CHAPTER VIII.
TO BATOE, OR BATU—STUBBORN HORSES—LEGEND OF ARUMAN — JAVANESE DISLIKE TO A BROKEN TALE—ARRIVAL AT THE PASSANGRAHAN—BATH-HOUSE—RUINS OF SINGORITE—HOT SPRINGS—PETRIFACTIONS—JAVANESE PILGRIMAGES—THEIR REVERENCE FOR THE RELIGION OF THEIR ANCESTORS—EXCURSION TO NGANTANG—WATERFALL OF TRETES—COFFEE FACTORY—THE JODANG—FANCY BALL AT MALANG JAVA SPARROWS—SUGAR FACTORY—EFFECTS OF FREE LABOUR TORCHES AND LAMPS FOR EVENING WALKS—NATIVE GAME OF FOOT-BALL.
CHAPTER VIII.
Batoe lies to the north-west of Malang, in a mountainous, and, as its name implies, a stony locality. It is a small village, very prettily situated, and, as soon as 1 had obtained permission from the Resident of Passeroewan to stay a few days more in the neighbourhood, our Rees-Wagen was on its way to the place. We left Malang at half-past six p.m., and passing the hospital, took the road to the left, near the river. We had not proceeded very far before we came in full view of the Kawie, distinguished from the adjacent mountains by its conical peak, and said to be eight thousand feet above the level of the sea. To our right, but far in the distance, was the range of the Bañyha—much or many—so called from the number of spurs which proceed from it, and the lesser hills which rise in its neighbourhood.
We had several stoppages en route, in consequence of the sudden and numerous steep ascents. The horses, accustomed to be assisted in these parts, made an obstinate stand, their nostrils distended, and snorting as though they were invoking the aid of Simbrani; nor would they " budge one inch" until the men from the neighbourhood arrived, and put their shoulders to the wheels. We had frequent occurrences of the same kind, which exercised our patience in no small degree, but as nothing we could do or say helped us, we determined to take these little inconveniences as philosophically as possible.
The first station we arrived at was Amman. Here we had no sooner left the shed than Drahman, throwing away his roko, or cigaret—which, as it was not offensive to my wife, I had given him leave to smoke whenever he felt inclined—and turning to me with a serious expression of face, said,
"There is a charita" (a tale or legend) "about the name of this place; would you like to hear it, sir?"
"Oh certainly," we both replied, glad of something of the kind to while away the time on this tedious journey.
"Well, sir," began Drahman, "there was a little boy whose name was Aruman, who when quite a child had the misfortune to lose a good kind mother, whose place in their home his father soon filled up by marrying a woman called Ma Qualoan. They had not been married long before Aruman complained bitterly to his father of his stepmother's cruelty. The father expostulated with Ma Qualoan, who so fully satisfied him of the justice of her actions, that on the little boy's making a second appeal to his fathers feelings, informing him that he had not even had enough to eat, the infatuated husband warmly reproved the child, and, on his refusing to deny the truth of what he had said, beat him.
"In great distress Aruman fled to his baboo, or nurse, and on her faithful bosom poured forth all the grief of childhood, mingling with his sorrow the recollection of his mother's kindness and affection. Sumarr, whose memory cherished the image of her late mistress with love and respect, often contrasting her gentleness with the pride and severity of Ma Qualoan, felt much for Aruman, and tried to soothe his grief by the narration of tales associated with his mother's memory, in listening to which the little fellow would soon fall asleep. Sumarr would then seek the child's father, to see if anything she might say could move his heart; but her expostulations were all in vain. The man was so entangled in the wiles of a perfidious woman that he readily lent an ear to all she said in disparagement of his first-born, and now began to think him the wicked little boy she had described.
