BELOOCHISTAN.
Just underneath Affghanistan, lies Beloochistan, by the sea coast. It is separated from India by the river Indus. You may know a Beloochee from an Affghan by his stiff red cotton cap, in the shape of a hat without a brim; whereas, an Affghan wears a turban. Yet the religion of the Beloochee is the same as that of the Affghan, namely, the Mahomedan, and the character is alike, only the Beloochee is the fiercer of the two: the country also is alike, being wild and rocky.
Beloochistan has not been conquered by the British: it has a king of its own; yet the British have fought against Beloochistan. On one occasion a British army was sent to punish the king of Beloochistan for not having sent corn to us, as he had promised.
The army consisted of three thousand men, and amongst them was the young soldier, of whom you have heard so much already. His father was ill at the time, and could not fight; but the youth came upon his pony, with a camel to carry his tent, and all his baggage.
The troops as usual marched in the night. In the morning, about eight o'clock, they first caught sight of Kelat, the capital of Beloochistan. It was a grand sight, for the city is built on a high hill, with a citadel at the top. The dark Beloochees were seen thronging about the walls and the towers, gazing at the British army, but not daring to approach them.
Our soldiers, when they first arrived, were too much tired to begin the attack, and therefore they rested on the grass for two hours. At ten o'clock the word of command was given, and the attack was made. The British planted their six cannons opposite the gates, and began to fire.
Where was the young soldier? He was commanded to run with his company close up to the wall, and there to remain. As he ran, he was exposed to the full fire of the enemy. The youth heard bullets whizzing by as he passed, and he expected every moment that some ball would lay him low; but through the mercy of God he reached the wall in safety. Close underneath the wall was not a dangerous post, for the bullets passed over the heads of those standing there.
About noon, the British cannons had destroyed the gates. Then the British soldiers rushed into the town. Amongst the first to enter was the young soldier; because when the gates fell he was standing close by. As he passed along the streets, he saw no one but the dead and the dying; for the Beloochees had fled for refuge to their citadel on the top of the hill. The king himself was there.
The citadel was a place very difficult for an enemy to enter; for the entrance was through a narrow dark passage underground. Into this passage the British soldiers poured, but soon they came to a door, which they could not get through, for Beloochee soldiers stood there, sword in hand, ready to cut down any one who approached. "Look at my back," said one soldier to his fellow. The other looked, and beheld the most frightful gashes gaping wide and bleeding freely. Such were the wounds that each soldier, who ventured near that door, was sure to receive.
At this moment a cry was heard, saying, "Another passage is found." When the Beloochees heard this cry, they gave up all hopes of keeping the enemy out of the citadel; so they left off fighting, and cried "Peace."
But their king was already dead; he had fallen on the threshold of the passage last found. The first man who tried to get in by that way the king had killed; but the second had killed the king. The British, as they rushed in by this new way, trampled on the body of the fallen monarch. He was a splendid object even in death; his long dark ringlets were flowing over his glittering garments, and his sharp sword, with its golden hilt, was in his hand. The British hurried by, and climbed the steep and narrow stairs leading to the top of the citadel, and the enemy no longer durst oppose their course.
On the terrace at the top of the citadel, in the open air, stood the nobles of Beloochistan. There were princes too from the countries all around. It was a magnificent assembly. These men were the finest of a fine race. Some were clad in shining armor, and others in flowing garments of green and gold. Thus they stood for a moment, and the next—they were rolling on the ground!!
How was this? Had not peace been agreed upon on both sides? Yes, but a British soldier had attempted to take away the sword of one of the princes. The prince had resisted, and with his sword, had wounded the soldier; and instantly every British gun on that spot had been pointed at the nobles of Beloochistan.
This was why the nobles were lying in the agonies of death.
Our young soldier was not one of those who slew the nobles. He was standing on another part of the terrace, when, hearing a tremendous volley of guns, he exclaimed to a friend, "What can that be?" Going forward, he beheld heaps of bleeding bodies, turbans, and garments—in one confused mass. The dying were calling for water, and the very soldiers who had shot them, were holding cups to their quivering lips, though themselves parched with thirst. But water could not save the lives of the fallen nobles: one by one they ceased to cry out, and soon—all were silent—and all were still. The VICTORY was WON! But how awful had been the last scene! How cruelly, how unjustly, had the lives of that princely assembly been cut short!
The conquerors returned that evening to their camp. On their way, they passed through the desolate streets of the city; the mud cottages on each side were empty, and blood flowed between. The young officer, as he marched at the head of his company, was struck by seeing a row of his own fellow-soldiers lying dead upon the ground. They had been placed there ready for burial on the morrow. Their ghastly faces, and gaping wounds were terrible to behold. The youth remembered them full of life and spirits in the morning, unmindful of their dismal end; then he felt how merciful God had been in sparing his life; and when he crept into his little tent that night, he returned him thanks upon his knees; though he did not love him then as his Saviour from eternal death. Wearied, he soon fell asleep, but his sleep was broken by dreadful dreams of blood and death.
The next day he walked through the conquered town, and saw the British soldiers dragging the dead bodies of their enemies by ropes fastened to their feet. They were dragging them to their grave, which was a deep trench, and there they cast them in and covered them up with earth.
Such is the history of the conquest of Kelat.[[10]] How many souls were suddenly hurled into eternity! How many unprepared to meet their Judge, because their sins were unpardoned, and their souls unwashed! But in war, who thinks of souls and sins! O horrible war! How hateful to the Prince of Peace!
September 13, 1839.
BURMAH.
Of all the kings in Asia, the king of Burmah is the greatest, next to the emperor of China. He has not indeed nearly as large a kingdom, or as many subjects as that emperor; but like him, he is worshipped by his people. He is called "Lord of life and death," and the "Owner of the sword," for instead of holding a sceptre in his hand, he holds a golden sheathed sword. A sword indeed suits him well, for he is very cruel to his subjects. Nowhere are such severe punishments inflicted. For drinking brandy the punishment is, pouring molten lead down the throat; and for running away from the army, the punishment is, cutting off both legs, and leaving the poor creature to bleed to death. A man for choosing to be a Christian was beaten all over the body with a wooden mallet, till he was one mass of bruises; but before he was dead, he was let go.
Every one is much afraid of offending this cruel king. The people tremble at the sound of his name; and when they see him, they fall down with their heads in the dust. The king makes any one a lord whom he pleases, yet he treats even his lords very rudely. When displeased with them, he will hunt them out of the room with his drawn sword. Once he made forty of his lords lie upon their faces for several hours, beneath the broiling sun, with a great beam over them to keep them still. It was well for them that the king did not send for the men with spotted faces. Who are those men? The executioners. Their faces are always covered with round marks tattooed in the skin. The sight of these spotted faces fills all the people with terror. Every one runs away at the sight of a spotted face, and no one will allow a man with a spotted face to sit down in his house. In what terror the poor Burmese must live, not knowing when the order for death will arrive. Yet the king is so much revered, that when he dies, instead of saying, "He is dead," the people say, "He is gone to amuse himself in the heavenly regions"
The king has a great many governors under him, and they are as cruel as himself. A missionary once saw a poor creature hanging on a cross. He inquired what the man had done, and finding that he was not a murderer, he went to the governor to entreat him to pardon the man. For a long while the governor refused to hear him: but at last he gave him a note, desiring the crucified man to be taken down from the cross. Would you believe it?—the Burmese officers were so cruel that they would not toke out the nails, till the missionary had promised them a piece of cloth as a reward! When the man was released, he was nearly dead, having been seven hours bleeding on the cross; but he was tenderly nursed by the missionary, and at last he recovered. Yet all the agonies of a cross had not changed the man's heart, and he returned to his old way of life as a thief. Had he believed in that Saviour who was nailed to a cross for his sins, he would, like the dying thief, have repented. Though the Burmese are so unfeeling to each other, they think it wrong to kill animals, and never eat any meat, except the flesh of animals who have died of themselves. Even the fishermen think they shall be punished hereafter for catching fish; but they say, "We must do it, or we shall be starved." You may be sure that such a people must have some false and foolish religion; and so they have, as you will see.
IDOL CAR AND PAGODA. See [ p. 203.]
RELIGION.—It is the religion of Buddha. This Buddha was a man who was born at Benares, in India, more than two thousand years ago; and people say, that for his great goodness was made a boodh, or a god. Yet the Burmese do not think he is alive now; they say he is resting as a reward for his goodness. Why then do they pray to him, if he cannot hear them? They pray because they think it is very good to pray, and that they shall be rewarded for it some day. What reward do they expect? It is this—to rest as Buddha does—to sleep forever and ever. This is the reward they look for. Every one in Burmah thinks he has been born a great many times into the world,—now as an insect,—now as a bird,—now as a beast, and he thinks that because he was very good,—as a reward he was made a man. Then he thinks that if he is very good as a poor man, he shall be born next time to be a rich man; and at last, that he will be allowed to rest like Buddha himself. What is it to be good? The Burmese say that the greatest goodness is making an idol, and next to that, making a pagoda. You know what an idol is, but do you know what a pagoda is? It is a house, with an idol hidden inside, and it has no door, nor window, therefore no one can get into a pagoda. Some pagodas are very large, and others very small. As it is thought so very good to make idols and pagodas, the whole land is filled with them; the roads in some places are lined with them; the mountains are crowned with them.
Next to making idols, and building pagodas, it is considered good to make offerings. You may see the father climbing a steep hill to reach a pagoda, his little one by his side, and plucking green twigs as he goes. He reaches the pagoda, and strikes the great bell, then enters the idol-house near the pagoda, and teaches his young child how to fold its little hands, and to raise them to its forehead, while it repeats a senseless prayer; then leaving the green twigs at the idol's feet, the father descends with his child in his arms. How many little ones, such as Jesus once took in his arms, are taught every day to serve Satan.
The people who are thought the best in Burmah, are the priests. Any one that pleases may be a priest. The priests pretend to be poor, and go out begging every morning with their empty dishes in their hands; but they get them well filled, and then return to the handsome house, all shining with gold, in which they live together in plenty and in pride. They are expected to dress in rags, to show that they are poor; but not liking rags, they cut up cloth in little pieces, and sew the pieces together to make their yellow robes; and this they call wearing rags. They pretend to be so modest, that they do not like to show their faces, and so hide them with a fan, even when they preach; for they do preach in their way, that is, they tell foolish stories about Buddha. The name they give him is Guadama, while the Chinese call him Fo. They have five hundred and fifty stories written in their books about him; for they say he was once a bird, a fly, an elephant, and all manner of creatures, and was so good whatever he was, that at last he was born the son of a king.
CHARACTER.—The Burmese are a blunt and rough people. They are not like the Chinese and the Hindoos, ready to pay compliments to strangers. When a Burmese has finished a visit, he says, "I am going," and his friend replies, "Go." This is very blunt behavior. But all blunt people are not sincere. The Burmese are very deceitful, and tell lies on every occasion; indeed, they are not ashamed of their falsehoods. They are also very proud, because they fancy they were so good before they were born into this world. All the kind actions they do are in the hope of getting more merit, and this bad motive spoils all they do. They are kind to travellers. In every village there is a pretty house, called a Zayat, where travellers may rest. As soon as a guest arrives, the villagers hasten to wait upon him;—one brings a clean mat, another a jug of water, and a third a basket of fruit. But why is all this attention shown? In the hope of getting merit. The Burmese resemble the Chinese in their respect to their parents. They are better than the Chinese in their treatment of their children, for they are kind to the girls is well as to the boys; neither do they destroy any of their infants. They are temperate also, not drinking wine,—having only two meals in the day, and then not eating too much. In these points they are to be approved. They are, however, very violent in their tempers; it is true they are not very easily provoked, but when they are angry, they use very abusive language. Thus you see they are by no means an amiable people.
APPEARANCE.—In their persons they are far less pleasing than the Hindoos; for instead of slender faces and figures, they have broad faces and thick figures. But they have not such dark complexions as the Hindoos.
They disfigure themselves in various ways. To make their skins yellow, they sprinkle over them a yellow powder. They also make their teeth black, because they say they do not wish to have white teeth like dogs and monkeys. They bore their ears, and put bars of gold, or silver, or marble through the holes.
