The Malay Archipelago
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by Alfred Russell Wallace >> The Malay Archipelago
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My collection of birds, though not very rich in number of
species, was yet very interesting. I got another specimen of the
rare New Guinea kite (Henicopernis longicauda), a large new
goatsucker (Podargus superciliaris), and a most curious ground-
pigeon of an entirely new genus, and remarkable for its long and
powerful bill. It has been named Henicophaps albifrons. I was
also much pleased to obtain a fine series of a large fruit-pigeon
with a protuberance on the bill (Carpophaga tumida), and to
ascertain that this was not, as had been hitherto supposed, a
sexual character, but was found equally in male and female birds.
I collected only seventy-three species of birds in Waigiou, but
twelve of them were entirely new, and many others very rare; and
as I brought away with me twenty-four fine specimens of the
Paradisea rubra, I did not regret my visit to the island,
although it had by no means answered my expectations.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
VOYAGE FROM WAIGIOU TO TERNATE.
(SEPTEMBER 29 To NOVEMBER 5, 1860.)
I HAD left the old pilot at Waigiou to take care of my house and
to get the prau into sailing order--to caulk her bottom, and to
look after the upper works, thatch, and ringing. When I returned
I found it nearly ready, and immediately began packing up and
preparing for the voyage. Our mainsail had formed one side of our
house, but the spanker and jib had been put away in the roof, and
on opening them to see if any repairs were wanted, to our horror
we found that some rats had made them their nest, and had gnawed
through them in twenty places. We had therefore to buy matting
and make new sails, and this delayed us till the 29th of
September, when we at length left Waigiou.
It took us four days before we could get clear of the land,
having to pass along narrow straits beset with reefs and shoals,
and full of strong currents, so that an unfavourable wind stopped
us altogether. One day, when nearly clear, a contrary tide and
head wind drove us ten miles back to our anchorage of the night
before. This delay made us afraid of running short of water if we
should be becalmed at sea, and we therefore determined, if
possible, to touch at the island where our men had been lost, and
which lay directly in our proper course. The wind was, however,
as usual, contrary, being S.S.W. instead of S.S.E., as it should
have been at this time of the year, and all we could do was to
reach the island of Gagie, where we came to an anchor by
moonlight under bare volcanic hills. In the morning we tried to
enter a deep bay, at the head of which some Galela fishermen told
us there was water, but a head-wind prevented us. For the reward
of a handkerchief, however, they took us to the place in their
boat, and we filled up our jars and bamboos. We then went round
to their camping-place on the north coast of the island to try
and buy something to eat, but could only get smoked turtle meat
as black and as hard as lumps of coal. A little further on there
was a plantation belonging to Guebe people, but under the care of
a Papuan slave, and the next morning we got some plantains and a
few vegetables in exchange for a handkerchief and some knives. On
leaving this place our anchor had got foul in some rock or sunken
log in very deep water, and after many unsuccessful attempts, we
were forced to cut our rattan cable and leave it behind us. We
had now only one anchor left.
Starting early, on the 4th of October, the same S.S.W wind
continued, and we began to fear that we should hardly clear the
southern point of Gilolo. The night of the 5th was squally, with
thunder, but after midnight it got tolerably fair, and we were
going along with a light wind arid looking out for the coast of
Gilolo, which we thought we must be nearing, when we heard a dull
roaring sound, like a heavy surf, behind us. In a short time the
roar increased, and we saw a white line of foam coming on, which
rapidly passed us without doing any harm, as our boat rose easily
over the wave. At short intervals, ten or a dozen others overtook
us with bleat rapidity, and then the sea became perfectly smooth,
as it was before. I concluded at once that these must be
earthquake waves; and on reference to the old voyagers we find
that these seas have been long subject to similar phenomena.
Dampier encountered them near Mysol and New Guinea, and describes
them as follows: "We found here very strange tides, that ran in
streams, making a great sea, and roaring so loud that we could
hear them before they came within a mile of us. The sea round
about them seemed all broken, and tossed the ship so that she
would not answer her helm. These ripplings commonly lasted ten or
twelve minutes, and then the sea became as still and smooth as a
millpond. We sounded often when in the midst of them, but found
no ground, neither could we perceive that they drove us any way.
We had in one night several of these tides, that came mostly from
the west, and the wind being from that quarter we commonly heard
them a long time before they came, and sometimes lowered our
topsails, thinking it was a gust of wind. They were of great
length, from north to south, but their breadth not exceeding 200
yards, and they drove a great pace. For though we had little wind
to move us, yet these world soon pass away, and leave the water
very smooth, and just before we encountered them we met a great
swell, but it did not break." Some time afterwards, I learnt that
an earthquake had been felt on the coast of Gilolo the very day
we had encountered these curious waves.