"At last, wearied with his repeated complaints, and fearful, from Ma Qualoan's representations, that his son might prove a disgrace to his family, the unnatural father determined to rid himself of the child, whom he now considered a plague. Accordingly one day, when Aruman was seated sorrowfully by the banks of a stream, thinking sadly of his bitter lot, he perceived his father advancing towards him with a coil of rope in his hand. Impelled by a feeling of filial affection, Aruman rose to meet his father, who answered his affecionate greeting with a frown of displeasure, and throwing him down, secured his hands and feet, and then threw him into the river, saying, as he did so, 'Thou art the plague of my existence, begone from my sight for evermore!' 'Father! father!' cried the poor boy, 'you shall see me again!' He would have added more, but the waters bore him away, floating on their surface.
"Whilst this tragical event occurred in one part of the river, a fish and an alligator, in a lower part of it, were talking (in piscatorial fashion of course) about the scarcity of food at that particular period. 'Nothing,' said they, 'has made its way for weeks down here, not even a log of wood, what can be the reason of it V These words had scarcely escaped from their mouths when Arum an floated past. A drawn battle would probably have taken place on any other occasion between these amicable denizens of the river, but ravenous as they were they allowed this tempting morsel to pass unmolested.
"'Why,' asked Amman, who saw them as he passed—l why do you not swallow me up? I am persecuted by my stepmother, beaten and despised by my father. Kill me now, for I want to die!'
"'No, we cannot, we must not,' replied the kind and considerate alligator and fish. 'You are destined for some great end.'
Saying this, they led him in safety to the hank, and there untied the cords by which he was bound.
"'Stay a moment,' said the alligator, as he disappeared in a deep part of the water, quickly reappearing with a pair of tumpak cunchang, or floating shoes, which he put on Amman's feet, telling him that with these he could traverse the broadest river and widest ocean as easily as though he were walking on dry land.
"Amman thanked the alligator and fish for their kindness, and stepping on the water, commenced his progress down the river, the mouth of which he soon reached. Venturing out on the ocean, he wandered about on its surface with no fixed purpose. In a short time, however, he conceived in his heart a violent longing for the sight of a human being Catching sight presently of a native vessel, he turned his steps in its direction, and was soon observed by the Nakoda, or captain, who was looking through his telescope. On first perceiving Aruman, the captain took him for an apparition, but when he came closer, perceiving that he was of real flesh and blood, he invited him on board, where he ordered to be set before him a sailor's usual repast in the East, namely, rice and salt fish, much to the annoyance of the crew, who for some time could not divest themselves of the idea that the little boy must have been buoyed up in the water by some evil spirit.
"During the meal, of which the child partook plentifully, he recounted his adventures and sorrows, his story calling forth the sympathy and indignation of his hearers. In the meantime, the eye of the Nakoda had not been idle; he had discovered the tumpak cunchang which Aruman wore, and was very desirous to obtain them.
"'What use are those shoes to you?' said he. 'Some day, when you feel the safest, mind what I say, you'll sink. Give them to me, and I will let you have in exchange my Baju-unta-kasuma, with which you can fly in safety over land and sea, you can skim over the water like a swallow, or soar up into the very clouds like the strong-winged kite.'
"'Very well,' replied the anxious boy, 'give me the Baju, and here are my shoes.'
"So the bargain was struck, and Aruman, clad with the garment of volition, darted through the air like Icarus, but without incurring the fate which so soon brought that daring adventurer's flight to an end. Nakoda fared differently with his acquisition. In attempting to walk on the sur- face of the water he sank, and, had he not been an expert swimmer, must have been drowned. As it was he was nearly exhausted when he reached his own ship, and was helped upon deck by the crew.
"Aruman, perceiving the sad condition of the captain, approached the vessel, and looked down compassionately on Nakoda, who, vexed at his disappointment, already bitterly repented the bargain he had made, and called the boy a cheat, rogue, and other abusive names.
"Amman, however, only laughing at these, the captain steered his vessel close to the land, and getting into a small boat, loudly challenged the boy to single combat. After some hesitation, Amman descended, hoping to appease the wrath of the captain without fighting, but Nakoda was too angry to be easily satisfied.
