The Malay Archipelago Volume 1

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Early in November I returned to Macassar, and having packed up my
collections, started in the Dutch mail steamer for Amboyna and
Ternate. Leaving this part of my journey for the present, I will
in the next chapter conclude my account of Celebes, by describing
the extreme northern part of the island which I visited two years
later.

CHAPTER XVII.

CELEBES.

(MENADO. JUNE TO SEPTEMBER, 1859.)

IT was after my residence at Timor-Coupang that I visited the
northeastern extremity of Celebes, touching Banda, Amboyna, and
Ternate on my way. I reached Menado on the 10th of June, 1859,
and was very kindly received by Mr. Tower, an Englishman, but a
very old resident in Menado, where he carries on a general
business. He introduced me to Mr. L. Duivenboden (whose father
had been my friend at Ternate), who had much taste for natural
history; and to Mr. Neys, a native of Menado, but who was
educated at Calcutta, and to whom Dutch, English, and Malay were
equally mother-tongues. All these gentlemen showed me the
greatest kindness, accompanied me in my earliest walks about the
country, and assisted me by every means in their power. I spent a
week in the town very pleasantly, making explorations and
inquiries after a good collecting station, which I had much
difficulty in finding, owing to the wide cultivation of coffee
and cacao, which has led to the clearing away of the forests for
many miles around the town, and over extensive districts far into
the interior.

The little town of Menado is one of the prettiest in the East. It
has the appearance of a large garden containing rows of rustic
villas with broad paths between, forming streets generally at
right angles with each other. Good roads branch off in several
directions towards the interior, with a succession of pretty
cottages, neat gardens, and thriving plantations, interspersed
with wildernesses of fruit trees. To the west and south the
country is mountainous, with groups of fine volcanic peaks 6,000
or 7,000 feet high, forming grand and picturesque backgrounds to
the landscape.

The inhabitants of Minahasa (as this part of Celebes is called)
differ much from those of all the rest of the island, and in fact
from any other people in the Archipelago. They are of a light-
brown or yellow tint, often approaching the fairness of a
European; of a rather short stature, stout and well-made; of an
open and pleasing countenance, more or less disfigured as age
increases by projecting check-bones; and with the usual long,
straight, jet-black hair of the Malayan races. In some of the
inland villages where they may be supposed to be of the purest
race, both men and women are remarkably handsome; while nearer
the coasts where the purity of their blood has been destroyed by
the intermixture of other races, they approach to the ordinary
types of the wild inhabitants of the surrounding countries.

In mental and moral characteristics they are also highly
peculiar. They are remarkably quiet and gentle in disposition,
submissive to the authority of those they consider their
superiors, and easily induced to learn and adopt the habits of
civilized people. They are clever mechanics, and seem capable of
acquiring a considerable amount of intellectual education.

Up to a very recent period these people were thorough savages,
and there are persons now living in Menado who remember a state
of things identical with that described by the writers of the
sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The inhabitants of the
several villages were distinct tribes, each under its own chief,
speaking languages unintelligible to each other, and almost
always at war. They built their houses elevated upon lofty posts
to defend themselves from the attacks of their enemies. They were
headhunters like the Dyaks of Borneo, and were said to be
sometimes cannibals. When a chief died, his tomb was adorned with
two fresh human heads; and if those of enemies could not be
obtained, slaves were killed for the occasion. Human skulls were
the great ornaments of the chiefs' houses. Strips of bark were
their only dress. The country was a pathless wilderness, with
small cultivated patches of rice and vegetables, or clumps of
fruit-trees, diversifying the otherwise unbroken forest. Their
religion was that naturally engendered in the undeveloped human
mind by the contemplation of grand natural phenomena and the
luxuriance of tropical nature. The burning mountain, the torrent
and the lake, were the abode of their deities; and certain trees
and birds were supposed to have special influence over men's
actions and destiny. They held wild and exciting festivals to
propitiate these deities or demons, and believed that men could
be changed by them into animals--either during life or after
death.

Here we have a picture of true savage life; of small isolated
communities at war with all around them, subject to the wants and
miseries of such a condition, drawing a precarious existence from
the luxuriant soil, and living on, from generation to generation,
with no desire for physical amelioration, and no prospect of
moral advancement.

