquisitely carved, and studded with diamonds. From his neck hung a massive gold chain of European workmanship, to which dangled a bunch of charms, some of which were little boxes containing perfumes and aromatic preparations. Both princes wore shoes, in which, as they slowly waddled rather than walked along the deck, they seemed by no means at their ease.
His highness Raden Rio, after the steamer was fairly off, began to pace the deck rapidly, but in ten minutes or so slackened his speed, and finally seating himself beside his companion, beckoned to one of the attending Ganymedes to approach. "Without a moment's delay, three small youths rose from the lowly position they had assumed on the ground, and advanced towards their young lord, bowing most humbly, although, in consequence of the motion of the vessel, this act of obeisance was performed in a somewhat uncertain and tottering manner. As they knelt before the prince, after putting their hands before their faces as though in the act of prayer, the first held before him a tumpat syrée, a kind of salver, or box of brass, fitted up with numerous small partitions, and filled with no end of things unknown to me ; the second a small brass vessel, shaped something like an urn, containing kapor, made from the ashes of burnt shells, which, being moistened with water, is then left to harden; the third a brass tray, richly embossed, on which was a quantity of betel nuts, ready for chewing, neatly enveloped in the leaf of the betel.
The prince, who was probably in a fanciful mood, in consequence of the rolling of the Oenarang, preferred making his own buyéra—as the Spanish in Manilla call the preparation—and motioned his friend to help himself, who, to save himself the trouble of making any, took one of those on the tray.
Neither of these royal personages remained long en grande tenne. Followed by three or four valets, they retired to their respective cabins, though certainly not more than one at a time could have entered the limited space at their disposal, to assist their masters in the operation of re-dressing. In less than ten minutes they reappeared, stripped of their finery, and apparently much more at ease in their new dress, which, if less costly than the former, exhibited considerable variety of colour. A loose silk jacket of rainbow tints, a long baték sarong reaching to the ankles, heel-less slippers on their naked feet, and the never-forgotten head kerchief, constituted their new attire, in which, to say the least, they looked remarkably cool.
I succeeded, without any difficulty, in introducing myself to Raden Rio, whom I found so agreeable, that before long we became quite friendly. He repeated to me some pantuns, native verses, in Javanese, which, when I told him they were quite unintelligible to me, he at once translated into Malay. They were mostly in a very amorous strain, like all Eastern compositions of the kind, and flowed in graceful melody. I also spoke to Raden Mas, but he being of a taciturn disposition, only few words passed between us.
Raden Rio introduced me to the assistant resident of Djodjokerta, who, with his youthful daughter, had accompanied the princes on their visit to Batavia. We had good reason to feel thankful for this opportune introduction, for, on learning that it was our intention to travel through the Vorsten Landen, this gentleman, in the kindest and most hospitable manner, invited us to pay him a visit.
Such an invitation to a complete stranger struck me at first as curious, but in our subsequent travels in Java, we discovered that this was no exceptional case, as friends and strangers are equally welcome beneath the hospitable roofs of the Dutch in that island.
In our four days' voyage there was little pretty scenery to be seen. We rarely lost sight of the coast, which from a distance seemed indented with bays and inlets, and, after being very flat for miles, gradually grew more and more hilly, till the Cheribon mountains, with their forest of trees, appeared in sight, forming a pleasing background to the glaring white line of shore. The highest of these mountains, Tagal, or Gunong Slamat—Blessed Mountain—as the natives call it, is from ten to twelve thousand feet above the level of the sea.
As we approached Samarang, the land became again more undulating and defined; ranges of low hills appeared in the foreground, with here and there a great mountain, like a gigantic fortification commanding this Eastern sea. The view from the harbour is very fine. The Oenarang mountain in the distance forms an imposing object, while to the extreme right towers the Gunong Prau, a very high mountain, on the summit of which it is said there are some remains of Hindoo temples. The Sundara and Soembing, called by the Dutch, from their proximity to each other, the Two Brothers, are observed in the space between these two mountains; and far in the rear rise the twin volcanoes of Murbaboo and Marapi, the latter signifying "ejecting fire," and the former, if I may judge from the termination "aboo," which in the Malay means "ashes," and, I believe, has the same signification in Javanese, " throwing ashes." They are both from nine to ten thousand feet in height.