"'Come on! come on! I'll soon do for you, my boy!' he exclaimed, as he drew his kriss, never dreaming of any difficulty in a duel with such a youngster.
"But he was mistaken. Amman, though young, was firmly built, and possessed of extraordinary muscular strength, so that before long he slew the captain, and then flew off in the direction of his father's dwelling. lie passed over valleys and forests, his sharp eyes observing even the gloomy caverns under the sombre branches of gigantic trees. Prompted by curiosity, he stopped to look at one of these caves. The mouth of it was so black that it seemed to be the entrance into a region of impenetrable night. Whilst he stood peering into it, a figure appeared, lighting up the recess like a sudden meteor. As it left the cavern, the figure changed its shape, becoming a terrible-looking witch, with a pigeon in one hand and a skull in the other. She held the former over her head for a few minutes, and then, repeating some words of incantation, opened her bony hand, and the bird flew away, making circles in the air as it mounted, and ever and anon, to the boy's terror, assuming the form of a man, on whose face a look of horror and remorse was imprinted.
"The old hag now placed the skull on an altar, on which incense and other preparations were burning. Flames immediately issued from the eye-sockets and fleshless jaws, making it look a very ghastly object. The witch then took up small pebbles, with which she pelted the skull. As these pebbles fell to the ground, they became dwarf warriors, who, with headless bodies, danced round and round the altar, until they fell down exhausted.
"By the side of one of these prostrate warriors, appeared the form of a young girl, beautiful as a bida-darie, or angel. Aruman gazed on this vision with astonishment and admiration, but as he looked the whole vanished from his sight, leaving him in complete darkness. Trying to grope his way out of these haunted regions, his foot slipped on the marshy ground, became entangled amidst thorny bushes, or stumbled over rocks and stones; but this ordeal did not last long, for the weird woman, who, unseen, watched him, satisfied that he was a bold boy, despatched two tigers to walk on each side of him, and by the light of their eyes, which shone like lamps, to guide him out of the jungles.
"Aruman now made straight for his paternal home, on approaching which he met his cruel father a short distance from the house. The memory of his past sufferings rising before his mind, at sight of him his anger was aroused. Seizing his father, he would have despatched him with his kriss, but the recollection of the strange vision of the pigeon arrested him, and he released the wretched man, whom remorse and fear had made helpless in his hands.
"'Go to Mecca, and wash your heart clean in the waters of Zem Zem,' said Aruman; and his father, flying from his presence, was never heard of again.
"Aruman next went indoors, where he found Ma Qualoan sitting, counting over her ornaments. He would have killed her at once, but for the same vision, which constantly flitted before his mind's eye. Before retiring to rest, however, for the night, he securely bound her with cords. In the middle of the night he was awoke by a voice, which, in a whisper, told him what he was to do with her. lie accordingly arose, and unbinding the wretched woman, told her to follow him. After some hours walk they reached the black forest, where, although they heard many voices, they saw no one. By some unseen hands the stepmother was carried into the forest, and placed between two rocks, immediately over a pit full of all kinds of horrors; and there she is believed to remain to this day, groaning from hunger and thirst, as well as from the weight of the rock which is above her. Her miseries are said to be increased tenfold by thousands of little imps, which make a target of her head, for their daily exercise in archery. No well-inclined person dare venture near this locality night or day, and the sufferings of Ma Qualoan often prove a warning to other stepmothers as cruelly inclined.
"For some time Amman lived on quietly in his home, waited on by the faithful Sumarr; but the news of his sorrows and his exploits reaching the ears of the King of Java, he invited the daring boy—now grown a fine youth—to live in his palace. There, to his great astonishment, he again beheld the lovely vision he had seen in the forest, in the person of the king's only daughter, whom he subsequently married; and his baboo, Sumarr, became nurse to his children.