When daylight came, we saw the land of Gilolo a few miles off,
but the point was unfortunately a little to windward of us. We
tried to brace up all we could to round it, but as we approached
the shore we got into a strong current setting northward, which
carried us so rapidly with it that we found it necessary to stand
off again, in order to get out of its influence. Sometimes we
approached the point a little, and our hopes revived; then the
wind fell, and we drifted slowly away. Night found us in nearly
the same position as we had occupied in the morning, so we hung
down our anchor with about fifteen fathoms of cable to prevent
drifting. On the morning of the 7th we were however, a good way
up the coast, and we now thought our only chance would be to got
close in-shore, where there might be a return current, and we
could then row. The prau was heavy, and my men very poor
creatures for work, so that it took us six hours to get to the
edge of the reef that fringed the shore; and as the wind might at
any moment blow on to it, our situation was a very dangerous one.
Luckily, a short distance off there was a sandy bay, where a
small stream stopped the growth of the coral; and by evening we
reached this and anchored for the night. Here we found some
Galela men shooting deer and pigs; but they could not or would
not speak Malay, and we could get little information from them.
We found out that along shore the current changed with the tide,
while about a mile out it was always one way, and against us; and
this gave us some hopes of getting back to the point, from which
we were now distant twenty miles. Next morning we found that the
Galela men had left before daylight, having perhaps some vague
fear of our intentions, anal very likely taking me for a pirate.
During the morning a boat passed, and the people informed us
that, at a short distance further towards the point, there was a
much better harbour, where there were plenty of Galela men, from
whom we, might probably get some assistance.
At three in the afternoon, when the current turned, we started;
but having a head-wind, made slow progress. At dusk we reached
the entrance of the harbour, but an eddy and a gust of wind
carried us away and out to sea. After sunset there was a land
breeze, and we sailed a little to the south-east. It then became
calm, and eve hung down our anchor forty fathoms, to endeavour to
counteract the current; but it was of little avail, and in the
morning we found ourselves a good way from shore, and just
opposite our anchorage of the day before, which we again reached
by hard rowing. I gave the men this day to rest and sleep; and
the next day (Oct. 10th) we again started at two in the morning
with a land breeze. After I had set them to their oars, and given
instructions to keep close in-shore, and on no account to get out
to sea, I went below, being rather unwell. At daybreak I found,
to my great astonishment, that we were again far off-shore, and
was told that the wind had gradually turned more ahead, and had
carried us out--none of them having the sense to take down the
sail and row in-shore, or to call me. As soon as it was daylight,
we saw that we had drifted back, and were again opposite our
former anchorage, and, for the third time, had to row hard to get
to it. As we approached the shore, I saw that the current was
favourable to us, and we continued down the coast till we were
close to the entrance to the lower harbour. Just as we were
congratulating ourselves on having at last reached it, a strong
south-east squall carne on, blowing us back, and rendering it
impossible for us to enter. Not liking the idea of again
returning, I determined on trying to anchor, and succeeded in
doing so, in very deep water and close to the reefs; but the
prevailing winds were such that, should we not hold, we should
have no difficulty in getting out to sea. By the time the squall
had passed, the current had turned against us, and we expected to
have to wait till four in the afternoon, when we intended to
enter the harbour.
Now, however, came the climax of our troubles. The swell produced
by the squall made us jerk our cable a good deal, and it suddenly
snapped low down in the water. We drifted out to sea, and
immediately set our mainsail, but we were now without any anchor,
and in a vessel so poorly manned that it could not be rowed
against the most feeble current or the slightest wind, it word be
madness to approach these dangerous shores except in the most
perfect calm. We had also only three days' food left. It was
therefore out of the question making any further attempts to get
round the point without assistance, and I at once determined to
run to the village of Gani-diluar, about ten miles further north,
where we understood there was a good harbour, and where we might
get provisions and a few more rowers. Hitherto winds and currents
load invariably opposed our passage southward, and we might have
expected them to be favourable to us now we had turned our
bowsprit in an opposite direction. But it immediately fell calm,
and then after a time a westerly land breeze set in, which would
not serve us, and we had to row again for hours, and when night
came had not reached the village. We were so fortunate, however,
as to find a deep sheltered cove where the water was quite
smooth, and we constructed a temporary anchor by filling a sack
with stones from our ballast, which being well secured by a
network of rattans held us safely during the night. The next
morning my men went on shore to cut wood suitable for making
fresh anchors, and about noon, the current turning in our favour,
we proceeded to the village, where we found an excellent and
well-protected anchorage.