Such was their condition down to the year 1822, when the coffee-
plant was first introduced, and experiments were made as to its
cultivation. It was found to succeed admirably from fifteen
hundred feet, up to four thousand feet above the sea. The chiefs of
villages were induced to undertake its cultivation. Seed and
native instructors were sent from Java; food was supplied to the
labourers engaged in clearing and planting; a fixed price was
established at which all coffee brought to the government
collectors was to be paid for, and the village chiefs who now
received the titles of "Majors" were to receive five percent of
the produce. After a time, roads were made from the port of
Menado up to the plateau, and smaller paths were cleared from
village to village; missionaries settled in the more populous
districts and opened schools; and Chinese traders penetrated to
the interior and supplied clothing and other luxuries in exchange
for the money which the sale of the coffee had produced.

At the same time, the country was divided into districts, and the
system of "Controlleurs," which had worked so well in Java, was
introduced. The "Controlleur "was a European, or a native of
European blood, who was the general superintendent of the
cultivation of the district, the adviser of the chiefs, the
protector of the people, and the means of communication between
both and the European Government. His duties obliged him to visit
every village in succession once a month, and to send in a
report on their condition to the Resident. As disputes between
adjacent villages were now settled by appeal to a superior
authority, the old and inconvenient semi-fortified houses were
disused, and under the direction of the "Controlleurs" most of
the houses were rebuilt on a neat and uniform plan. It was this
interesting district which I was now about to visit.

Having decided on my route, I started at 8 A.M. on the 22d of
June. Mr. Tower drove me the first three miles in his chaise, and
Mr. Neys accompanied me on horseback three miles further to the
village of Lotta. Here we met the Controlleur of the district of
Tondano, who was returning home from one of his monthly tours,
and who had agreed to act as my guide and companion on the
journey. From Lotta we had an almost continual ascent for six
miles, which brought us on to the plateau of Tondano at an
elevation of about 2,400 feet. We passed through three villages
whose neatness and beauty quite astonished me. The main road,
along which all the coffee is brought down from the interior in
carts drawn by buffaloes, is always turned aside at the entrance
of a village, so as to pass behind it, and thus allow the village
street itself to be kept neat and clean. This is bordered by neat
hedges often formed entirely of rose-trees, which are perpetually
in blossom. There is a broad central path and a border of fine
turf, which is kept well swept and neatly cut. The houses are all
of wood, raised about six feet on substantial posts neatly
painted blue, while the walls are whitewashed. They all have a
verandah enclosed with a neat balustrade, and are generally
surrounded by orange-trees and flowering shrubs. The surrounding
scenery is verdant and picturesque. Coffee plantations of extreme
luxuriance, noble palms and tree ferns, wooded hills and volcanic
peaks, everywhere meet the eye. I had heard much of the beauty of
this country, but the reality far surpassed my expectations.

About one o'clock we reached Tomohón, the chief place of a
district, having a native chief now called the "Major," at whose
house we were to dine. Here was a fresh surprise for me. The
house was large, airy and very substantially built of hard native
timber, squared and put together in a most workmanlike manner. It
was furnished in European style, with handsome chandelier lamps,
and the chairs and tables all well made by native workmen. As
soon as we entered, madeira and bitters were offered us. Then two
handsome boys neatly dressed in white, and with smoothly brushed
jet-black hair, handed us each a basin of water and a clean
napkin on a salver. The dinner was excellent. Fowls cooked in
various ways; wild pig roasted, stewed and fried; a fricassee of
bats, potatoes, rice and other vegetables; all served on good
china, with finger glasses and fine napkins, and abundance of
good claret and beer, seemed to me rather curious at the table of
a native chief on the mountains of Celebes. Our host was dressed
in a suit of black with patent-leather shoes, and really looked
comfortable and almost gentlemanly in them. He sat at the head of
the table and did the honours well, though he did not talk much.
Our conversation was entirely in Malay, as that is the official
language here, and in fact the mother-tongue and only language of
the Controlleur, who is a native-born half-breed. The Major's
father who was chief before him, wore, I was informed, a strip of
bark as his sole costume, and lived in a rude but raised home
on lofty poles, and abundantly decorated with human heads. Of course
we were expected, and our dinner was prepared in the best style, but
I was assured that the chiefs all take a pride in adopting
European customs, and in being able to receive their visitors in
a handsome manner.