The women wear a petticoat and a jacket. The men wear a turban, a loose robe, and a jacket; they tie up their hair in a knot behind, and tattoo their legs, by pricking their skin, and then putting in black oil. They have the disagreeable custom of smoking, and of chewing a stuff called "coon," which they carry in a box.
Every one (except the priests) carries an umbrella to guard him from the sun; the king alone has a white one; his nobles have gilded umbrellas; the next class have red umbrellas; and the lowest have green.
FOOD.—Burmah is a pleasanter country than Hindostan, for it is not so hot, and yet it is as fruitful. The people live chiefly upon rice; but when they cannot get enough, they find abundance of leaves and roots to satisfy their hunger.
ANIMALS.—There are many tigers, but no lions. The Burmese are fond of adorning their houses with statues of lions, but never having seen any, they make very strange and laughable figures. The pride of Burmah is her elephants; but they all belong to the king, and none may ride upon one but himself, and his chief favorite. Carriages are drawn by bullocks, or buffaloes; and there are horses for riding, so the Burmese can do very well without the elephants. The king thinks a great deal too much of these noble animals. There was a white elephant that he delighted in so much, that he adorned it with gold, and jewels, and counted it next to himself in rank, even above the queen.
HOUSES.—The Burmese build their houses on posts, so that there is an empty place under the floors. Dogs and crows may often be seen walking under the houses, eating whatever has fallen through the cracks of the floor.
The king allows none but the nobles to build houses of brick and stone; the rest build them of bamboos. This law is unpleasant; but there is another law which is a great comfort to the poor. It is this;—any one may have land who wishes for it. A man has only to cultivate a piece of spare land, and it is counted his, as long as he continues to cultivate it; therefore all industrious people have gardens of their own.
THE KARENS.
Among the mountains of Burmah, there are a wild people called the Karens, very poor and very ignorant; yet some have attended to the voice of the missionaries. They are not so proud as the Burmese; for they have no gods at all, and no books at all: they have not filled their heads with five hundred and fifty stories about Gaudama; therefore they are more ready to listen to the history of Jesus.
The Karens live in houses raised from the ground, and so large is the place underneath, that they keep poultry and pigs there. Every year they move to a new place, and build new houses, clear a new piece of ground, by burning the weeds, dig it up, and sow rice. Thus they wander about, and they number their years by the number of houses they have lived in.
Of all the Eastern nations, they sing and play the most sweetly, and when they become Christians, they sing hymns, very sweetly indeed.
There is one Christian village among the mountains, called Mata, which means love; and every morning the people meet together in the Zayat, or travellers' house, to sing and pray. Before they were Christians, the Karens were in constant fear of the Nats; (not insects, but evil spirits), and sometimes in order to please their Nats, they were so cruel as to beat a pig to death. The Christian Karens have left off such barbarous practices, and have become kind and compassionate. When the missionaries told them that they ought to love one another, some of them went secretly the next day to wait upon a poor leper, and upon a woman covered with sores. Another day, without being asked, they collected some money and brought it to the missionaries, saying, they wished to set free a poor Burman who had been imprisoned for Christ's sake. It is cheering to the missionaries to see them turning from their sins.[[11]]
AVA.
This city was once the capital of Burmah, and then it was called the "golden city." But now the king lives in another city, and the glory of Ava has passed away.
MAULMAIN.
This city, though in Burmah, may be called a British city, because the British built it; for they have conquered great part of Burmah. There are missionaries there. One there is, named Judson, who has turned more than a hundred Burmese to the Lord. But he has known great troubles. His wife and his little girl shared in these troubles.
I will now relate the history of the short life of little Maria Judson.
THE MISSIONARY'S BABE.
The missionary's babe, little Maria, was born in a cottage by the side of a river, and very near the walls of the great city of Ava, where the king dwelt.
It was a wooden cottage, thatched with straw, and screened by a verandah from the burning sun. It was not like an English cottage, for it was built on high posts, that the cool air might play beneath. It contained three small rooms all on one floor. The country around was lovely; for the green banks of the river were adorned with various colored flowers and with trees laden with fine fruits.
In this pretty cottage, the infant Maria was lulled in her mother's arms to sleep, and often the tears rolling down the mother's cheeks, fell upon the baby's fair face. Why did the mother weep? It was for her husband she wept. He was not dead, but he was in prison. He was a missionary, and the king of Ava had imprisoned him in the midst of the great city. Was his wife left all alone with her babe in her cottage? No, there were two little Burmese girls there. They were the children of heathen parents, and they had been received by the kind lady into her cottage, and now they were learning to worship God. Their new names were, Mary, and Abby. There were also two men servants, of dark complexion, dressed in white cotton, and wearing turbans. It was a sorrowful little household, because the master of the family was absent, because he was in distress, and his life was in danger. Every day his fond wife visited him in his prison. She left her babe under the care of Mary, and set out with a little basket in her hand. After walking two miles through the streets of Ava, she came to some high walls—she knocked at the gate—a stern-looking man opened it. The lady, passing through the gates, entered a court. In one corner of the court, there was a little shed made of bamboos, and near it, upon a mat, eat a pale, and sorrowful man. His countenance brightens when he perceives the lady enter. She refreshes him with the nice food she has brought in her basket, and comforts him with sweet and heavenly words:—then hastens to return to her babe. As soon as she enters her cottage, she sinks back, half fainting, in her rocking-chair, while she folds again her little darling in her arms. Happy babe! thy parents are suffering for Jesus—and they are blessed of the Lord, and their baby with them.
Greater sorrows still, soon befell the little family. One day, a messenger came to the cottage, with the sad tidings that the bamboo hut had been torn down, the mat, and pillow taken away, and the prisoner, laden with chains, thrust into the inner prison. The loving wife hastened to the governor of the city to ask for mercy; but she could obtain none, only she was permitted to see her husband. And what a sight! He was shut up in a room with a hundred men, and without a window!! Though the weather was hot no breath of air reached the poor prisoners, but through the cracks in the boards. No wonder that the missionary soon fell ill of a fever. His wife, fearing he would die, determined to act like the widow in the parable, and to weary the unjust judge by her entreaties. She left her quiet cottage, and built a hut of bamboos at the governor's gate, and there she lived with her babe, and the little Burmese girls. The prison was just opposite the governor's gate, so that the anxious wife had now the comfort of being near her suffering husband. The governor was wearied by her importunity, and at last permitted her to build again a bamboo hovel for the prisoner in the court of the prison. The sick man was brought out of the noisome dungeon, and was laid upon his mat in the fresh air. He was supplied with food and medicine by his faithful wife, and he began to recover.
But in three days, a change occurred. Suddenly the poor wife heard that her beloved had been dragged from his prison, and taken, she knew not where. She inquired of everybody she saw, "Where is he gone?" but no answer could she obtain. At last the governor told her, that his prisoner was taken to a great city, named A-ma-ra-poora. This city was seven miles from Ava. The wife decided in a moment what to do. She determined to follow her husband. Taking her babe in her arms, and accompanied by the Burmese children, and one servant, she set out. She went to the city up the river in a covered boat, and thus she was sheltered from the scorching sun of an Indian May. But when she arrived at Amarapoora, she heard that her husband had been taken to a village six miles off. To this village she travelled in a clumsy cart drawn by oxen. Overcome with fatigue, she arrived at the prison, and saw her poor husband sitting in the court chained to another prisoner, and looking very ill. He had neither hat, nor coat, nor shoes, and his feet were covered with wounds he had received, as he had been driven over the burning gravel on the way to the prison: but his wounds had been bound up by a kind heathen servant, who had torn up his own turban to make bandages.
When the missionary saw his wife approaching with her infant, he felt grieved on her account, and exclaimed, "Why have you come? You cannot live here?" But she cared not where she lived, so that she could be near her suffering husband. She wished to build a bamboo hut at the prison gate: but the jailor would not allow her. However, he let her live in a room of his own house. It was a wretched room, with no furniture but a mat. Here the mother and the children slept that night, while the servant, wrapped in his cloth, lay at the door. They had no supper that night. Next day, they bought food in the village, with some silver that the lady kept carefully concealed in her clothes.
A new trouble soon came upon them. Mary was seized with a small-pox of a dreadful sort. Who now was to help the weak mother to nurse the little Maria? Abby was too young. The babe was four months old, and a heavy burden for feeble arms; yet all day long the mother carried it, as she went to and fro from the sick child to the poor prisoner. Sometimes, when it was asleep, she laid it down by the side of her husband. He was able to watch a sleeping babe, but not to nurse a babe awake, owing to his great weakness, and to his mangled feet. Soon the babe herself was attacked by the small-pox, and continued very ill for three months. This last trial was too much for the poor mother. Her strength failed her, and for many weeks she lay upon her mat unable to rise. She must have perished, if it had not been for the faithful servant. He was a native of Bengal, and a heathen. Yet he was so much concerned for his sick mistress and imprisoned master, that he would sometimes go without food all day, while he was attending to their wants; and he did all without expecting any wages.
The poor little infant was in a sad case now its mother was lying on the mat. It cried so much for milk, that once its father got leave to carry it round the village to ask the mothers who had babes, to give some milk to his. By this plan, the little creature was quieted in the day, but at night its cries were most distressing.
The time at length arrived, when these trials were to end. The king sent for the missionary, not to put him to death, as he had once intended, but to ask for his help. What help could he render to the king? The reason why the missionary had been imprisoned so long was, that a British army had attacked Burmah. The king had feared, lest the missionary should take part with the enemy, and therefore he had shut him up. Now there were hopes of peace, and an interpreter was wanted to help the Burmese to speak with the British. The missionary knew both the English language and the Burmese, and he could explain to the king what the English general would say.
For this purpose he was brought to Ava. He was not driven along the road like a beast, but relieved from his chains, and treated with less cruelty than formerly. Yet he was still a prisoner.
The mother was now well enough to make a journey, though still very weak. She returned to her cottage by the river-side, and soon she had the delight of seeing her husband enter it. It was seventeen months since he had been torn from it by the king's officers, and ever since, he had been groaning in irons. But he was not now come to remain in his cottage, but only to obtain a little food and clothing to take with him to the Burmese camp. His wife felt cheered on his account, hoping that as an interpreter he would be well treated.
No sooner was he gone, than she was seized with that deadly disease, called spotted fever. What now would become of little Maria? Through the tender mercy of God, on the very day the mother fell ill, a Burmese woman offered to nurse the babe. Every day the mother grew worse, till at last the neighbors came in to see her die. As they stood around, they exclaimed, in their Burmese tongue, "She is dead, and if the king of angels should come in, he could not recover her." Their king of angels could not, but her KING of ANGELS could, for he can raise the dead. But this dear lady was not dead, though nearly dead.
The Lord of life showed her mercy. A friend entered the sick chamber. It was Dr. Price, a missionary and a prisoner, but who had obtained leave from the king to visit the sick lady. He understood her case, and he ordered her head to be shaved, and blisters to be applied to her feet. From that time, she began to recover, and in a month, she had strength to stand up. The governor, who had once been so slow to hear her complaints, now sent for her to his house. He received her in the kindest manner. What was her joy, when she foiled her husband there, not as a prisoner, but as a guest. Many prayers had she offered up, during her long illness, and they were now answered. The promise she had trusted in was fulfilled. This was that promise: "Call upon me in the day of trouble, and I WILL DELIVER THEE, and thou shalt glorify me."
But still brighter days were at hand. The King of Burmah had peace with the British, and had agreed to deliver the missionaries into their hands. Glad, indeed, were they to escape from the power of the cruel monarch. Little Maria and her parents, as well as Mary and Abby, were conveyed in a boat down the river to the place where the English army had encamped. The English general received them with fatherly kindness, and gave them a tent to dwell in near his own. What a fortnight they spent in that tent. It was a morning of joy, after a night of weeping. Little Maria was now, for the first time, dwelling with both her parents.
Soon afterwards she was taken to a new home in a town in Burmah, built by the English. It was called Amherst[[12]]. Here the missionary might teach the Burmese to know their Saviour, without being under the power of the cruel Burmese king.
It seemed as if the little family, so long afflicted, were now to dwell in safety, and to labor in comfort. But there is a rest for the people of God, and to this rest one of this family was soon removed.