We arrived at Samarang after a voyage of not quite two entire days, and, spite of the attention and kindness of Captain H———, we could not regret we were to land for a few hours. We therefore ordered Drahman to secure a tambangan, or passenger boat, which is shaped at the prow something like a Nile boat; and with the few requisites we deemed essential for so short a stay, we entered the craft and pushed off for the shore. As at Batavia, the shallowness of the harbour does not admit of an anchorage within from two to three miles of the mouth of the canal; and besides the inconvenience of being cramped in a small boat, and exposed to a broiling sun, the unfortunate traveller stands the chance of being swamped before reaching the entrance of the canal, where he may see from afar the surf rolling in waves of foam.
We foresaw what awaited us, but we did not care much for a little drenching. The motion of the boat and the ducking in perspective only amused us, much to the astonishment and ance of our native servant, who apprehended danger in every wave that drenched him, and manifested his dislike in this strain: " Allah, Tuan, angin eras, glombang basar, apa kana, Tuan, cluar di capal ini ari?"—" Allah, Master, how the winds are blowing, and how high the waves are! Why did you leave the ship on such a day, sir I"
As we approached the shore our anticipations of a cold bath were fully realized, for although we received little more than a passing shower from many of the waves that passed us, the last we were exposed to overwhelmed us with such fury that both my wife and myself were drenched to the skin. The odours that exhaled from the canal as we approached it were also anything but agreeable.
For such a wealthy and commercial town as Samarang, which boasts of from six to seven thousand fishermen alone, the passage, or artificial extension of the small stream which passes through it, is so narrow as to be quite a disgrace to the place—in fact, little more than a wide ditch. When we entered it, it was filled with fishing smacks, trading praus, cargo boats charged with merchandise, rafts formed of bamboo, or huge beams of wood; in fact, with a multitude of indescribable craft, displaying the versatile genius of the natives of Samarang in nautical architecture.
Through this incongruous mass of shipping our boat had to force her way, now coming in contact with a vessel on one side, and now with one on the other, till its sides must have lost some portion of the scanty covering of paint they once possessed. After a tedious pull of three hours, we reached the boom, or jetty, a small tile-roofed shed, situated to the right hand, and about a mile from the sea. There the controleurs of fishing and cargo boats levy a tax, and scrutinise both people and things on their "entrance or exit." Close at hand is the Custom-house, and on the opposite bank are warehouses of brick and attap hovels, forming a singular and grotesque picture.
Leaving the Custom-house, we entered a phaeton and drove into the town. The road for some distance is embanked on either side, to protect it from being flooded during the spring tides. Trees are planted near the raised work of mud and sand, and will probably soon form a pretty and shady avenue.
A short drive brought us into the Javanese campong, the houses of which are of attap, and built in regular rows, each having its yard and outhouses behind, with not un-frequently a neat garden of vegetables in front. The small verandahs, the windows, and other conspicuous parts of each habitation, are ornamented with wood carving, an art in which the natives of Samarang are considered great proficients.' In this neighbourhood are many eating-houses, confectioners' shops, in the veritable Malayan style, and several greengrocers.
As the boom is fully a mile and a half or more from the heart of the town, we saw a good deal of native out-door life during our drive. Some distance from the first Javanese campong, we came to a second, which formed the commencement of the town. It boasted of some red-tiled houses, which gave it altogether a more substantial appearance than the attap campong we had just left behind, and was evidently densely populated. The shopkeepers seemed to include a sprinkling of Arabs and Chinese, as well as natives of the soil. The former, who are allowed to trade in this quarter by day, withdraw at night to their own campong. Among them were tin, brass, and copper smiths, while others gained a livelihood by wood-carving, or by the manufacture of those broad-brimmed and conical crowned hats which the Javanese wear. All were equally solicitous to induce us to become the purchasers of some article that might remind us of their skill and ingenuity.