After dinner and coffee, the Controlleur went on to Tondano, and
I strolled about the village waiting for my baggage, which was
coming in a bullock-cart, and did not arrive until after midnight.
Supper was very similar to dinner, and on retiring I found an
elegant little room with a comfortable bed, gauze curtains with
blue and red hangings, and every convenience. Next morning at
sunrise the thermometer in the verandah stood at 69°, which I was
told is about the usual lowest temperature at this place, 2,500
feet above the sea. I had a good breakfast of coffee, eggs, and
fresh bread and butter, which I took in the spacious verandah
amid the odour of roses, jessamine, and other sweet-scented
flowers, which filled the garden in front; and about eight
o'clock left Tomohón with a dozen men carrying my baggage.

Our road lay over a mountain ridge about 4,000 feet above the
sea, and then descended about 500 feet to the little village of
Rurúkan, the highest in the district of Minahasa, and probably in
all Celebes. Here I had determined to stay for some time to see
whether this elevation would produce any change in the zoology.
The village had only been formed about ten years, and was quite
as neat as those I had passed through, and much more picturesque.
It is placed on a small level spot, from which there is an abrupt
wooded descent down to the beautiful lake of Tondano, with
volcanic mountains beyond. On one side is a ravine, and beyond it
a fine mountainous and wooded country.

Near the village are the coffee plantations. The trees are
planted in rows, and are kept topped to about seven feet high.
This causes the lateral branches to grow very strong, so that
some of the trees become perfect hemispheres, loaded with fruit
from top to bottom, and producing from ten to twenty pounds each
of cleaned coffee annually. These plantations were all formed by
the Government, and are cultivated by the villagers under the
direction of their chief. Certain days are appointed for weeding
or gathering, and the whole working population are summoned by the
sound of a gong. An account is kept of the number of hours' work
done by each family, and at the year's end, the produce of the
sale is divided among them proportionately. The coffee is taken
to Government stores established at central places over the whole
country, and is paid for at a low fixed price. Out of this a
certain percentage goes to the chiefs and majors, and the
remainder is divided among the inhabitants. This system works
very well, and I believe is at present far better for the people
than free-trade would be. There are also large rice-fields, and
in this little village of seventy houses, I was informed that a
hundred pounds' worth of rice was sold annually.

I had a small house at the very end of the village, almost
hanging over the precipitous slope down to the stream, and with a
splendid view from the verandah. The thermometer in the morning
often stood at 62° and never rose so high as 80°, so that with
the thin clothing used in the tropical plains we were always cool
and sometimes positively cold, while the spout of water where I
went daily for my bath had quite an icy feel. Although I enjoyed
myself very much among these fine mountains and forests, I was
somewhat disappointed as to my collections. There was hardly any
perceptible difference between the animal life in this temperate
region and in the torrid plains below, and what difference did
exist was in most respects disadvantageous to me. There seemed to
be nothing absolutely peculiar to this elevation. Birds and
quadrupeds were less plentiful, but of the same species. In
insects there seemed to be more difference. The curious beetles
of the family Cleridae, which are found chiefly on bark and
rotten wood, were finer than I have seen them elsewhere. The
beautiful Longicorns were scarcer than usual, and the few
butterflies were all of tropical species. One of these, Papilio
blumei, of which I obtained a few specimens only, is among the
most magnificent I have ever seen. It is a green and gold
swallow-tail, with azure-blue and spoon-shaped tails, and was often
seen flying about the village when the sun shone, but in a very
shattered condition. The great amount of wet and cloudy weather
was a great drawback all the time I was at Rurukan.