The missionary determined to go to Ava, to plead with the king for permission to teach his subjects. He parted from his beloved wife, little thinking he should never see her again.
During her husband's absence, she watched with deep anxiety over her little Maria. The child was pale, and puny, yet very affectionate and intelligent. Whenever her mamma said, "Where is dear papa gone?" the little creature started up, and pointed to the sea. She could not speak plainly, for she was only twenty months old.
Not long did she enjoy her mother's tender care. The poor mother, worn with her past watching, and weeping, was attacked by fever. As she lay upon the bed, she was heard to say, "The teacher is long in coming, I must die alone, and leave my little one; but as it is the will of God, I am content."
She grew so ill, that she took no notice of anything that passed around her; but even then she called for her child, and charged the nurse to be kind to it, and to indulge it in everything till its father returned. This charge she gave, because she knew the babe wan sick, and needed the tenderest care. At last the mother lay without moving, her eyes closed, and her head resting on her arm. Thus she continued for two days, and then she uttered one cry, and ceased to breathe. Her illness had lasted eighteen days. Then she rested from her labors, and slept in Jesus.
What now became of little Maria? The wife of an English officer receded her in her house for a few weeks, and then a missionary and his wife came to Maria's home, and took charge of the child. Maria was pleased to come back to her own home, and she fancied that kind Mrs. Wade was her own mother.
What a day it was when the poor father returned home! No wife to meet him, with love and joy; only a sickly babe, who had forgotten him, and turned from him with alarm. Where could he go, but to the grave to weep there? then he returned to the house to look at the very spot where he had knelt with his wife in prayer, and parted from her in hope of a happy return.
Little Maria was nursed with a mother's care, though not in a mother's arms; but her delicate frame had been shaken by her infant troubles, and care and comforts came TOO LATE. After drooping day by day, she died at the age of two years and three months, exactly six months after her mother. Her father was near to close her faded eyes, and fold her little hands on her cold breast, and then to lay her in a little grave, close beside her mother's, under the Hope Tree.
The words of the poet would suit well the case of this much tried infant:—
"Short pain, short grief, dear babe, were thine,
Now, joys eternal and divine."
Like Maria's are the sufferings of many a missionary's babe, and many lie in an early tomb. But they are dear to the Saviour, for their parents' sakes, and their deaths are precious in his sight, and their spirits and their dust are safe in his hands.
Taken from "Travels in Eastern Asia," by Rev. Howard Malcolm.
Amherst is only thirty miles from Maulmain.
SIAM.
Cross a river, and you pass from Burmah to Siam. These two countries, like most countries close together, have quarrelled a great deal, and now Britain has got in between them, and has parted them; as a nurse might come and part two quarrelsome children. Britain has conquered that part of Burmah which lies close to Siam, and has called it British Burmah; so Siam is now at peace.
But though these two countries have been such enemies, they are as like each other as two sisters. Siam is the little sister. Siam is a long narrow slip of a country, having the sea on one side, and mountains on the other.
The religion of Siam is the same as that of Burmah, the worship of Buddha. But in Siam he is not called Buddha: the name given him there is "Codom." You see how many names this Buddha has; in China he is Fo; in Burmah he is Gaudama; in Siam, he is Codom. Neither is he honored in Siam in exactly the same way as in Burmah. Instead of building magnificent pagodas, the Siamese build magnificent image houses or temples.
The Siamese resemble the Burmese in appearance, but they are much worse looking. Their faces are very broad, and flat; and so large are the jaws under the ears, that they appear as if they were swollen. Their manner of dressing their hair does not improve their looks; for they cut their hair quite close, except just on the top of their heads, where they make it stand up like bristles; nor do they wear any covering on their heads, except when it is very hot, and then they put on a hat in the shape of a milk pan, made of leaves. They do not disfigure themselves, as the Burmese do, with nose-rings, and ear-bars; but they, love ornaments quite as much, and load themselves with necklaces and bracelets. Their dress consists of a printed cotton garment, wound round the body. This is the dress of the women as well as of the men; only sometimes the women wear a handkerchief over their necks.
In disposition the Siamese are deceitful, and cowardly. It has been said of them, that as friends they are not to be trusted, and as enemies not to be feared: they cannot be trusted because they are deceitful: they need not be feared because they are cowardly. This is indeed a dreadful character; for many wicked people are faithful to their friends, and brave in resisting their enemies.
No doubt the manner in which they are governed makes them cowardly; for they are taught to behave as if they were worms. Whoever enters the presence of the king, must creep about on hands and knees. The great lords require their servants to show them the same respect. Servants always crawl into a room, pushing in their trays before them; and when waiting, they walk about on their knees. How shocking to see men made like worms to gratify the pride of their fellow-men! The rule is never to let your head be higher than the head of a person more honorable than yourself; if he stand, you must sit; if he sit, you must crouch.
The Siamese are like the Burmese in cruelty. When an enemy falls into their hands, no mercy is shown.
A king of a small country called Laos, was taken captive by the Siamese. This king, with his family, were shut up in a large iron cage, and exhibited as a sight. There he was, surrounded by his sons and grandsons, and all of them were heavily laden with chains on their necks and legs. Two of them were little boys, and they played and laughed in their cage!—so thoughtless are children! But the elder sons looked very miserable; they hung down their heads, and fixed their eyes on the ground; and well they might; for within their sight were various horrible instruments of torture;—spears with which to pierce them;—an iron boiler, in which to heat oil to scald them;—a gallows on which to hang their bodies, and—a pestle and mortar in which to pound the children to powder. You see how Satan fills the heart of the heathen with his own cruel devices. The people who came to see this miserable family, rejoiced at the sight of their misery: but they lost the delight they expected in tormenting the old king, for he died of a broken heart; and all they could do then, was to insult his body; they beheaded it, and then hung it upon a gibbet, where every one might see it, and the beasts and birds devour it.
What became of his unhappy family is not known.
But though so barbarous to their enemies, the Siamese in some respects are better than most other heathen nations, for they treat their relations more kindly. They do not kill their infants, nor shut up their wives, nor cast out their parents. Yet they show their cruelty in this:—they often sell one another for slaves. They also purchase slaves in great numbers; and there are wild men in the mountains who watch Burmans and Karens to sell them to the great chiefs of Siam. It is the pride of their chiefs to have thousands of slaves crawling around them.
BANKOK.
This city is built on an island in a broad river, and part of it on the banks of the river. It ought therefore to be a pleasant city, but it is not, owing to its extreme untidiness. The streets are full of mud, and overgrown with bushes, amongst which all the refuse is thrown; there are also many ditches with planks thrown across. There is only one pleasant part of the town, and that is, where the Wats are built. The Wats are the idol-houses. Near them are shady walks and fragrant flowers, and elegant dwellings for the priests. The people think they get great merit by making Wats, and therefore they take so much trouble: for the Siamese are very idle. So idle are they that there would be very little trade in Bankok, if it were not for the Chinese, who come over here in crowds, and make sugar, and buy and sell, and get money to take back to China. You may tell in a moment a Chinaman's garden from a Siamese garden; one is so neat and full of flowers;—the other is overgrown with weeds and strewn with litter.
The most curious sight in Bankok, is the row of floating houses. These houses are placed upon posts in the river, and do not move about as boats do; yet if you wish to move your house, you can do so; you have only to take up the posts, and float to another place.
Besides the floating houses, there are numerous boats in the river, and some so small that a child can row them. There are so many that they often come against each other, and are overset. A traveller once passed by a boat where a little girl of seven was rowing, and by accident his boat overset hers. The child fell out of her boat, and her paddle out of her hand; yet she was not the least frightened, only surprised; and after looking about for a moment, she burst out a laughing, and was soon seen swimming behind her boat (still upside down), with her paddle in her hand. These little laughing rowers are too giddy to like learning, and they are not at all willing to come to the missionaries' schools; but some poor children, redeemed from slavery, are glad to be there, and have been taught about Christ in these schools.
MALACCA.
This is a peninsula, or almost an island, for there is water almost all round it. In shape it is something like a dog's leg, even as Italy is like a man's leg.
The weather in Malacca is much pleasanter than in most parts of India, because the sea-breezes make the air fresh. There is no rainy season, as in most hot countries, but a shower cools the air almost every day. The country, too, is beautiful, for there are mountains, and forests, and streams.
Yet it is a dangerous country to live in, for the people are very treacherous. There are many pirates among them. What are pirates? Robbers by sea. If they see a small vessel, in a moment the pirates in their ships try to overtake it, seize it, take the crew prisoners, and sell them for slaves. The governors of the land do not punish the pirates; far from punishing them, they share in the gains. That is a wicked land indeed, where the governors encourage the people in their sins.
Malacca has no king of her own; the land belongs to Siam, except a very small part. The inhabitants are called Malays. They are not like the Siamese in character; for instead of being cowardly, they are fierce. Neither have they the same religion, for instead of being Buddhists, they are Mahomedans. Yet they know very little about the Koran, or its laws. One command, however, they have learned, which is—to hate infidels. They count all who do not believe in Mahomet to be infidels, and they say that it is right to hunt them. They are proud of taking Christian vessels, and of selling Christians as slaves.
There are some valuable plants in Malacca. There is one which has a seed called "pepper." There is a tree which has in the stem a pith called sago. Who collects the pepper and the sago? There are mines of tin. Who digs up the tin? The idle Malays will not take so much trouble, so the industrious Chinese labor instead. The Chinese come over by thousands to get rich in Malacca. As there is not room for them in their own country, they are glad to settle in other countries. But though the Chinese set an example of industry, they do not set an example of goodness; for they gamble, and so lose their money, they smoke opium, and so lose their health, and they commit many kinds of wickedness by which they lose their souls.
As for the Malays, they are so very idle, that when trees fall over the river, and block up the way, they will not be at the trouble of cutting a way through for their boats,—but will sooner creep under or climb over the fallen trees.
The capital of Malacca is Malacca, and this city belongs to the English; but it is of little use to them, because the harbor is not good.
SINGAPORE.
This city also belongs to the English, and it is of great use to them, because the harbor is one of the best in the world. Many ships come there to buy, and to sell, and amongst the rest, the Chinese junks. The city is built on a small island, very near the coast. There are many beautiful country houses perched on the hills, where English families live, and there are long flights of stone steps leading from their houses to the sea.
But many of the Malays have no home but a boat, hardly large enough to lie down in. There they gain a living by catching fish, and collecting shells, and coral, to exchange for sago, which is their food. These men are called "Ourang-lout," which means "Man of the water." Does not this name remind you of the apes called "Ourang-outang," which means "Man of the woods?" There are Ourang-outangs in the forests of Malacca, and they are more like men, and are more easily tamed than any other ape. Yet still how different is the tamest ape from the wildest man; for the one has an immortal soul, and the other has none.
The Malay language is said to be the easiest in the world, even as the Chinese is the most difficult. The Malay language has no cases or genders, or conjugations, which puzzle little boys so much in their Latin Grammars. It is easy for missionaries to learn the Malay language. When they know it, they can talk to the Chinese in Malacca in this language.
I will tell you of a school that an English lady has opened at Singapore for poor Chinese girls.
THE CHRISTIAN SCHOOL-GIRLS.
The two elder girls were sisters, and were called Chun and Han. Both of them, when they heard about Jesus, believed in him, and loved him. Yet their characters were very different, Chun being of a joyful disposition, and Han of a mournful and timid temper. They had no father, and their mother was employed in the school to take care of the little children, and to teach them needle-work; but she was a heathen.
When Chun and Han had been three years in the school, their mother wanted them to leave, and to come with her to her home. The girls were grieved at the thought of leaving their Christian teacher, and of living in a heathen home; yet they felt it was their duty to do as their mother wished. But they were anxious to be baptized before they went, if they could obtain their mother's consent. Their kind teacher, Miss Grant, thought it would be of no use to ask leave long before the time, lest the mother should carry her girls away, and lock them up. So she waited till the very evening fixed for the baptism. Miss Grant had been praying all day for help from God, and the two sisters had been praying together; and now the bell began to ring for evening service. Now the time was come when the mother must be asked.