On inquiry, we found that the head men resided at the other Gani
on the western side of the peninsula, and it was necessary to
send messengers across (about half a day's journey) to inform
them of my arrival, and to beg them to assist me. I then
succeeded in buying a little sago, some dried deer-meat and
cocoa-nuts, which at once relieved our immediate want of
something to eat. At night we found our bag of atones still held
us very well, and we slept tranquilly.
The next day (October 12th), my men set to work making anchors
and oars. The native Malay anchor is ingeniously constructed of a
piece of tough forked timber, the fluke being strengthened by
twisted rattans binding it to the stem, while the cross-piece is
formed of a long flat stone, secured in the same manner. These
anchors when well made, hold exceedingly arm, and, owing to the
expense of iron, are still almost universally used on board the
smaller praus. In the afternoon the head men arrived, and
promised me as many rowers as I could put on the prau, and also
brought me a few eggs and a little rice, which were very
acceptable. On the 14th there was a north wind all day, which
would have been invaluable to us a few days earlier, but which
was now only tantalizing. On the 16th, all being ready, we
started at daybreak with two new anchors and ten rowers, who
understood their work. By evening we had come more than half-way
to the point, and anchored for the night in a small bay. At three
the next morning I ordered the anchor up, but the rattan cable
parted close to the bottom, having been chafed by rocks, and we
then lost our third anchor on this unfortunate voyage. The day
was calm, and by noon we passed the southern point of Gilolo,
which had delayed us eleven days, whereas the whole voyage during
this monsoon should not have occupied more than half that time.
Having got round the point our course was exactly in the opposite
direction to what it had been, and now, as usual, the wind
changed accordingly, coming from the north and north-west,--so
that we still had to row every mile up to the village of Gani,
which we did not reach till the evening of the 18th. A Bugis
trader who was residing there, and the Senaji, or chief, were
very kind; the former assisting me with a spare anchor and a
cable, and making me a present of some vegetables, and the latter
baking fresh sago cakes for my men; and giving rue a couple of
fowls, a bottle of oil, and some pumpkins. As the weather was
still very uncertain, I got four extra men to accompany me to
Ternate, for which place we started on the afternoon of the 20th.
We had to keep rowing all night, the land breezes being too weak
to enable us to sail against the current. During the afternoon of
the 21st we had an hour's fair wind, which soon changed into a
heavy squall with rain, and my clumsy men let the mainsail get
taken aback and nearly upset us, tearing the sail; and, what was
worse, losing an hour's fair wind. The night was calm, and we
made little progress.
On the 22d we had light head-winds. A little before noon we
passed, with the assistance of our oars, the Paciencia Straits,
the narrowest part of the channel between Batchian and Gilolo.
These were well named by the early Portuguese navigators, as the
currents are very strong, and there are so many eddies, that even
with a fair wind vessels are often quite unable to pass through
them. In the afternoon a strong north wind (dead ahead) obliged
us to anchor twice. At nigh it was calm, and we crept along
slowly with our oars.
On the 23d we still had the wind ahead, or calms. We then crossed
over again to the mainland of Gilolo by the advice of our Gani
men, who knew the coast well. Just as we got across we had
another northerly squall with rain, and had to anchor on the edge
of a coral reef for the night. I called up my men about three on
the morning of the 24th, but there was no wind to help us, and we
rowed along slowly. At daybreak there was a fair breeze from the
south, but it lasted only an hour. All the rest of the day we had
nothing but calms, light winds ahead, and squalls, and made very
little progress.
On the 25th we drifted out to the middle of the channel, but made
no progress onward. In the afternoon we sailed and rowed to the
south end of Kaiķa, and by midnight reached the village. I
determined to stay here a few days to rest and recruit, and in
hopes of getting better weather. I bought some onions and other
vegetables, and plenty of eggs, and my men baked fresh sago
cakes. I went daily to my old hunting-ground in search of
insects, but with very poor success. It was now wet, squally
weather, and there appeared a stagnation of insect life. We
Staved five days, during which time twelve persons died in the
village, mostly from simple intermittent fever, of the treatment
of which the natives are quite ignorant. During the whole of this
voyage I had suffered greatly from sunburnt lips, owing to having
exposed myself on deck all day to loon after our safety among the
shoals and reefs near Waigiou. The salt in the air so affected
them that they would not heal, but became excessively painful,
and bled at the slightest touch, and for a long time it was with
great difficulty I could eat at all, being obliged to open my
mouth very wide, and put in each mouthful with the greatest
caution. I kept them constantly covered with ointment, which was
itself very disagreeable, and they caused me almost constant pain
for more than a month, as they did not get well till I had
returned to Ternate, and was able to remain a week indoors.