"The king did not live long, and at his death appointed Amman as his successor. The latter reigned long and happily, waging war with other nations, and, like all Javanese heroes, always coming off conqueror. lie is the idol of the people, and therefore all bow before him."
The story of Amman is a favourite tale among the Javanese, and is often represented in their wyangs, a kind of puppet-show, of which the natives are very fond, frequently sitting up several hours after midnight to listen to the improvised tales of the fantoccini manager, as they consider it very unlucky to break the thread of a story, never by any chance doing so when they can possibly avoid it.
As Drahman could not speak a word of English, I have been obliged to translate his wonderful narrative from the Malay, endeavouring to convey the sense as he told it.
The Passangrahan at Batoe is situated in a neat plantation of fruit-trees, to the right of the road. On entering we found attendants ready for orders, and apparently anxious to serve us. The bungalow had a very unpretending appearance, but was much more comfortable than many larger ones in which we had been. Beyond the hedge which surrounded the compound, several temporary sheds and huts were erected for a fair which had lately been held there for the sale of ponies, fowls, crockery, &c. Behind these, on the rising ground, are the Government coffee godowns, kept in the true Dutch style of order ; and a little farther off is the villa of the Contrôleur, designed after a European model. A range of buildings, the property of a coffee planter, Mr. P, is erected near the Contrôleur's residence. To the right of the temporary bazaar is the Wodono's house, from which place all our food was sent, cooked, in a jodang.
No bath-room being attached to the house, as is generally the case, I was conducted, by one of the men, to a small bath-house outside the village. Our way lying through hedges of coffee-trees, some of which were six and seven feet high, an altitude I never saw them reach before. Here and there I observed the Dadup plant, which yields a bright red flower. We passed several women and children carrying water in urns, which they generally supported on their hips, with the right arm round the neck of the vessel; in some cases, however, they bore them on their heads, as in India.
The bath-house is situated just above a little brook, and the bath is formed by a stream which rushes down the hill behind.
In the afternoon we drove to see the ruins of Singoriti, two miles distant from Batoe. They are situated a short way from the village of the same name, in a hollow under the Banyha range. The most striking object is a large square, slightly elevated, in the centre of which, on a floor of hewn trachyte, is an altar ornamented with figures, many of which are now completely decayed, and others fast crumbling away. We observed on the altar the remains of a small pillar or obelisk, with the figure of a woman, in a long dress, and a kind of ruff round her neck, reminding me of those worn in Elizabeth's reign.
On one side of this altar was a square tank, with two bubbling springs of hot water incessantly disturbing its surface; and on the opposite side another of the same description, but smaller. At the corners of the large square were placed spouts, representing the heads of hideous serpents, connected with a conduit which ran all round the square, and by means of which the waste water from the tanks emptied itself, flowing from thence to the adjacent brook, and petrifying in its course everything it touched.
In all probability this was formerly a sacrificial altar, used in the time of the Buddhists, as the Hindoos of the present day frequently bathe their calf or goat before laying it on the altar for sacrifice.
In a small hut, a short distance from this, there are several of these mineral springs, the water of which we found, on tasting it, to be ferruginous. The deposit on the sides and bottom of each tank was quite red, and the water clear as crystal. Between the hut and the square was a large flooring, or coating of petrified matter, comprised of treeroots, pieces of bamboo, &c., having all the appearance of being solid plaster, and in many parts from three to four inches thick. The brook, which runs close by, seems to have the same property for turning everything it comes in contact with into stone. Even the branches of the shrubs growing near the banks of the stream, and long enough to reach the water, were undergoing a petrifying process, being covered with a beautiful coating like crystal or hoar frost.