Even in the vegetation there is very little to indicate
elevation. The trees are more covered with lichens and mosses,
and the ferns and tree-ferns are finer and more luxuriant than I
had been accustomed to seeing on the low grounds, both probably
attributable to the almost perpetual moisture that here prevails.
Abundance of a tasteless raspberry, with blue and yellow
composite, have somewhat of a temperate aspect; and minute ferns
and Orchideae, with dwarf Begonias on the rocks, make some
approach to a sub-alpine vegetation. The forest, however, is most
luxuriant. Noble palms, Pandani, and tree-ferns are abundant in
it, while the forest trees are completely festooned with
Orchideae, Bromeliae, Araceae, Lycopodiums, and mosses. The
ordinary stemless ferns abound; some with gigantic fronds ten or
twelve feet long, others barely an inch high; some with entire
and massive leaves, others elegantly waving their finely-cut
foliage, and adding endless variety and interest to the forest
paths. The cocoa-nut palm still produces fruit abundantly, but is
said to be deficient in oil. Oranges thrive better than below,
producing abundance of delicious fruit; but the shaddock or
pumplemous (Citrus decumana) requires the full force of a
tropical sun, for it will not thrive even at Tondano a thousand
feet lower. On the hilly slopes rice is cultivated largely, and
ripens well, although the temperature rarely or never rises to
80°, so that one would think it might be grown even in England in
fine summers, especially if the young plants were raised under
glass.

The mountains have an unusual quantity of earth and vegetable
mould spread over them. Even on the steepest slopes there is
everywhere a covering of clays and sands, and generally a good
thickness of vegetable soil. It is this which perhaps contributes
to the uniform luxuriance of the forest, and delays the
appearance of that sub-alpine vegetation which depends almost as
much on the abundance of rocky and exposed surfaces as on
difference of climate. At a much lower elevation on Mount Ophir
in Malacca, Dacrydiums and Rhododendrons with abundance of
Nepenthes, ferns, and terrestrial orchids suddenly took the place
of the lofty forest; but this was plainly due to the occurrence
of an extensive slope of bare, granitic rock at an elevation of
less than 3,000 feet. The quantity of vegetable soil, and also of
loose sands and clays, resting on steep slopes, hill-tops and the
sides of ravines, is a curious and important phenomenon. It may
be due in part to constant, slight earthquake shocks facilitating
the disintegration of rock; but, would also seem to indicate that
the country has been long exposed to gentle atmospheric action,
and that its elevation has been exceedingly slow and continuous.

During my stay at Rurukan, my curiosity was satisfied by
experiencing a pretty sharp earthquake-shock. On the evening of
June 29th, at a quarter after eight, as I was sitting reading,
the house began shaking with a very gentle, but rapidly
increasing motion. I sat still enjoying the novel sensation for
some seconds; but in less than half a minute it became strong
enough to shake me in my chair, and to make the house visibly
rock about, and creak and crack as if it would fall to pieces.
Then began a cry throughout the village of "Tana goyang! tana
goyang! "(Earthquake! earthquake!) Everybody rushed out of their
houses--women screamed and children cried--and I thought it
prudent to go out too. On getting up, I found my head giddy and
my steps unsteady, and could hardly walk without falling. The
shock continued about a minute, during which time I felt as if I
had been turned round and round, and was almost seasick. Going
into the house again, I found a lamp and a bottle of arrack
upset. The tumbler which formed the lamp had been thrown out of
the saucer in which it had stood. The shock appeared to be nearly
vertical, rapid, vibratory, and jerking. It was sufficient, I
have no doubt, to have thrown down brick, chimneys, walls, and
church towers; but as the houses here are all low, and strongly
framed of timber, it is impossible for them to be much injured,
except by a shock that would utterly destroy a European city. The
people told me it was ten years since they had had a stronger
shock than this, at which time many houses were thrown down and
some people killed.

At intervals of ten minutes to half an hour, slight shocks and
tremors were felt, sometimes strong enough to send us all out
again. There was a strange mixture of the terrible and the
ludicrous in our situation. We might at any moment have a much
stronger shock, which would bring down the house over us, or--
what I feared more--cause a landslip, and send us down into the
deep ravine on the very edge of which the village is built; yet I
could not help laughing each time we ran out at a slight shock,
and then in a few moments ran in again. The sublime and the
ridiculous were here literally but a step apart. On the one hand,
the most terrible and destructive of natural phenomena was in
action around us--the rocks, the mountains, the solid earth were
trembling and convulsed, and we were utterly impotent to guard
against the danger that might at any moment overwhelm us. On the
other hand was the spectacle of a number of men, women, and
children running in and out of their houses, on what each time
proved a very unnecessary alarm, as each shock ceased just as it
became strong enough to frighten us. It seemed really very much
like "playing at earthquakes," and made many of the people join
me in a hearty laugh, even while reminding each other that it
really might be no laughing matter.