Ponies, small as Egyptian donkeys, are driven through the streets, with enormous bundles of sticks on their backs, while the wood merchant, clad with a loose pair of blue trousers, and jacket to match, walks by their side, crying out at the top of his voice, "Kayu api"—"firewood"; his pony, meanwhile, browsing on the refuse of pine apples, sugar-cane tops, skins, and husks, with which the ground is covered, much to his master's annoyance, who belabours the spare-fed beast with many a hard thwack of the whip, whenever he imagines he has indulged in. these dainties too long.
We were now passing the European business quarter—counting-houses, warehouses, and Government offices. There is a generally busy look about the place, bespeaking activity and prosperity in this old commercial city. We stopped at last before the Heeren Logement, or hotel, and on inquiry found, to our annoyance, that it was full. After some deliberation, however, the landlord decided on accommodating us, much to our gratification; for otherwise we had no alternative but to return to the steamer, there being no other hotel for Europeans in the place.
Having exchanged bur wet garments for dry ones, we set to work to satisfy the inner man, and then waited patiently till the heat of the day was over. About five, we engaged one of the numerous carriages stationed in front of the hotel, and drove a short way into the country. After we had passed through thickly-populated streets, inhaling on our way different odours which made us long for the interference of some such goddess as Cloacina, we were glad to rest our eyes on the bright green fields and forest-clad hills. I think one never more fully appreciates the country than after a voyage, during which little else but sky and water has met his gaze.
The scene we were now passing through was peculiarly lovely. As far as the eye could see, a fertile valley lay before us, well studded with trees, and bounded by a hilly range at some distance. Rice fields extended on all sides, in which men, women, and children were busily employed in planting the young paddy shoots.
Half an hour's drive through this vale of apparent peace and plenty, brought us to the junction of two roads, one leading to Sorondal, Oenarang, and Ambarrawa (the fortified key of the inner provinces), the other the high road to Batavia. We took the former, but returned by another way into the town. At a distance, we saw the hills of Chundy, a pretty low range, so called from the number of wells and rills near it. A mountain elevating its bold head above the Chundy, is known as Gunong Sampe, signifying, in Malay, "reached."
The traveller in his journey through Java will be struck by the means employed by the natives for the cultivation of rice. Sawahs, or rice reservoirs, are always to be seen in the valleys, or at the foot of hills, these situations being preferred on account of the greater facility they afford for keeping the fields under water. They are always so arranged as to follow one another consecutively, with embankments of mud around each. Situated on a slope, they look from a distance—before the paddy has attained to any height—like steps of shining mirrors; but a level view presents more the appearance of a marsh or swamp. The highest reservoir is fed from a spring by means of bamboo pipes, and at one corner of each embankment there is a small opening to conduct the water from thence to the next reservoir, and so on to the lowest ones. In the valleys, streams are deflected as feeders, for the purpose of irrigation. During the rainy season these contrivances are to a certain extent unnecessary.
When the reservoirs are filled with water, the husbandman ploughs his several fields, and then selecting an ari slamat, or lucky day, he throws the paddy broad-cast over one or two fields, which we may call nurseries. After the lapse of a month, when the paddy has grown to the height of half a foot, he cuts it out in sods, and separating the roots, he plants them in sawahs, whose waters he has by this time lowered considerably, leaving only such quantities as will prevent the ground from becoming hard and dry.
The country appears like an extensive pasture, and numerous lanky rice-birds, with long necks, and plumage white as snow, known as the Burong Bangoo, are seen feeding on the numerous frogs and vermin which abound in the district.