At certain periods of the year the Javanese make pilgrimages to these ruins, strew flowers upon the altar, and burn large quantities of incense; for though Mahomedans, they have a superstitious reverence for all the old ruined temples and altars of their ancestors, and still follow some of their ancient rites. One Javanese tradition concerning these remains will recall to the reader's mind, very probably, some portions of the old Roman mythology. Many believe this was formerly the forge of Supo—a kind of Javanese Vulcan—who, with his son Suro, manufactured krisses in a very curious fashion. The iron, cut into the lengths required, was heated, and then beaten into shape with a round stone; the one used in tempo dulu kala, or bygone ages, for this purpose, being shown by the credulous native. The most singular part of this tale is that these celebrated smiths are believed to have finished off the point of each kriss, when red hot, with their fingers, a circumstance which added a peculiar virtue to the weapon.
Drahman found a burnt bit of incense, or benjamin, as they term it, in one of the little recesses in the altar. He was so pleased with it that he folded it up in a corner of his handkerchief, intending to take it back to Batavia.
As we were leaving Singoriti, he turned to look at the ruins again, apparently wrapt in thought; on perceiving which, I asked him what it was that thus occupied his mind.
"Sir," he said, "before my father died, he had a presentiment that I should some day see this place. He had one of Supo's krisses, he told me, but unfortunately lost it on some mountain where he went to gather wood. How I wish I had his kriss now, sir! The blow given by one of these is unerring, and possesses a powerful charm in parrying the thrust of an adversary."'
I could not help smiling at the credulity and superstition displayed in the simple speech of the man. He saw it, but only remarked, "Ini soongoo skali, Tuan." "This is a fact, sir."
That evening we made preparations for our intended excursion to Ngantang, or Antang, next day, as the limited "extension of leave" granted by the Resident obliged us to economise time. The Man dor declared it to be thirty-six miles there and back, which, in his opinion, was far too long a journey for us to perform in one day on horseback, the road he said being so bad and hilly, that every Dutch gentleman who visited the place always made a two days' excursion of it.
A quarter before six next morning, while the village was just waking from its slumbers, our ponies came to the door, and we were soon off at a rapid rate up and down the undulating road past Singoriti. A little farther on we came to a very awkward, steep ascent, on the shoulder, so to speak, of the Banyha mountains. It is at this spot that the carriage road to Ngantang ceases, as it is almost impossible for any horse conveyance to proceed farther, the road in many parts being a mere pathway, and in some places almost entirely covered with pebbles.
When we had ascended about two hundred feet above the level of the, road, we had a very good view of Batoe and the surrounding country. The ride, on the whole, was a delightful one, for the scenery was very pretty and varied. Now we were winding up the sides of a hill, then galloping through thickets, and afterwards through a plantation of coffee, white with bloom, and very fragrant, at the end of which we came suddenly in full view of the Indrowaty, which appeared like an unexpected scene in a dissolving view, its sides luxuriantly clad with verdure.
A Dutchman may well be proud of his colony, as he gazes on the interminable fields of cultivation, extending from the hill-tops to the valleys below, where you see the hand of industry upturning the rich earth, or, when the soil is arid, irrigating it by means of their bamboo conduits. Nature has blessed Java with a healthy climate, genial temperature, and fertile soil, and the Dutch — notwithstanding their former arbitrary measures, modified of late years by a more liberal system of government—have made it what it is, a happy, contented land, yielding a splendid revenue.
The air became very chilly as we neared the end of our journey, but it was fortunately very clear, and free from damp. Through dense masses of foliages, the Kali Konto is often seen on the route, as it runs in a zig-zag direction for many miles, sometimes close to our horses' feet, dashing against spars of wood in its rapid course, or falling with loud-toned music on shelving rocks and broken slabs of stone. It was also occasionally seen far away in the hollow of some ravine. Numbers of rustic bridges, of simple construction, made principally of bamboo, each with a roof or covering of attap, are thrown across the river, and are supported by bamboo poles and fern trees in quite a primitive method.
At Kodongbiroe we stopped to change ponies, and then proceeded to Tretes, a village of scattered huts, in a narrow valley formed by two hills, and covered with vegetation. Ferns in almost every variety are here seen in abundance by the road-side, and on the banks, many so delicate in appearance that you might fancy the slightest shower would wash them away, root and all.