"Do you know," said Miss Grant to the mother, "that the children are going to church with me?" "Yes," replied the mother, "wherever Missie pleases to take them." Then the lady told her of the baptism, and entreated her consent. At last the heathen mother replied, "If you wish it, I will not oppose you." Miss Grant, afraid lest the mother should change her mind, hastened into her palanquin, and the sisters hastened into theirs. Looking back, the lady perceived the mother was standing watching the palanquins. Seeing this, she stopped, saying, "Nomis, why should not you come, and see what is done?" To the lady's surprise, the mother immediately consented to come; and so this heathen mother was present at the baptism of her daughters. Their teacher, (who was their mother in Christ,) rejoiced with exceeding joy to see her dear girls give themselves to the Lord, and to hear them answer in their broken English, "All dis I do steadfastly believe."
Soon after their baptism, the girls went to live in their mother's house. To comfort them, Miss Grant promised to fetch them every Sunday, to spend the day with her. She came for them at five o'clock in the morning, before it was light, and took them back at nine, when it was quite dark. If she had not fetched them herself, they would not have been allowed to go.
After awhile, they were not allowed to go. The reason was, that the heathen mother wanted Chun to marry a heathen Chinaman. Chun refused to commit such a sin. Then her mother was angry, mocked her, and prevented her going to see Miss Grant. Still Chun refused. She saw her mother embroidering her wedding-dresses, but she still persisted that she would not marry a heathen, especially as she would have to bow down before an idol at her marriage. Chun grew very unhappy, and looked very pale, she wrote many letters to her kind friend, and offered up many prayers to her merciful God. And did the Lord hear her, and did He deliver her? He did. A Christian Chinaman, who had been brought up by a missionary, heard of Chun, and asked permission to marry her. He had never seen her, for it is not the custom in China for girls to be seen.
Miss Grant was delighted at the thought of her darling Chun marrying a Christian, and she helped to prepare for the wedding. There was no bowing down before an idol at that wedding, but an English clergymen read the service. Chun's face, according to the custom, was covered with a thick veil, and even her hands and feet were hidden. A few days after the wedding, Miss Grant, according to the custom, called on the newly married. She found the room beautifully ornamented, like all Chinese rooms at such times, but there were two ornaments seldom seen in China—two Bibles lying open on the table.
Chun long rejoiced that she had so firmly refused to marry a heathen. One day, Miss Grant said to her, playfully, "Has your husband beaten you yet?" (for she knew that Chinamen think nothing of beating their wives.) Chun replied, with a sweet look, "O no! he often tells me, that first he thanks God, and then you, Miss, for having given me to him as his wife."
There was another girl at Miss Grant's school, named Been. Sometimes she was called Beneo, which means Miss Been, just as Chuneo means Miss Chun. Miss Grant hoped that Been loved the Saviour, and hated idols, but she soon lost her, for her parents took her to their heathen home.
After Been had been home a short time her mother died. The neighbors were astonished to find that Been refused to worship her mother's spirit, and to burn gold paper, to supply her with money in the other world. While her relations were busily occupied in their heathen ceremonies, Been sat silent and alone. Soon afterwards, her father, who cared not for her, sold her to a Chinaman to be his wife, for forty dollars.
Miss Grant heard her sad fate, and often longed to see her, but did not know where to find her. One evening, as she was paying visits in her palanquin, she saw a pair of bright black eyes looking through a hedge, and she felt sure that they were her own Been's. She stopped, and calling the girl, saluted her affectionately. She was glad she had found out where Been lived, as she would now be able to pay her a visit.
Soon she called upon her, in her own dwelling;—a poor little hut in the midst of a sugar plantation. She brought as a present, a New Testament in English, and in large print. Been appeared delighted.
"Do you remember how to read it?" inquired Miss Grant.
"Yes, how could I forget?" Been sweetly replied.
"Well then, read," said Miss Grant.
Been read, "I am the good shepherd, and know my sheep."
"Do you understand?" inquired the lady.
"Yes," said Been, and she translated the words into Malay.
As Miss Grant was rising to depart, she observed a hen gathering her brood under her wings.
"Of what does that remind you, Been?"
"I know," said the poor girl; "I remember what I learnt at school;" and then in her broken English, she repeated the words: "As a hen gaderet her chickens under her wings, so would I have gaderd de, but dou wouldest not."
At this moment, Been's husband came in. The girl was glad, for she wanted Miss Grant to ask him as a great favor, to allow her to spend next Sunday at the school. The husband consented. There was a joyful meeting indeed, on that Sunday, between Been, and Chun, and Han; nor was their affectionate teacher the least joyful of the company.
SIBERIA.
This is a name which makes people shiver, because it reminds them of the cold. It is a name which makes the Russians tremble, because it reminds them of banishment, for the emperor often sends those who offend him to live in Siberia.
Yet Siberia is not an ugly country, such as Tartary. It is not one dead flat, but it contains mountains, and forests, and rivers. Neither is Siberia a country in which nothing will grow; in some parts there is wheat, and where wheat will not grow barley will, and where barley will not grow turnips will. Yet there are not many cornfields in Siberia, for very few people live there. In the woods you will find blackberries, and wild roses, like those in England; and red berries, as well as black berries, and lilies as well as roses.
Still it must be owned that Siberia is a very cold country; for the snow is not melted till June, and it begins to fall again in September; so there are only two whole months without snow; they are July and August.
INHABITANTS.—The Russians are the masters of Siberia, and they have built several large towns there. But these towns are very far apart, and there are many wild tribes wandering about the country.
One of these tribes is the Ostyaks. Their houses are in the shape of boxes, for they are square with flat roofs. There is a door, but you must stoop low to get in at it, unless you are a very little child; and there is a window with fish-skin instead of light. There is a chimney, too, and a blazing fire of logs in a hole in the ground. There is a trough, too, instead of a dining-table, and out of it the whole family eat, and even the dogs sometimes. The house is not divided into rooms, but into stalls, like those of a stable; and deer-skins are spread in the stalls, and they are the beds; each person sits and sleeps in his own stall, on his own deer-skin, except when the family gather round the fire, and sitting on low stools, warm themselves, and talk together.
In one of these snug corners, an old woman was seen, quite blind, yet sewing all day, and threading her needle by the help of her tongue. She wore a veil of thick cloth over her head, as all the Ostyak women do, and as she did not need light, she hid her head completely under it.
But though the Ostyaks are poor, they possess a great treasure in their dogs, for these creatures are as useful as horses, and much more sensible. They need no whip to make them go, and no bridle to turn them the right way; it is enough to tell them when to set out, and to stop, or to turn, to move faster, or more slowly. These dogs are white, spotted with black; the hair on their bodies is short, but long on their handsome curling tails. They draw their masters in sledges, and are yoked in pairs. There are some large sledges, in which a man can lie down in comfort: to draw such a sledge twelve dogs are necessary; but there are small sledges in which a poor Ostyak can just manage to crouch, and two dogs can draw it. When the dogs are to be harnessed, they are not caught, as horses are, but only called. Yet they do not like work better than horses like it, and when they first set out they howl, but grow quiet after a little while.
The driver is sometimes cruel to these poor dogs, and corrects them for the smallest fault, by throwing a stone at them, or the great club he holds in his hand, or at least a snow-ball: if a hungry dog but stoop down to pick up a morsel of food on the road, he is punished in this manner. Yet it must be owned, that the dogs have their faults; they are greedy, and inclined to thieving. To keep food out of their way, the Ostyaks build store-houses, on the tops of very high poles. The dogs are always on the watch to slip into their master's houses. If the door be left open ever so little, a dog will squeeze in, if he can; but he does not stay long within, for he is soon thrust out with blows and kicks; the women scream at the sight of a dog in the hut, for they fear lest he will find the fish-trough. Yet after long journeys, the dogs are brought into the hut, and permitted to lie down by the fire, and to eat out of the family trough. At other times they sleep in the snow, and eat whatever is thrown to them. When they travel, bags of dried fish are brought in their sledges, to feed them by the way. The puppies are tenderly treated, and petted by the fire; yet many are killed for the sake of their fleecy hair, which is considered a fine ornament for pelisses.
The Ostyaks have another, and a greater treasure than dogs; they have reindeer. Those who live by fishing have dogs only, but those who dwell among the hills, have deer as well as dogs. Reindeer are like dogs in one respect, they can be driven without either a whip or a bit, which are so necessary for horses. But though they do not need the lashing of a whip; they require to be gently poked with a long pole; and though they do not need a bit, they require to be guided by a rein, fastened to their heads; because they are not like dogs, so sensible as to be managed by speaking.
But deer are very gentle, and are much more easily driven than horses. To drive horses four-in-hand is very difficult, but to drive four reindeer is not. The four deer are harnessed to the sledge all in a row, and a rein is fastened to the head of one; when he turns all the rest turn with him. Usually they trot, but they can gallop very fast, even down hill. When they are out of breath the driver lets them stop, and then the pretty creatures lie down, and cool their mouths with the snow lying on the ground.
Men ride upon reindeer; not upon their backs, but on their necks; for their backs are weak, while their necks are strong. Riders do not mount reindeer as they do horses,—by resting on their backs, and then making a spring, for that would hurt the poor animals; they lean on a long staff, and by its help, spring on the deer's neck. But it is not easy, when seated, to keep on; you would certainly fall off, for all strangers do, when they try to ride for the first time. The Ostyak knows how to keep his balance, by waving his long staff in the air, while the deer trots briskly along. But these reindeer have some curious fancies; they will not eat any food but such as they pluck themselves from the ground. It would be of no use at the end of a long journey, to put them in a stable;—they would not eat; they must be let loose to find their own nourishment, which is a kind of moss that grows wild among the hills.
The reindeer, after he is dead, is of as much use to the Ostyak, as when he was alive; for his skin is his master's clothing. Both men and women dress alike, in a suit that covers them from head to foot; the seams are well joined with thread, made of reindeer sinews, and the cold is kept well out. The Ostyak lets no part of his body be uncovered but just his face, and that would freeze, if he were not to rub it often with his hands, covered over with hairy reindeer gloves. The women cover their faces with thick veils. The Ostyak wears a great-coat made of the skin of a white deer; this gives him the appearance of a great white bear. He carries in his hand a bow taller than himself. His arrows are very long, and made of wood, pointed with iron. With these he shoots the wild animals. He is very glad when he can shoot a sable; because the Russian emperor requires every Ostyak to give him yearly, as a tax, the skins of two sables. The fur of the sable is very valuable, and is made into muffs and tippets, and pelisses for the Russian nobles.
But without his snow-shoes, the Ostyak would not be able to pursue the wild animals, for he would sink in the snow. These shoes are made of long boards, turned up at the end like a boat, and fastened to the feet. What a wild creature an Ostyak must look, when he is hunting his prey, wrapped in his shaggy white coat,—his long dark hair floating in the wind,—his enormous bow in his hand, and his enormous shoes on his feet!
What is the character of this wild man? Ask what is his religion, and that will show you how foolish and fierce a creature he must be. The Ostyak says, that he believes in ONE God who cannot be seen, but he does not worship him alone; he worships other gods. And such gods! Dead men! When a man dies, his relations make a wooden image of him, and worship it for three years, and then bury it. But when a priest dies, his wooden image is worshipped more than three years; sometimes it is never buried; for the priests who are alive, encourage the people to go on worshipping dead priests' images, that they may get the offerings which are made to them.
But what do you think of men worshipping DEAD BEASTS? Yet this is what the Ostyaks do. When they have killed a wolf or a bear, they stuff its skin with hay, and gather round to mock it, to kick it, to spit upon it, and then—they stick it up on its hind legs in a corner of the hut, and WORSHIP it! Alas! how has Satan blinded their mind!
And in what manner do they worship the beasts? With screaming,—with dancing,—with swinging their swords,—by making offerings of fur, of silver and gold, and of reindeer. These reindeer they kill very cruelly, by stabbing them in various parts of their bodies, to please the cruel gods, or rather cruel devils whom they worship.
Has no one tried to convert the Ostyaks to God? The emperor of Russia will not allow protestant missionaries to teach in Siberia. He wishes the Ostyaks to belong to the Greek church, and he has tried to bribe them with presents of cloth to be baptized; and a good many have been baptized. But what good can such baptisms do to the soul?