At length the evening got very cold, and I became very sleepy,
and determined to turn in; leaving orders to my boys, who slept
nearer the door, to wake me in case the house was in danger of
falling. But I miscalculated my apathy, for I could not sleep
much. The shocks continued at intervals of half an hour or an
hour all night, just strong enough to wake me thoroughly each
time and keep me on the alert, ready to jump up in case of danger.
I was therefore very glad when morning came. Most of the
inhabitants had not been to bed at all, and some had stayed out
of doors all night. For the next two days and nights shocks still
continued at short intervals, and several times a day for a week,
showing that there was some very extensive disturbance beneath
our portion of the earth's crust. How vast the forces at work
really are can only be properly appreciated when, after feeling
their effects, we look abroad over the wide expanse of hill and
valley, plain and mountain, and thus realize in a slight degree
the immense mass of matter heaved and shaken. The sensation
produced by an earthquake is never to be forgotten. We feel
ourselves in the grasp of a power to which the wildest fury of
the winds and waves are as nothing; yet the effect is more a
thrill of awe than the terror which the more boisterous war of
the elements produces. There is a mystery and an uncertainty as
to the amount of danger we incur, which gives greater play to the
imagination, and to the influences of hope and fear. These
remarks apply only to a moderate earthquake. A severe one is the
most destructive and the most horrible catastrophe to which human
beings can be exposed.

A few days after the earthquake I took a walk to Tondano, a large
village of about 7,000 inhabitants, situated at the lower end of
the lake of the same name. I dined with the Controlleur, Mr.
Bensneider, who had been my guide to Tomohon. He had a fine large
house, in which he often received visitors; and his garden was
the best for flowers which I had seen in the tropics, although
there was no great variety. It was he who introduced the rose
hedges which give such a charming appearance to the villages; and
to him is chiefly due the general neatness and good order that
everywhere prevail. I consulted him about a fresh locality, as I
found Rurúkan too much in the clouds, dreadfully damp and gloomy,
and with a general stagnation of bird and insect life. He
recommended me a village some distance beyond the lake, near
which was a large forest, where he thought I should find plenty
of birds. As he was going himself in a few days, I decided to
accompany him.

After dinner I asked him for a guide to the celebrated waterfall
on the outlet stream of the lake. It is situated about a mile and
half below the village, where a slight rising ground closes in
the basin, and evidently once formed, the shore of the lake. Here
the river enters a gorge, very narrow and tortuous, along which it
rushes furiously for a short distance and then plunges into a
great chasm, forming the head of a large valley. Just above the
fall the channel is not more than ten feet wide, and here a few
planks are thrown across, whence, half hid by luxuriant
vegetation, the mad waters may be seen rushing beneath, and a few
feet farther plunge into the abyss. Both sight and sound are
grand and impressive. It was here that, four years before my
visit, the Governor-General of the Netherland Indies committed
suicide, by leaping into the torrent. This at least is the
general opinion, as he suffered from a painful disease which was
supposed to have made him weary of his life. His body was found
next day in the stream below.

Unfortunately, no good view of the fall could now be obtained,
owing to the quantity of wood and high grass that lined the
margins of the precipices. There are two falls, the lower being
the most lofty; and it is possible, by long circuit, to descend
into the valley and see them from below. Were the best points of
view searched for and rendered accessible, these falls would
probably be found to be the finest in the Archipelago. The chasm
seems to be of great depth, probably 500 or 600 feet. Unfortunately,
I had no time to explore this valley, as I was anxious to devote
every fine day to increasing my hitherto scanty collections.

Just opposite my abode in Rurukan was the schoolhouse. The
schoolmaster was a native, educated by the Missionary at Tomohón.
School was held every morning for about three hours, and twice a
week in the evening there was catechising and preaching. There
was also a service on Sunday morning. The children were all
taught in Malay, and I often heard them repeating the
multiplication-table, up to twenty times twenty, very glibly. They
always wound up with singing, and it was very pleasing to hear
many of our old psalm-tunes in these remote mountains, sung with
Malay words. Singing is one of the real blessings which
Missionaries introduce among savage nations, whose native chants
are almost always monotonous and melancholy.

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