A boat which left for Ternate, the day after we arrived, was
obliged to return the next day, on account of bad weather. On the
31st we went out to the anchorage at the mouth of the harbour, so
as to be ready to start at the first favourable opportunity.
On the 1st of November I called up my men at one in the morning,
and we started with the tide in our favour. Hitherto it had
usually been calm at night, but on this occasion we had a strong
westerly squall with rain, which turned our prau broadside, and
obliged us to anchor. When it had passed we went on rowing all
night, but the wind ahead counteracted the current in our favour,
and we advanced but little. Soon after sunrise the wind became
stronger and more adverse, and as we had a dangerous lee-shore
which we could not clear, we had to put about and get an offing
to the W.S.W. This series of contrary winds and bad weather ever
since we started, not having had a single day of fair wind, was
very remarkable. My men firmly believed there was something
unlucky in the boat, and told me I ought to have had a certain
ceremony gone through before starting, consisting of boring a
hole in the bottom and pouring some kind of holy oil through it.
It must be remembered that this was the season of the south-east
monsoon, and yet we had not had even half a day's south-east wind
since we left Waigiou. Contrary winds, squalls, and currents
drifted us about the rest of the day at their pleasure. The night
was equally squally and changeable, and kept us hard at work
taking in and making sail, and rowing in the intervals.
Sunrise on the 2d found us in the middle of the ten-mile channel
between Kaiķa and Makian. Squalls and showers succeeded each
other during the morning. At noon there was a dead calm, after
which a light westerly breeze enabled us to reach a village on
Makian in the evening. Here I bought some pumelos (Citrus
decumana), kanary-nuts, and coffee, and let my men have a night's
sleep.
The morning of the 3d was fine, and we rowed slowly along the
coast of Makian. The captain of a small prau at anchor, seeing me
on deck and guessing who I was, made signals for us to stop, and
brought me a letter from Charles Allen, who informed me he had
been at Ternate twenty days, and was anxiously waiting my
arrival. This was good news, as I was equally anxious about him,
and it cheered up my spirits. A light southerly wind now sprung
up, and we thought we were going to have fine weather. It soon
changed, however, to its old quarter, the west; dense clouds
gathered over the sky, and in less than half an hour we had the
severest squall we had experienced during our whole voyage.
Luckily we got our great mainsail down in time, or the
consequences might have been serious. It was a regular little
hurricane, and my old Bugis steersman began shouting out to
"Allah! il Allah!" to preserve us. We could only keep up our jib,
which was almost blown to rags, but by careful handling it kept
us before the wind, and the prau behaved very well. Our small
boat (purchased at Gani) was towing astern, and soon got full of
water, so that it broke away and we saw no more of it. In about
an hour the fury of the wind abated a little, and in two more we
were able to hoist our mainsail, reefed and half-mast high.
Towards evening it cleared up and fell calm, and the sea, which
had been rather high, soon went down. Not being much of a seaman
myself I had been considerably alarmed, and even the old
steersman assured me he had never been in a worse squall all his
life. He was now more than ever confirmed in his opinion of the
unluckiness of the boat, and in the efficiency of the holy oil
which all Bugis praus had poured through their bottoms. As it
was, he imputed our safety and the quick termination of the
squall entirely to his own prayers, saying with a laugh, "Yes,
that's the way we always do on board our praus; when things are
at the worst we stand up and shout out our prayers as loud as we
can, and then Tuwan Allah helps us."
After this it took us two days more to reach Ternate, having our
usual calms, squalls, and head-winds to the very last; and once
having to return back to our anchorage owing to violent gusts of
wind just as we were close to the town. Looking at my whole
voyage in this vessel from the time when I left Goram in May, it
will appear that rely experiences of travel in a native prau have
not been encouraging. My first crew ran away; two men were lost
for a month on a desert island; we were ten times aground on
coral reefs; we lost four anchors; the sails were devoured by
rats; the small boat was lost astern; we were thirty-eight days
on the voyage home, which should not have taken twelve; we were
many times short of food and water; we had no compass-lamp, owing
to there not being a drop of oil in Waigiou when we left; and to
crown all, during the whole of our voyages from Goram by Ceram to
Waigiou, and from Waigiou to Ternate, occupying in all seventy-
eight days, or only twelve days short of three months (all in
what was supposed to be the favourable season), we had not one
single day of fair wind. We were always close braced up, always
struggling against wind, tide, and leeway, and in a vessel that
would scarcely sail nearer than eight points from the wind. Every
seaman will admit that my first voyage in my own boat was a most
unlucky one.