The Russians do much harm to their subjects, by tempting them to buy brandy. There is nothing which the Ostyaks are so eager to obtain, as this dangerous drink. On one occasion, a traveller was surrounded by a troop of Ostyaks, all begging for brandy, and when they could get none, they brought a large heap of frozen fish, and laid it at the travellers feet, saying, "Noble sir, we present you with this." They did get some brandy in return. Then, hoping for more, they brought a great salmon, and a sturgeon, as long as a man. They seemed ready to part with all they had, for the sake of brandy.
Thus you see how much harm the Ostyaks have learned from their acquaintance with the Russians. The chief good they have got, has been learning to build houses; for once they lived only in tents.
THE SAMOYEDES.
This tribe lives so far to the north, that they see very little of the Russians, though they belong to the emperor of Russia. They live close by the Northern Sea. Imagine how very cold it must be. The Samoyedes inhabit tents made of reindeer skins, such as the Ostyaks used to live in. They are a much wilder people than the Ostyaks. The women dress in a strange fantastic manner; not contented with a reindeer dress, as the Ostyaks are, they join furs and skins of various sorts together; and instead of veiling their faces, they wear a gay fur hat, with lappets; and at the back of their necks a glutton's tail hangs down, as well as long tails of their own hair, with brass rings jingling together at the end.
But if their taste in dress is laughable, their taste in food is horrible, as you will see. A traveller went with a Samoyede family for a little while. They were drawn by reindeer, in sledges, and other reindeer followed of their own accord. When they stopped for the night, they pitched the tent, covering the long poles with their reindeer skins, sewed together. The snow covered the ground inside the tent, but no one thought of sweeping it away. It was easy to get water to fill the kettle, as a few lumps of snow soon melted. Some of the men slept by the blazing fire, while others went out, armed with long poles, to defend the deer from the wolves. There was in the party a child of two years old, with its mother. The child was allowed to help himself to porridge out of the great kettle. The traveller offered him white sugar; but at first he called it snow, and threw it away; soon, however, he learned to like it, and asked for some whenever he saw the stranger at tea. At night, the child was laid in a long basket, and was closely covered with furs; in the same basket also, he travelled in the sledge.
One day the traveller saw a Samoyede feast. A reindeer was brought, and killed before the tent door; and its bleeding body was taken into the tent, and devoured, all raw as it was, with the heartiest appetite. It was dreadful to see the Samoyedes gnawing the flesh off the bones; their faces all stained with blood, and even the child had his share of the raw meat. Truly they looked more like wolves than men.
I might go on to tell you of many other tribes; but I must be content just to mention a few.
There is a tribe who live in the eastern part of Siberia, called the Yakuts, and instead of deer, and dogs, they keep horses, and oxen, and strange to say, they ride upon the oxen; and eat the horses. A horse's head is counted by them a most dainty dish. The cows live in one room, and the family live in the next, with the calves, which are tied to posts by the fire, and enjoy the full blaze. You may suppose that the calves need the warmth of the fire, when I tell you that the windows of the house are made of ice, but that the cold is so great, that the ice does not melt.
There is a large tribe called the Buraets. They dwell in tents. They are Buddhists. At one time the Russians allowed missionaries to go to them. There was an old man named Andang, who used to attend the services very regularly. His wife accompanied him. One Sunday the preacher spoke much of heaven and its glories. The old woman, on returning to her tent, said to her husband, "Old man, I am going home to-night." Her husband did not understand her meaning: then she said, "I love Jesus Christ, and I think I shall be with him to-night." She lay down in her tent that night, but rose no more. In the morning, the old man found her stiff and cold. He saddled his horse, and set off to tell the missionary. "O sir," said he, with tears, "my wife is gone home." When the missionary heard the account of her death, he felt cheered by the hope that the old woman, though born a heathen, had died a Christian, and had left her tent to dwell in a glorious mansion above; for how was it that she felt no fear of death, and how was it that she felt heaven was her home? Was it not because Jesus loved her, and because she loved Jesus?
THE BANISHED RUSSIANS.
Siberia is the land to which the emperor sends many of his people, when they displease him. In passing through Siberia, you would often see wagons full of women, children, and old men, followed by a troop of young men, and guarded by a band of soldiers on horseback. You might know them to be the banished Russians. What is to become of them? Some are to work in the mines, and some are to work in the factories. Some are to have a less heavy punishment; they are to be set free, in the midst of Siberia, to support themselves in any way they can. Gentlemen and ladies have a small sum of money allowed them by the emperor, and they live in the towns.
These people are called in Siberia, "the unfortunates." Some of them have not deserved to be banished; but some have been guilty of crimes.
CITIES.
There are a few cities in Siberia, but only a few, and they have been built by the Russians.
The three chief cities are,—
Tobolsk, on the west, on the river Oby.
Irkutsk, in the midst, on the lake Baikal.
Yarkutsk, on the east, on the river Lena.
OF THESE CITIES,
Tobolsk is the handsomest.
Irkutsk is the pleasantest.
Yarkutsk is the coldest.
It is not surprising that Tobolsk should be the handsomest, for there the governor of Siberia resides.
A great many Chinese come to Irkutsk to trade, and they bring quantities of tea.
Yarkutsk is the coldest town in the world; there may be others nearer the north, but none lie exposed to such cold winds. The inhabitants scarcely dare admit the light, for fear of increasing the cold; and they make only one or two very small windows in their houses. Yet in summer vegetables grow freely in the gardens.
The Ostyaks live near the Oby.
The Buraets live near lake Baikal.
The Yakuts live near the Lena.
THE URAL MOUNTAINS.
They are full of treasures; gold, silver, iron, copper, and precious stones. They are dug up by the banished Russians, and sent in great wagons to Russia, to increase the riches of the emperor.
KAMKATKA.
It is impossible to look at Siberia, without being struck with the shape of Kamkatka, which juts out like a short arm. It is a peninsula. A beautiful country it is; full of mountains, and rivers, and woods, and waterfalls, and not as cold as might be expected. But there are not many people dwelling in it; for though it is larger than Great Britain, all the inhabitants might be contained in one of our small towns. And why are there so few in so fine a country? Because the people love brandy better than labor. They have been corrupted by the Russian soldiers, and traders, and convicts, and they are sickening and dying away.
A traveller once said to a Kamkatdale, "How should you like to see a ship arrive here from China, laden with tea and sugar?" "I should like it well," replied the man, "but there is one thing I should like better—to see a ship arrive full of men; it is men we want, for our men are sick; of the twelve here, six are too weak to hunt or fish."
But the ship that would do the most good to Kamkatka, is a missionary ship. The Greek church is the religion; but no religion is much thought of in Kamkatka; hunting and fishing only are cared for. Yet I fear if missionaries were to go to Kamkatka, the emperor of Russia would send them away.
Where there are few men, there are generally many beasts and birds; this is the case in Kamkatka.
One of the most curious animals in Siberia, is the Argalis, or mountain sheep. It is remarkable for its enormous horns, curled in a very curious manner. Think not it is like one of our quiet, foolish sheep; there is no animal at once so strong and so active. It is such a climber, that no wolf or bear can follow it to the high places, hanging over awful precipices, where it walks as firmly as you do upon the pavement. Sometimes a hunter finds it among the mountains, and just as he is going to shoot it, the creature disappears:—it has thrown itself down a precipice! Is it dashed to pieces? No, it fell unhurt, and has escaped without a bruise; for its bones are very strong, and its skin very thick.
The bears of Kamkatka live chiefly upon fish and berries, and seldom attack men. Yet men hunt them for their skins, and for their fat. The skins make cloaks, and the fat is used for lamps; but their flesh is thrown to the dogs. Many of the bears are very thin. It is only fat bears that can sleep all the winter in their dens without food; thin bears cannot sleep long, and even in winter they prowl about for food. Dogs are very much afraid of them. A large party of travellers, who were riding in sledges, drawn by dogs, observed the dogs suddenly begin to snuff the air, and lo! immediately afterwards, a bear at full speed crossed the road, and ran towards a forest. Great confusion took place among the dogs; they set off with all their might; some broke their harness, others got entangled among the trees, and overturned their sledges. But the bear did not escape; for the travellers shot him through the leg, and afterwards through the body; and the dogs feasted on his flesh, instead of the bear feasting on theirs.
Hunting seals is one of the occupations of the Kamkatdales. Three men in sledges, each sledge drawn by five dogs, once got upon a large piece of ice, near the shore. They had killed two seals upon the ice, when they suddenly perceived that the ice was moving, and carrying them out to sea. They were already too far from land, to be able to get back. They knew not what would become of them, and much they feared they should perish from cold and hunger. The ice was so slippery that they were in great danger of sliding into the sea. To prevent this, they stuck their long poles deep into the ice, and tied themselves to the poles. They were driven about for many days; but one morning,—to their great joy, they found they were close to the shore. They did not forget to praise God for so mercifully saving their lives; though they were so weak from want of food, as scarcely to be able to creep ashore.
CHARACTER.—The Kamkatdales are generous and grateful. A poor family will sometimes receive another family into the house for six weeks; and when the food is nearly gone, the generous host, not liking to tell his visitors of it, serves up a dish of different sorts of meat and vegetables, mixed together; the visitors know this is a sign that the food is almost exhausted, and they take their leave.
Did I say the Kamkatdales are grateful? I will give you an instance of their gratitude. A traveller met a poor boy. He remembered his face, and said, "I think I have seen you before." "You have," said the boy; "I rowed you down the river last summer, and you were so kind as to give me a skin, and some flints; and now I have brought the skin of a sable as a present for you." The traveller, perceiving the boy had no shirt, and that his skin dress was tattered, refused the present; but seeing the boy was going away in tears, he called him back, and accepted it. A Chinese servant, who was standing by, pitied so much the ragged condition of the boy, that he gave him one of his own thin nankin shirts.
THIBET.
I cannot tell you much about Thibet; and the reason is, that so few travellers have been there. And why have so few been there? Is it because the mountains are so steep and high, the paths so narrow and dangerous? All this is true; but it is not mountains that keep travellers out of Thibet; it is the Chinese government; for Thibet belongs to China, and you know how carefully the emperor of China keeps strangers out of his empire.
How did the Chinese get possession of Thibet? A long while ago, a Hindoo army invaded the land, and the people in their fright sent to China for help. The Chinese came, drove away the Hindoos, and stayed themselves. They are not hard masters, they govern very mildly; only they require a sum of money to be sent every year to Pekin, as tribute.
But though Thibet belongs to China, the Chinese language is not spoken there.
The people are like the Tartars in appearance; they have the same bony face, sharp black eye, and straight black hair; but a much fresher complexion, owing to the fresh mountain air they breathe.
The Himalaya mountains, the highest in Asia, lie between Thibet and Hindostan. Their peaks are always covered with snow, and rapid streams pour down the rugged sides. The snow on the mountain-tops makes Thibet very cold; but there are warm valleys where grapes, and even rice flourish.
The people build their houses in the warmest spots they can find; they try to find a place sheltered from the north wind, by a high rock, and lying open to the south sun. Their dwellings are only made of stones, heaped together, and the roofs are flat. Their riches consist in flocks of sheep and goats. They have, another animal, which is not known in England, and yet a very useful creature, because, like a cow, it yields rich milk, and like a horse, it carries burdens. This animal is called the Yak, and resembles both a horse and a cow. Its chief beauty is its tail, which is much finer than a horse's tail, and is black, and glossy, soft and flowing. Many of these tails are sent to India, where they are used as fly-flappers.
The sheep and goats of Thibet are more useful than ours; for they are taught to carry burdens over the mountains. They may be seen following each other in long trains, with large packs fastened on their little backs, and climbing up very narrow and steep paths.
And what is in these packs? Wool: not sheep's wool, but goat's wool: for the goats of Thibet have very fine wool under their hair. No such wool is found on any other goats. But though the people of Thibet can weave common cloth, they cannot weave this beautiful wool, as it deserves to be woven. Therefore they send it to a country the other side of the Himalaya mountains, called Cashmere; and there it is woven into the most beautiful shawls in all the world.
But wool is not the only riches of Thibet. There is gold to be found there; some in large pieces, and some in small dust. There are also large mines of copper. And what use is made of these riches? The worst in the world. With the gold and copper many IDOLS are made; for Thibet is a land of idols. The religion is the same there as in China,—the Buddhist;—and that is a religion of idols.