The Passangrahan at Ngantang is visible from the road long before the traveller reaches it. The path to it winds through a forest, and the river, which has accompanied you at intervals so far, now falls into the beautiful valley to your left; and you look down on a shallow ravine, gradually opening into lakes of sawahs.
The trees on each side, as we passed through the forest, were of gigantic height, festoons of creepers, and many-leaved orchids, bright with flowers, hanging to their branches and clinging to their bark.
The bungalow is said to be situated 1,700 feet above the level of the sea, and the view from it is very fine. In the grounds I saw a large slab circularly finished at the top, with the curious unintelligible Kawie characters below—a singular looking figure. The Wodono called it the Dawo, or disciple. I was told the average yearly produce of Ngantang in rice alone was 25,000 piculs.[1]
On our way back we dismounted between Ngantang and Kadangbiroe, and crossing a small bamboo bridge over the river Konto, walked a short distance to see the waterfall of Trétes, said to be 109 feet high. The water rushes, foaming snowy white, out of a narrow gap formed by two rocky sides of the hill, its spray moistening the bamboo, banana, pakis, and nibong above and around. A few feet from the gorge it falls on a rock, over a mass of creepers which cling to the sides; and so transparent is the water, that each leaf and stem is seen distinctly through the watery veil, bending under the weight of the constant flow. From thence it tumbles, with unmistakeable hollow sounds, into a reservoir which reflects the varied foliage of the trees above it, and is surrounded by the large-leafed Calladiums, some of which had drops on them from the waterfall, running from side to side of each leaf, and, on the green velvety surface, appearing like quicksilver. It is a beautiful little cascade, and I should have been very sorry to have missed it.
At twelve we reached Batoe, having accomplished the journey in less than six hours, to the no small astonishment of the Wodono; and after an hour's rest we went to see the coffee factory of Mr. P. The fresh berries, when gathered, are thrown into a dentated cylinder, which is turned round by means of steam, and, as it revolves, grates the pulpy covering off the husk or shell iu which the berry is contained. These fall into running rills or conduits, which convey them to reservoirs outside the factory, where, by means of rakes and brooms, they are washed clean. The reservoirs are then partially opened to allow the exuviæ to escape into some neighbouring ditch. The coffee is afterwards taken out and carted to some two and three-storied sheds, where it is strewn upon the floors, and left until all moisture is gone. In a day or two it is taken out and spread upon receivers of wood or brick in the open air; and when the husk is found to be thoroughly dry and brittle, it is carried away into another building to be shelled. Were the berries exposed to the sun immediately after being taken from the reservoir—which would certainly appear to be the most expeditious plan—they would rot from drying too quickly.
We were next shown a kind of threshing-machine, the stand of which was something like a capstan, placed in the centre of two circular broad grooves, having four good-sized poles fixed into it, to keep the heavy wheels revolving in their respective orbits. The dried coffee is thrown into these grooves, where the pressure of the wheels as they turn round soon takes all the husks off. When this process is completed, the berries are put into sieves, to be cleared from dust; after which they are finally taken to another large shed, where from two to three hundred women are employed in sorting those that are good from those that are black, or bad. All that remains to be done after this is the packing into large bags, a specified portion being set aside for Government.
I have before alluded to the jodang in which our meals were brought from the Wodono's; but as it is quite a curiosity in its way, a slight description of it may not be amiss. It is a painted box, suspended from bamboo poles, and carried on the shoulders of two men. It was quite amusing to see the dishes handed one after another out of this Pandora's box—for such it must have appeared in the eyes of my wife, who regarded all these strongsavoured Oriental dainties as so many distasteful compounds, while Hope, which lay at the bottom, appeared to her in the shape of a plain roast fowl, generally served in a large dish placed on the lowest compartment.