The hardest work of the husbandman is now over, and for the two ensuing months he has no other occupation, until he is summoned to gather the rich yellow harvest by which his labour is rewarded. The sight then is as merry and pleasing as it is with us at home at harvest time.
In the course of our drive, we came to a hilly road between hedgerows and trees, beyond which were open fields, but no voice of bird to charm us with its song—a circumstance to be regretted amid such a luxurious world of foliage. Further on, we passed along the Bodjong road, or " west end " of Samarang, with beautiful European -looking mansions on either side, before which were welltrimmed lawns and parks studded with trees. On the whole, we were well pleased with all we had seen, and returned to the hotel when
"Day's declining light
Yielded her pale empire to the mourner, night."
Next day we accepted an invitation to a reception, as much out of curiosity as courtesy; and arriving at the house about eight, we found a number of guests already assembled.
We took our seats in the verandah, which was brilliantly illuminated with numerous candles in girandoles, argand lamps and coloured globes hanging from the ceiling. This illumination among the Dutch colonists is understood as an intimation to friends and strangers of their being "at home." All visits in Java are made during the evening, and should the inmates feel indisposed to receive callers, the front verandah or the reception-room is not lighted, in which case the visit of any but the most intimate friends would be considered an intrusion.
After tea, while some of the company prepared for the game of "vist," others engaged partners to dance. Entering with many others into an inner apartment, we soon became spectators to several dances enlivened by a native band, who performed European music con brio el con spirito. Most of the gentlemen retired to don their white jackets before the warm exercise of the evening commenced—a change sanctioned by custom in Dutch colonial parties, and certainly more suitable to active exertion in such hot weather than cloth coats. The princes, our fellow-passengers, were there, brilliantly ornamented with chains and diamonds, but taking no part in the dance; they gazed with a puzzled expression of face at the galops and valses which afforded so much enjoyment to others.
Refreshments were handed round about midnight, soon after which the guests retired; but on grand occasions, daylight often pales the burning lamps before the dancers can make up their minds to depart.
As the Dutch are in general very gay, seldom a night passes but you hear the booming of big drums close to your hotel, or in the distance sounding like random guns. The waste of parchment, we should think, must be great; for even on Sundays the noise of merriment, so far from ceasing, becomes if anything even more deafening than on the six preceding days. We were allowed but a few days to rest in Samarang, during which time we were unable to see Oenarang, a pretty little town, situated some fifteen or twenty miles off, at the foot of the mountain Oenarang, in the midst, we were told, of charming scenery.
As we passed through the canal on our return to the steamer, we found it even more crowded than before. There seemed to be several craft of a more bulky description, whose sides were innocent of paint; whilst the basket work and bamboo erections on deck, doubtless a feeble imitation of something in our saloons and cabins, threatened every minute to overtopple and crush the greasy-looking natives below, who, for want of better employment or amusement, were occupied, in different parts of their floating home, in examining minutely each other's flowing tresses—men as well as women—proclaiming ever and anon, by a dexterous movement of the finger and thumb, the capture made!—the victim slain!
As the sea was calm, we reached the vessel in much less time than we had taken to come ashore, and were soon steaming away for Surabaya.
- ↑ Baték, or Batey, is the name given to a cloth dyed in the Island. A piece of white calico, cut out to lengths required for a sarong or salendang, is thrown over a frame of of wood like a towel rail. Before this sits an old woman or young girl, holding a portion of the cloth spread above her knees, while with one hand she pours upon it boiling wax from a small brass vessel like a miniature kettle. With this she forms curious extempore designs of birds, beasts, and flowers, leaving spaces between to receive the dye for the groundwork. She then dips the cloth into some solution, and, after a saturation of some hours, it is exposed to dry. When the wax is taken off, the open spaces of the cloth have assumed the black, blue, or red colour of the dye, while those that were waxed over appear of a yellowish white. A good baték salendang, three yards long by half a yard broad, will fetch from two to three pounds.