But there is an idol in Thibet, which there is not in China. It is a LIVING IDOL. He is called the Grand Lama. There are Lamas in Tartary, but the GRAND Lama is in Thibet. He is looked up to as the greatest being in the world, by all the Lamas in Tartary, and by all the people of the Buddhist religion. There are more people,—a great many more,—who honor him, than who honor our GREAT GOD.
But this man leads a miserable life. When one Lama dies, another is chosen;—some little baby,—and he is placed in a very grand palace, and worshipped as a god all his life long. I have heard of one of these baby Lamas, who, when only eighteen months old, sat up with great majesty on his pile of cushions. When strangers entered, he looked at them kindly, and when they made a speech to him, he bowed his little head very graciously. What a sad fate for this poor infant! To be set up as a god, and taught to think himself a god—while all the time he is a helpless, foolish, sinful, dying creature!
LASSA.
This is the chief city of Thibet. Here is the palace of the Grand Lama. If is of enormous size. What do you think of TEN THOUSAND rooms? Did you ever hear of so large a house? Neither did you ever hear of so high a house. It is almost as high as the pinnacle of St. Paul's church. There are seven stories, and on the highest story are the state apartments of the Grand Lama. It is no matter to him how many flights of stairs there may be to reach his rooms; for he is never allowed to walk; but it is fatiguing for his worshippers to ascend so high. I suppose the priests make their Grand Lama live so high up, that he may be like our God who dwells in the highest heavens. Who occupy the ten thousand rooms of the palace? Chiefly idols of gold and silver. The house outside is richly adorned, and its roof glitters with gold.
There are many magnificent houses in Thibet, where priests live. No one could live with them, who could not bear a great noise: for three times a day the priests meet to worship, and each time they hollo with all their might, to do honor to Buddha. The noise is stunning, but they do not think it loud enough; so on feast days, they use copper instruments, such as drums and trumpets, of the most enormous size, and with them they send forth an overwhelming sound.
This unmeaning noise may well remind us of a sound—louder far—that shall one day be heard; so loud that all the world will hear it. It is the sound of the LAST TRUMPET! It will wake the dead. Stout hearts will quail; devils will tremble; but all those who love the Lord, will rejoice and say, "Lo, this is our God; we have waited for Him, and He will save us."—(Is. xxv. 9.)
CEYLON.
This is one of the most beautiful islands in the world. Part of it indeed is flat—that part near Hindustan; but in the midst—there are mountains; and streams running down their sides, and swelling into lovely rivers, winding along the fruitful valleys. Such scenes might remind you of Switzerland, the most beautiful country in Europe.
The chief beauty of Ceylon is her TREES.
I will mention a few of the beautiful, curious, and useful trees of this delightful island. The tree for which Ceylon is celebrated, is the CINNAMON tree. For sixty miles along the shore, there are cinnamon groves, and the sweet scent may be perceived far off upon the seas. If you were to see a cinnamon-tree, you might mistake it for a laurel;—a tree so often found in English gardens. The cinnamon-trees are never allowed to grow tall, because it is only the upper branches which are much prized for their bark. The little children of Ceylon may often be seen sitting in the shade, peeling off the bark with their knives; and this bark is afterwards sent to England to flavor puddings, and to mix with medicine.
There are also groves of cocoa-nut trees on the shores of Ceylon. A few of these trees are a little fortune to a poor man; for he can eat the fruit, build his house with the wood, roof it with the leaves, make cups of the shell, and use the oil of the kernel instead of candles.
The JACK-TREE bears a larger fruit than any other in the world;—as large as a horse's head,—and so heavy that a woman can only carry one upon her head to market.. This large fruit does not hang on the tree by a stalk, but grows out of the trunk, or the great branches. This is well arranged, for so large a fruit would be too heavy for a stalk, and might fall off, and hurt the heads of those sitting beneath its shade. The outside of this fruit is like a horse-chestnut, green, and prickly; the inside is yellow, and is full of kernels, like beans. The wood is like mahogany,—hard and handsome.
But there is a tree in Ceylon, still more curious than the jack-tree. It is the TALPOT-TREE. This is a very tall tree, and its top is covered by a cluster of round leaves, each leaf so large, that it would do for a carpet, for a common-sized room; and one single LEAF, cut it in three-cornered pieces, will make a TENT! When cut up, the leaves are used for fans and books. But this tree bears no fruit till just before it dies,—that is till it is fifty years old: THEN—an enormous bud is seen, rearing its huge head in the midst of the crown of leaves;—the bud bursts with a loud noise, and a yellow flower appears,—a flower so large, that it would fill a room! The flower turns into fruit. THAT SAME YEAR THE TREE DIES!
PEOPLE.—And who are the people who live in this beautiful land?
In the flat part of the island, towards the north, the people resemble the Hindoos, and speak and think like them; and they are called Tamuls.
But among the mountains of the south a different kind of people live, called the Cingalese. They do not speak the Tamul language, nor do they follow the Hindoo religion. They follow the Buddhist religion. You know this is the religion of the greater part of the nations. Ceylon is full of the temples of Buddha. In each temple there is an inner dark room, very large, where Buddha's image is kept,—a great image that almost fills the room.
DEVIL PRIESTS. See [ p. 265.]
The priests in their yellow cloaks, with their shaven heads and bare feet, may be seen every morning begging from door to door; but proud beggars they are,—not condescending to speak,—but only standing with their baskets ready to receive rice and fruit; and the only thanks they give—are their blessings.
There is another worship in Ceylon, and it is more followed than the worship of Buddha, yet it is the most horrible that you can imagine. It is the worship of the DEVIL! Buddha taught, when he was alive, that there was no God, but that there were many devils: yet he forbid people to worship these devils; but no one minds what he said on that point.
There are many devil priests. When any one is sick, it is supposed that the devil has caused the sickness, and a devil priest is sent for. And what can the priest do? He dances,—he sings,—with his face painted,—small bells upon his legs,—and a flaming torch in each hand; while another man beats a loud drum. He dances, he sings—all night long,—sometimes changing his white jacket for a black, or his black for a white,—sometimes falling down, and sometimes jumping up,—sometimes reeling, and sometimes running,—and all this he does to please the devil, and to coax him to come out of the sick person. This is what he pretends;—but in reality, he seeks to get money by his tricks. The people are very fond of these devil-dancers; it tires them to listen to the Buddhist priests, mumbling out of their books, the five hundred and fifty histories of Buddha; but it delights them to watch all night the antics of a devil priest.
What is the character of these deceived people? They are polite, and obliging, but as deceitful as their own priests. They are not even sincere in their wrong religion, but are ready to pretend to be of any religion which is most convenient. The Portuguese once were masters of Ceylon, and they tried to make the people Roman Catholics. Then the Dutch came, who tried to force them to be Protestants. Many infants were baptized, who grew up to be heathen priests. Now the English are masters of Ceylon; they do not oblige the people to be Christians, yet many pretend to be Christians who are not.
A man was once asked, "Are you a Buddhist?"
"No," he replied.
"Are you a Mahomedan?"
"No."
"Are you a Roman Catholic?"
"No."
"What is your religion?"
"Government religion."
Such was his answer. This man had no religion at all,—he only wished to obtain the favor of the governor. But will he obtain the favor of the Governor of the world, the King of kings?
We have said nothing yet about the appearance of the Cingalese. Both men and women wear a piece of cloth wound round their waists, called a comboy; but they do not, like the Hindoos, twist it over their shoulders; they wear a jacket instead. Neither do the men wear turbans, as in India, but they fasten their hair with a comb, while the women fasten theirs with long pins. The Cingalese ladies and gentlemen imitate the English dress, especially when they come to a party at the English Governor's house. Then they wear shoes and stockings instead of sandals; the gentlemen contrive to place a hat over their long hair, by first taking out the combs; yet they still wind a comboy over their English clothes. The Hindoos do not thus imitate the English, for they are too proud of their own customs. Hindoo ladies never go into company; but Cingalese ladies may be seen at parties, arrayed in colored satin jackets, and adorned with golden hair-pins, and diamond necklaces.
You have heard of the foolish ideas the Hindoos entertain about castes. It is the Brahmin priests who teach them these opinions. The Buddhist priests say nothing about castes; yet the Cingalese have castes of their own; but not the same castes as the Hindoos. There are twenty-one castes in all; the highest caste consists of the husbandmen, and the lowest of the mat-weavers.
Below the lowest caste, are the OUTCASTS! The poor outcasts live in villages by themselves, hated by all. When they meet any one, who are not outcasts, they go as near to the hedge as they can, with their hands on the top of their heads, to show their respect. These poor creatures are accustomed to be treated as if they were dogs. What pride there is in man's heart! How is it one poor worm can lift himself up so high above his fellow-worm, though both are made of the same dust, and shall lie down in the same dust together!
KANDY.
This town is built among the high mountains. It was built there for the same reason that the eagle builds her nest on the top of a tall rock,—to get out of the reach of enemies. But the proud king, who once dwelt there, has been conquered, and now England's Queen rules over Ceylon. No wonder that the proud king had enemies, for he was a monster of cruelty. His palace is still to be seen. See that high tower, and that open gallery at the top! There the last king used to stand to enjoy the sight of his subjects' agonies. Those who had offended him were killed in the Court below,—killed not in a common manner, but in all kinds of barbarous ways,—such as by being cut in pieces, or by swallowing melted lead. At length the Cingalese invited the English to come and deliver them from their tyrant; the English came and shut him up in prison till he died, and now an English governor rules over Ceylon.
The greatest curiosity to be seen at Kandy is a TOOTH! a tooth that the people say was taken out of the mouth of their Buddha. It is kept in a splendid temple on a golden table, in a golden box of great size. There are seven boxes one inside the other, and in the innermost box, wrapped up in gold, there is a piece of ivory, the size of a man's thumb,—that is the tooth of Buddha! Every day it is worshipped, and offerings of fruit and flowers are presented.
COLOMBO.
This is the chief English town of Ceylon, as Kandy is the chief Cingalese town. The English governor lives here, but he has a house at Kandy too, where he may enjoy the cool mountain air. There is a fine road from Colombo to Kandy, broader and harder than, English roads; yet it is out through steep mountains, and winds by dangerous precipices. But there are laborers in Ceylon stronger than any in England. I mean the ELEPHANTS. It is curious to see this huge animal meekly walking along with a plank across its tusks, or dragging wagons full of large stones. Among the mountains there are herds of wild elephants, sometimes a hundred may be seen in one herd. There are no elephants in the world as courageous as those of Ceylon, yet they are very obedient when tamed. If you wished to visit the mountains, you might safely ride upon the back of the sure-footed elephant, and all your brothers and sisters, however many, might ride with you.
MISSIONARIES.—There are some in Ceylon, and some of the heathens have obeyed their voice.
There was once a devil priest. Having been detected in some crime, he was imprisoned at Kandy, and while in prison he read a Christian tract, and was converted. Thus (like Onesimus, of whom we read in the Bible,) he escaped from Satan's prison, while shut up in man's prison. When he was set free, he was baptized by the missionary at Kandy, and he chose to be called Abraham. What name did he choose for his son, a boy of fourteen? Isaac. He buried his conjuring books, though he might have sold them for eight pounds. His cottage was in a village fifteen miles from Kandy. He had left it—a wicked man; lib returned to it a good man.
After some time, a missionary went to visit Abraham in his cottage. A good Cingalese was his guide. The walk there was beautiful, along narrow paths, amidst fields of rice, through dark thickets, and long grass. No one in Abraham's village had ever seen the fair face of an Englishman; and the sight of the missionary alarmed the inhabitants. Abraham's family was the only Christian family in that place. How glad Abraham felt at the sight of the missionary,—almost as glad as the first Abraham felt at the sight of the three angels. When the missionary entered, Abraham was teaching his wife, for she was soon to be baptized. By what name? By the name of Sarah. There were seven children in the family. How hard it must be for Abraham to bring them up as Christians, in the midst of his heathen neighbors. Even his brothers hate him, wound his cattle, and break down his fences. Once they pointed a gun at him, but it did not go off. Abraham's comfort is to walk over to Kandy every Saturday, to worship God there on Sunday with the Christians; and he does not find fifteen miles too far for his willing feet. May the Lord preserve Abraham, faithful in the midst of the wicked.
BORNEO.