At eight p.m. the same evening we were at Malang, and as there was to be a fancy ball at ten, an invitation to which we had previously accepted, we determined, though fatigued, to go.
On our way back to Surabaya next day, we returned by the route we had come as far as Protong, where we turned off into another and shorter road, across a heath of from four to five miles in extent, and almost covered by large blocks of stone and boulders of grey rock, many overgrown with moss and small ferns. These blocks are believed to have been ejected from the Ardjuno during an eruption of that mountain, which now towers so majestically to our left.
We passed through several villages, densely populated, where we saw numbers of boys engaged in taming Java sparrows, which, as the name implies, are very numerous in this island. The method of educating them adopted by the boys is very simple. Young birds or hens—on account of the greater facility with which they are trained — are generally selected for the purpose. A long piece of twine is tied round the neck, one end of which the boy keeps in his left hand, holding a small perch in his right. In training he allows the bird to fly for a few yards, and then invites it to return on to the perch. In process of time it comes as soon as called; and when that is the case, the twine is dispensed with, and bets are frequently made as to the interval at which the bird will return at the trainer's call. The hens are easily distinguishable from their being of a lighter grey, and from the pink on the head being paler.
We stayed awhile at Boedoeran to look at a sugar factory worked by steam, which had all the newest inventions that were found to be good and useful in the process—such as the centrifugal machine for turning the molasses into dry sugar in a few minutes, and other valuable discoveries for economising time and labour. The men employed to boil the juice are Chinese, but the most important branches of the machinery are managed by Javanese. The coolies employed in cutting and carting the cane are likewise natives.
Previous to the emancipation of the Javanese from forced labour, which took place a few months before our arrival, the canes were gathered and carted by a certain number of coolies supplied to the proprietors of those factories to which the Government had advanced money. It may not be generally known, that in this country the Government advances money and a grant of land to such planters as are unable to purchase the latter, claiming in return two-thirds of the produce, to be delivered on a certain clay appointed for its receipt.
Since the emancipation, men are hired by the day, and as no pressure can be made, as heretofore, to expedite their labour, the canes are but too freuently left until they are over-ripe, thereby entailing a deterioration in the quality and a delay in the delivery of the sugar, and thus bringing the planters into disagreeable collision with Government, which, in the face of such difficulties, expects to receive their produce as punctually as usual. Those, therefore, who had to pay for unavoidable remissness contended that since the Government had thought proper to institute free labour, its agents ought to . make allowances for unavoidable delays; as, like all Europeans in Java, they must be aware that the Javanese, without the pressure of superior power, fall into those procrastinating, lazy habits common to all Asiatics, thereby rendering it impossible to carry on all the processes of sugar-making with the regularity formerly usual in the factories.
We remained in Surabaya four days, waiting for our passport from the Governor-General, to enable us to visit the Yorsten-Landen, or land of the princes. In no town or village of Java are the natives allowed to walk after seven in the evening without a light. Some make their nocturnal rambles with torches of small thin split bamboo, made up into bundles, and lit at one end. Others carry about a tumbler filled half-way or two-thirds with water, and the rest with oil, upon the surface of which floats a wick made of pith, and pierced with a couple of sticks having corks at the end. I saw many carrying these tumblers in white pocket handkerchiefs, through which the light shone. How they kept them from igniting was always a mystery to me, unless it be that the handkerchief has been previously dipped in some incombustible solution. Some natives carry torches of damar or rosin, the extract of some indigenous plant, or sticks of wood tied in a bundle and rubbed over with ignitable compounds, which generally give the most glaring but the least durable lights.
The Javanese, as a nation, are not athletic. They are not, like the natives of India, fond of wrestling, jumping, &c. Football, however, is one of those out-door amusements which has become quite a national game amongst them. The ball is made of basket work, with many apertures, so that it may be easily caught when falling or rolling. This forms the people's recreation in many parts, after the work of the day is over.
- ↑ A picul is fully 1331bs. English.