Charles Allen had obtained a tolerable collection of birds and
insects at Mysol, but far less than be would have done if I had
not been so unfortunate as to miss visiting him. After waiting
another week or two till he was nearly starved, he returned to
Wahai in Ceram, and heard, much to his surprise, that I had left
a fortnight before. He was delayed there more than a month before
he could get back to the north side of Mysol, which he found a
much better locality, but it was not yet the season for the
Paradise Birds; and before he had obtained more than a few of the
common sort, the last prau was ready to leave for Ternate, and he
was obliged to take the opportunity, as he expected I would be
waiting there for him.
This concludes the record of my wanderings. I next went to Timor,
and afterwards to Bourn, Java, and Sumatra, which places have
already been described. Charles Allen made a voyage to New
Guinea, a short account of which will be given in my next chapter
on the Birds of Paradise. On his return he went to the Sula
Islands, and made a very interesting collection which served to
determine the limits of the zoological group of Celebes, as
already explained in my chapter on the natural history of that
island. His next journey was to Flores and Solor, where he
obtained some valuable materials, which I have used in my chapter
on the natural history of the Timor group. He afterwards went to
Coti on the east coast of Borneo, from which place I was very
anxious to obtain collections, as it is a quite new locality as
far as possible from Sarawak, and I had heard very good accounts
of it. On his return thence to Sourabaya in Java, he was to have
gone to the entirely unknown Sumba or Sandal-wood Island. Most
unfortunately, however, he was seized with a terrible fever on
his arrival at Coti, and, after lying there some weeks, was taken
to Singapore in a very bad condition, where he arrived after I
had left for England. When he recovered he obtained employment in
Singapore, and I lost his services as a collector.
The three concluding chapters of my work will treat of the birds
of Paradise, the Natural History of the Papuan (stands, and the
Races of Man in the Malay Archipelago.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE BIRDS OF PARADISE.
AS many of my journeys were made with the express object of
obtaining specimens of the Birds of Paradise, and learning
something of their habits and distribution; and being (as far as
I am aware) the only Englishman who has seen these wonderful
birds in their native forests, and obtained specimens of many of
them, I propose to give here, in a connected form, the result of
my observations and inquiries.
When the earliest European voyagers reached the Moluccas in
search of cloves and nutmegs, which were then rare and precious
spices, they were presented with the dried shins of birds so
strange and beautiful as to excite the admiration even of those
wealth-seeking rovers. The Malay traders gave them the name of
"Manuk dewata," or God's birds; and the Portuguese, finding that
they had no feet or wings, and not being able to learn anything
authentic about then, called them "Passaros de Col," or Birds of
the Sun; while the learned Dutchmen, who wrote in Latin, called
them "Avis paradiseus," or Paradise Bird. John van Linschoten
gives these names in 1598, and tells us that no one has seen
these birds alive, for they live in the air, always turning
towards the sun, and never lighting on the earth till they die;
for they have neither feet nor wings, as, he adds, may be seen by
the birds carried to India, and sometimes to Holland, but being
very costly they were then rarely seen in Europe. More than a
hundred years later Mr. William Funnel, who accompanied Dampier,
and wrote an account of the voyage, saw specimens at Amboyna, and
was told that they came to Banda to eat nutmegs, which
intoxicated them and made them fall down senseless, when they
were killed by ants. Down to 1760, when Linnaeus named the
largest species, Paradisea apoda (the footless Paradise Bird), no
perfect specimen had been seen in Europe, and absolutely nothing
was known about them. And even now, a hundred years later, most
books state that they migrate annually to Ternate, Banda, and
Amboyna; whereas the fact is, that they are as completely unknown
in those islands in a wild state as they are in England. Linnaeus
was also acquainted with a small species, which he named
Paradisea regia (the King Bird of Paradise), and since then nine
or ten others have been named, all of which were first described
from skins preserved by the savages of New Guinea, and generally
more or less imperfect. These are now all known in the Malay
Archipelago as "Burong coati," or dead birds, indicating that the
Malay traders never saw them alive.
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