This is the largest island in the world, except one. Borneo is of a different shape from our Britain, but if you could join Britain and Ireland in one, both together would not be as large as Borneo. Yet how unlike is Borneo to Britain! Britain is a Christian island. Borneo is a heathen island. Yet Borneo is not an island of idols, as Ceylon is. All heathens do not worship idols. I will tell you who live in Borneo, and you will see why there are so few idols there.
Many people have come from Malacca, and settled in Borneo; so the island is full of Malays. These people have a cunning and cruel look, and no wonder;—for many of them are PIRATES! It is a common custom in Borneo to go out in a large boat,—to watch for smaller boats,—to seize them—to bind the men in chains, and to bring them home as slaves. There are no seas in the world so dangerous to sail in, as the seas near Borneo, not only on account of the rocks, but on account of the great number of pirates. What is the religion of Borneo? It is Mahomedanism. But the Malays do not follow the laws of Mahomet as the Turks do. They do not mind the hours of prayer, nor do they attend regularly at the mosque. This is not surprising, for they do not understand the Koran. Mahomet wrote in Arabic, and the Malays do not understand Arabic. Why do they not get the Koran translated? Mahomet did not wish the book to be translated. Why then do not the Malays learn Arabic? I wonder they do not, but I suppose they are too idle, and too careless. The boys go to school and learn to read and write their own easy language—the Malay; and they learn also to repeat whole chapters of the Koran, but without understanding a word. Still they think it a great advantage to know these chapters, because they imagine that by repeating them, they can drive away evil spirits.
The Malays observe Mahomet's law against eating pork; but many of them drink wine, though Mahomet forbids it. However, they follow Mahomet in not having dancing at their feasts; indeed, their behavior at feasts is sober and orderly, for they amuse themselves chiefly by singing, and repeating poems. They have only two meals a day, and they live chiefly upon rice, which they eat, sitting cross-legged on the floor. They get tea from China, and drink many cups during the day, in the same way as the Chinese.
The ladies are treated like the ladies of Turkey, and shut up in their houses, to spend their time in folly and idleness.
The men scarcely work at all, but employ the slaves they have stolen at sea, to labor in their fields. Their houses are not better than barns, and not nearly as strong; for the sides and roof are generally made only of large leaves. They are built upon posts, as in Siam. It is well to be out of the reach of the leeches, crawling on the ground.
The Malays dress in loose clothes, trowsers, and jacket, and broad sash; the women are wrapped in a loose garment, and wear their glossy black hair flowing over their shoulders. The rich men dress magnificently, and quite cover their jackets with gold, while the ladies delight to sparkle with jewels.
BRUNI.
This is the capital. It is often called Borneo, and it is written down in the maps by this name. It is one of the most curious cities in the world; for most of the houses are built in the river, and most of the streets are only water. Every morning a great market is held on the water. The people come in boats from all the country round, bringing fruit and vegetables to sell, and they paddle up and down the city till they have sold their goods.
The Sultan's palace is built upon the bank, close to the water; and the front of his palace is open; so that it is easy to come in a boat, and to gaze upon him, as he sits cross-legged on his throne, arrayed in purple satin, glittering with gold.
There is a mosque in Bruni; but it is built only of brick, and has nothing in it but a wooden pulpit; and hardly anybody goes there, though a man stands outside making a loud noise on a great drum, to invite people to come in.
THE DYAKS.
These are a savage people who inhabit Borneo. They lived there before the Malays came, and they have been obliged to submit to them. They are savages indeed. They are darker than the Malays; yet they are not black; their skin is only the color of copper. Their hair is cut short in front, but streams down their backs; their large mouths show a quantity of black teeth, made black by chewing the betel-nut. They wear very little clothing, but they adorn their ears, and arms, and legs, with numbers of brass rings. Their looks are wild and fierce, but not cunning like the looks of the Malays. They are not Mahomedans; they have hardly any religion at all. They believe there are some gods, but they know hardly anything about them, and they do not want to know. They neither make images to the gods, nor say prayers to them. They live like the beasts, thinking only of this life; yet they are more unhappy than beasts, for they imagine there are evil spirits among the woods and hills, watching to do them harm. It is often hard to persuade them to go to the top of a mountain, where they say evil spirits dwell. Such a people would be more ready to listen to a missionary than those who have idols, and temples, and priests, and sacred books.
Their wickedness is very great. It is their chief delight to get the heads of their enemies. There are a great many different tribes of Dyaks, and each tribe tries to cut off the heads of other tribes. The Dyaks who live by the sea are the most cruel; they go out in the boats to rob, and to bring home, not slaves, but HEADS! And how do they treat a head when they get it? They take out the brains, and then they dry it in the smoke, with the flesh and hair still on; then they put a string through it, and fasten it to their waists. The evening that they have got some new heads, the warriors dance with delight,—their heads dangling by their sides;—and they turn round in the dance, and gaze upon their heads,—and shout,—and yell with triumph! At night they still keep the heads near them; and in the day, they play with them, as children with their dolls, talking to them, putting food in their mouths, and the betel-nut between their ghastly lips. After wearing the heads many days, they hang them up to the ceilings of their rooms.
No English lord thinks so much of his pictures, as the Dyaks do of their heads. They think these heads are the finest ornaments of their houses. The man who has most heads, is considered the greatest man. A man who has NO HEADS is despised! If he wishes to be respected, he must get a head as soon as he can. Sometimes a man, in order to get a head, will go out to look for a poor fisherman, who has done him no harm, and will come back with his head.
When the Dyaks fight against their enemies, they try to get, not only the heads of men, but also the heads of women and CHILDREN. How dreadful it must be to see a poor BABY'S HEAD hanging from the ceiling! There was a Dyak who lost all his property by fire, but he cared not for losing anything, so much as for losing his PRECIOUS HEADS; nothing could console him for THIS loss; some of them he had cut off himself, and others had been cut off by his father, and left to him!
People who are so bent on killing, as these Dyaks are, must have many enemies. The Dyaks are always in fear of being attacked by their enemies. They are afraid of living in lonely cottages; they think it a better plan for a great many to live together, that they may be able to defend themselves, if surprised in the night. Four hundred Dyaks will live together in one house. The house is very large. To make it more safe, it is built upon very high posts, and there are ladders to get up by. The posts are sometimes forty feet high; so that when you are in the house, you find yourself as high as the tall trees. There is one very large room, where all the men and women sit, and talk, and do their work in the day. The women pound the rice, and weave the mats, while the men make weapons of war, and the little children play about. There is always much noise and confusion in this room. There are a great many doors along one side of the long room; and each of these doors leads into a small room where a family lives; the parents, the babies, and the girls sleep there, while the boys of the family sleep in the large room, that has just been described.
You know already what are the ornaments on which each family prides itself,—the HEADS hanging up in their rooms! It is the SEA Dyaks who live in these very large houses.
The HILL Dyaks do not live in houses quite so large. Yet several families inhabit the same house. In the midst of their villages, there is always one house where the boys sleep. In this house all the HEADS of the village are kept. The house is round, and built on posts, and the entrance is underneath through the floor. As this is the best house in the village, travellers are always brought to this house to sleep. Think how dreadful it must be, when you wake in the night to see thirty or forty horrible heads, dangling from the ceiling! The wind, too, which comes in through little doors in the roof, blows the heads about; so that they knock against each other, and seem almost as if they were still alive. This is the HEAD-HOUSE.
These Hill Dyaks do not often get a new head; but when they do, they come to the Head-House at night, and sing to the new head, while they beat upon their loud gongs. What do they say to the new head?
"Your head, and your spirit, are now ours. Persuade your countrymen to be slain by us. Let them wander in the fields, that we may bring the heads of your brethren, and hang them up with your heads."
How much Satan must delight in these prayers. They are prayers just suited to that great MURDERER and DESTROYER!
The Malays are enemies to all the Dyaks; and they have burnt many of their houses, cut down their fruit trees, and taken their children captives. The Dyaks complain bitterly of their sufferings. Some of them say, "We do not live like men, but like monkeys; we are hunted from place to place; we have no houses; and when we light a fire, we fear lest the smoke should make our enemies know where we are."
They say they live like monkeys. But why do they behave like tigers?
An English gentleman, named Sir James Brooke, has settled in Borneo, and has become a chief of a large tract of land. His house is near the river Sarawak. He has persuaded the Sultan of Borneo, to give the English a VERY LITTLE island called the Isle of Labuan. It is a desert island. Of what use can this small island be to England? English soldiers may live there, and try to prevent pirates infesting the seas. If it were not for the pirates, Borneo would be able to send many treasures to foreign countries. It is but a little way from Borneo to Singapore, and there are many English merchants at Singapore, ready to buy the precious things of Borneo. Gold is found in Borneo, mixed with the earth. But I don't know who would dig it up, if it were not for the industrious Chinese, who come over in great numbers to get money in this island. Diamonds are found there, and a valuable metal called antimony.
The sago-tree, the pepper plant, and the sugar-cane, and the cocoa-nut tree are abundant.
The greatest curiosity that Borneo possesses are the eatable nests. These white and transparent nests are found in the caves by the sea-shore, and they are the work of a little swallow. The Chinese give a high price for these nests, that they may make soup for their feasts.
ANIMALS.—Borneo has very few large animals. There are, indeed, enormous alligators in the rivers, but there are no lions or tigers; and even the bears are small, and content to climb the trees for fruit and honey. The majestic animal which is the pride of Ceylon, is not found in Borneo: I mean the elephant.
Yet the woods are filled with living creatures. Squirrels and monkeys sport among the trees. The leaps of the monkeys are amazing; hundreds will jump one after the other, from a tree as high as a house, and not one will miss his footing; yet now and then a monkey has a fall. The most curious kind of monkey is found in Borneo—the Ourang-outang; but it is one of the least active; it climbs carefully from branch to branch, always holding by its hands before it makes a spring. These Ourang-outangs are not as large as a man, yet they are much stronger. All the monkeys sleep in the trees; in a minute a monkey makes its bed by twisting a few branches together.
Beneath the trees—two sorts of animals, very unlike each other, roam about,—the clumsy hog, and the graceful deer. As the largest sort of monkeys is found in Borneo, so is the smallest sort of deer. There is a deer that has legs only eight inches long. There is no more elegant creature in the world than this bright-eyed, swift-footed little deer.
JAPAN.
This is the name of a great empire. There are three principal islands. One of these is very long, and very narrow; it is about a thousand miles long,—much longer than Great Britain, but not nearly as broad. Yet the three islands together are larger than our island. There is a fourth island near the Japan islands, called Jesso, and it is filled with Japanese people.
You know it is difficult to get into China; but it is far more difficult to get into Japan. The emperor has boats always watching round the coast, to prevent strangers coming into his country. These boats are so made, that they cannot go far from the shore. No Japanese ship is ever seen floating in a foreign harbor. If it be difficult to get into Japan, it is also difficult to get out of her. There is a law condemning to death any Japanese who leaves his country. The Chinese also are forbidden to leave their land; but they do not mind their laws as well as the Japanese mind theirs.
I shall not be able to tell you much about Japan; as strangers may not go there, nor natives come from it. English ships very seldom go to Japan, because they are so closely watched. The guard-boats surround them night and day. When it is dark, lanterns are lighted, in order the better to observe the strangers. One English captain entreated permission to land, that he might observe the stars with his instruments, in order afterwards to make maps; but he could only get leave to land on a little island where there were a few fishermen's huts; and all the time he was there, the Japanese officers kept their eye upon him. He was told that he must not measure the land. It seems that the Japanese were afraid that his measuring the land would be the beginning of his taking it away. However, he had no such intention, and was content with measuring the SEA.
He asked the Japanese to sell him a supply of fruit and vegetables for his crew, and a supply was brought; but the Japanese would take no money in return. He wanted to buy bullocks, that his crew might have beef, but the Japanese replied, "You cannot have them; for they work hard, and are tired, they draw the plough; they do their duty, and they ought not to be eaten; but the hogs are lazy; they do no work, you may have them to eat, if you wish it." The Japanese will not even milk their cows, but they allow the calves to have all the milk.
If you wish to know why the Japanese will not allow strangers to land, I must relate some events which happened three hundred years ago.
Some Roman Catholic priests from Spain and Portugal settled in the land, and taught the people about Christ, but they taught them also to worship the cross, and the Virgin Mary. Thousands of the Japanese were baptized, and were called Christians. After some years had passed away, the emperor began to fear that the kings of Spain and Portugal would come, and take away his country from him, as they had taken away other countries; so the emperor began to persecute the priests, and all who followed their words. One emperor after another persecuted the Christians. There is a burning mountain in Japan, and down its terrible yawning mouth many Christians were thrown. One emperor commanded his people instead of worshipping the cross, to trample upon it. To do either—is wicked; to do either is to insult Christ.
All Christians are now hated in Japan. The Dutch tried to persuade the emperors to trust them; but they could only get leave to buy and sell at one place, but not to settle in the land.
There are many beautiful things in Japan, especially boxes, and screens, and cabinets, varnished and ornamented in a curious manner, and these are much admired by great people in Europe. There is silk, too, and tea, and porcelain in Japan; but they are not nearly as fine as China. There is gold also.
There are as many people in Japan, as there are in Britain; for the Japanese are very industrious, and cultivate abundance of rice, and wheat. Oh! how sad to think that so many millions should be living and dying in darkness; for the chief religion is the false, and foolish religion of Buddha, or, as he is called in Japan, "Budso." How many names are given to that deceiver! Buddha in Ceylon; Fo, in China; Gaudama, in Burmah; Codom, in Siam—and Budso in Japan!
What sort of people are the Japanese?
They are a very polite people—much politer than the Chinese, but very proud. They are a learned nation, for they can read and write, and they understand geography, arithmetic, and astronomy. There is a college where many languages are taught, even English. The dress of the gentlemen is elegant;—the loose tunic and trowsers, the sash, and jacket, are made of a kind of fine linen, adorned with various patterns; the stockings are of white jean; sandals are worn upon the feet, but no covering upon the head, although most of the hair is shaven, and the little that remains behind, is tied tightly together; an umbrella or a fan is all that is used to keep off the sun;—except on journeys, and then a large cap of oiled paper, or of plaited grass is worn. The great mark by which a gentleman is known, is wearing two swords.
The Japanese houses are very pretty. In the windows—flower-pots are placed; and when real flowers cannot be had, artificial flowers are used. In great houses, the ladies are shut up in one part; while in the other, company is received. The house is divided into rooms by large screens, and as these can be moved, the rooms can be made larger, or smaller, as the master pleases. There are no chairs, for the Japanese, though so much like the Chinese, do not sit like them on chairs, but on mats beautifully woven. The emperor's palace is called, "The Hall of the Thousand Mats." Every part of a Japanese house is covered with paper, and adorned with paintings, and gold, and silver flowers; even the doors, and the ceilings, are ornamented in this manner. Beautiful boxes, and porcelain jars, add to the beauty of the rooms.
The climate is pleasant, for the winter is short, and the sun is not as hot as in China; so that the ladies, and gentlemen, are almost as fair as Europeans, though the laborers are very dark.
JAPANESE GENTLEMAN. See [ p. 289.]
But Japan is exposed to many dangers, from wind, from water, and from fire—three terrible enemies! The waves dash with violence upon the rocky shores; the wind often blows in fearful hurricanes; while earthquakes and hot streams from the burning mountains, fill the people with terror.
But more terrible than any of these—is wickedness; and very wicked customs are observed in Japan. It is very wicked for a man to kill himself, yet in Japan it is the custom for all courtiers who have offended the emperor, to cut open their own bodies with a sword. The little boys of five years old, begin to learn the dreadful art. They do not really cut themselves, but they are shown how to do it, that when they are men, they may be able to kill themselves in an elegant manner. How dreadful! Every great man has a white dress, which he never wears, but keeps by him, that he may put it on when he is going to kill himself: and he carries it about with him wherever he goes, for he cannot tell how suddenly he may want it. When a courtier receives a letter sentencing him to die, he invites his friends to a feast; and at the end of it, his sentence is read aloud by the emperor's officer; then he takes his sword, and makes a great gash across his own body; at the same moment, a servant who stands behind him, cuts off his head.
This way of dying is thought very fine, and as a reward, the emperor allows the son of the dead man to occupy his father's place in the court. But what a place to have, when at last there may be such a fearful scene! Missionaries cannot come into Japan to teach the people a better way of dying, and to tell them of a happy place after death.
AUSTRALIA.
This is the largest island in the world. It is as large as Europe (which is not an island, but a continent). But how different is Australia from Europe! Instead of containing, as Europe does, a number of grand kingdoms, it has not one single king. Instead of being filled with people, the greater part of Australia is a desert, or a forest, where a few half naked savages are wandering.
A hundred years ago, there was not a town in the whole island; but now there are a few large towns near the sea-coast, but only a very few. It is the English who built these large towns, and who live in them.
Australia is not so fine a land as Europe, because it has not so many fine rivers; and it is fine rivers that make a fine land. Most of the rivers in Australia do not deserve the name of rivers; they are more like a number of water-holes, and are often dried up in the summer; but there is one very fine, broad, long, deep river, called the Murray. It flows for twelve hundred miles. Were there several such rivers us the Murray, then Australia would be a fine land indeed.
Why is there so little water? Because there is so little rain. Sometimes for two years together, there are no heavy showers, and the grass withers, and the trees turn brown, and the air is filled with dust. I believe the reason of the want of rain is—that the mountains are not high; for high mountains draw the clouds together. There are no mountains as high as the Alps of Europe; the highest are only half as high.[[13]]
THE NATIVES.—The savages of Australia have neither god, nor king. Some heathen countries are full of idols, but there are no idols in the wilds of Australia. No,—like the beasts which perish, these savages live from day to day without prayer, or praise, delighting only in eating and drinking, hunting and dancing.
Most men build some kind of houses; but these savages are satisfied with putting a few boughs together, as a shelter from the storm. There is just room in one of these shelters for a man to creep into it, and lie down to sleep. They do not wish to learn to build better huts, for as they are always running about from place to place, they do not think it worth while to build better.
A native was once sitting in the corner of a white man's hut, and looking as if he enjoyed the warmth. The white men began to laugh at him, for not building a good hut for himself. For some time the black man said nothing, at last he muttered, "Ay, ay, white fellow think it best that-a-way. Black fellow think it best that-a-way." A white man rudely answered, "Then black fellow is a fool." Upon hearing this, the black fellow, quite affronted, got up, and folding his blanket round him, walked out of the hut. How much pride there is in the heart of man! Even a savage thinks a great deal of his own wisdom, and cannot bear to be called a fool.
Sometimes the natives build a house strong enough to last during the whole winter, and large enough to hold seven or eight people. They make it in the shape of a bee-hive.
Their reason for moving about continually, is that they may get food. They look for it, wherever they go, digging up roots, and grubbing up grubs, and searching the hollows of the trees for opossums. (Of these strange animals more shall soon be mentioned.)
The women are the most ill-treated creatures in the world. The men beat them on their heads whenever they please, and cover them with bruises. A gentleman once saw a poor black woman crying bitterly. When he asked her what was the matter, she told him that her husband was going to beat her for having broken his pipe. The gentleman went to the husband, and entreated him to forgive his "gin" (for that is the name for a wife or woman). But the man declared he would not forgive her, unless a new pipe was given to him. The gentleman could not promise one to the black man, as there were no pipes to be had in that place. The next morning the poor gin appeared with a broken arm, her cruel husband having beaten her with a thick stick.
The miserable gins are not beaten only; they are half starved; for their husbands will give them no food, and they—poor things—cannot fish or hunt, or shoot; they have nothing but the roots they dig up, and the grubs, and lizards, and snakes they find on the ground. Their looks show how wretchedly they fare; for while the men are often strong and tall, the women are generally thin, and bent, and haggard.
Yet the woman, weak as she is, carries all the baggage, not only the babe slung upon her back, but the bag of food, and even her husband's gun and pipe; while the man stalks along in his pride, with nothing but his spear in his hand, or at most a light basket upon his arm; for he considers his wife as his beast of burden. At night the woman has to build her own shelter, for the man thinks it quite enough to build one for himself.
Such is the hard lot of a native woman, while she lives; and when she dies, her body is perched in a tree, as not worth the trouble of burying.
I have already told you, that the natives have no GOD; yet they have a DEVIL, whom they call Yakoo, or debbil-debbil. Of him they are always afraid, for they fancy he goes about devouring children. When any one dies, they say, "Yakoo took him." How different from those happy Christians who can say of their dead, "God took them!"
People who know not God, but only the devil, must be very wicked. These savages show themselves to be children of debbil-debbil by their actions. They kill many of their babes, that they may not have the trouble of nursing them. Old people also they kill, and laugh at the idea of making them "tumble down." One of the most horrible things they do, is making the skulls of their friends into drinking-cups, and they think that by doing so, they show their AFFECTION! They allow the nearest relation to have the skull of the dead person. They will even EAT a little piece of the dead body, just as a mark of love. But generally speaking, it is only their enemies they eat, and they do eat them whenever they can kill them. There are a great many tribes of natives, and they look upon one another as enemies. If a man of one tribe dare to come, and hunt in the lands of another tribe, he is immediately killed, and his body is eaten.
The bodies of dear friends—are treated with great honor, placed for some weeks on a high platform, and then buried. Mothers prize highly the dead bodies of their children. A traveller met a poor old woman wandering in search of roots, with a stick for digging in her hand, and with no other covering than a little grass mat. On her back she bore a heavy load. What was it? The dead body of her child,—a boy of ten years old; this burden she had borne for three weeks, and she thought she showed her love, by keeping it near her for so long a time. Alas! she knew nothing of the immortal spirit, and how, when washed in Jesus' blood, it is borne by angels into the presence of God.
But though these savages are so wicked, and so wild, they have their amusements. Dancing is the chief amusement. At every full moon, there is a grand dance, called the Corrobory. It is the men who dance, while the women sit by and beat time. Nothing can be more horrible to see than a Corrobory. It is held in the night by the light of blazing fires. The men are made to look more frightful than usual, by great patches, and stripes of red and white clay all over their bodies; and they play all manner of strange antics, and utter all kinds of strange yells; so that you might think it was a dance in HELL, rather than on earth.
It may surprise you to hear these wild creatures have a turn both for music and drawing. There are figures carved upon the rocks, which show their turn for drawing. The figures represent beasts, fishes, and men, and are much better done than could have been supposed. There are few savages who can sing as well as these natives; but the words of their songs are very foolish. These are the words of one song,
"Eat great deal, eat, eat, eat;
Eat again, plenty to eat;
Eat more yet, eat, eat, eat."
If a pig could sing, surely this song would just suit its fancy. How sad to think a man who is made to praise God forever and ever, should have no higher joy than eating!
And what is the appearance of these people?
They are ugly, with flat noses, and wide mouths, but their teeth are white, and their hair is long, glossy, and curly. They adorn their tresses with teeth, and feathers, and dogs' tails; and they rub over their whole body with fish oil and fat. You may imagine, therefore, how unpleasant it must be to come near them.
THE COLONISTS OR SETTLERS.
Once there were only black people in Australia, and no white; now there are more white than black; and it is probable, that soon, there will be no black people, but only white. Ever since the white people began to settle there, the black people have been dying away very fast; for the white people have taken away the lands where the blacks used to hunt, and have filled them with their sheep and cattle.
There are two sorts of white people who have come to Australia. They are called "Convicts," and "Colonists."
Convicts are some of the worst of the white people;—thieves, who instead of being kept in prison, were sent to Australia to work hard for many years. It is a sad thing for Australia, that so many thieves have been sent there, because after their punishment was over, and they were set at liberty, some remained in the land, and did a great deal of harm.
Colonists are people who come of their own accord to earn their living as best they can.
It is a common sight when travelling in Australia, to meet a dray drawn by bullocks, laden with furniture, and white people. It is a family going to their new farm. In the dray there are pigs, and you may hear them grunting; there are fowls, too, shut up in a basket; and besides, there are plants and tools. When the family arrive at the place where they mean to settle, they find no house, nor garden, nor fields, only a wild forest. Immediately they pitch a tent for the mother and her daughters to sleep in, while the father, his sons, and his laborers, sleep by the fire in the open air. The next morning, the men begin to fell trees to make a hut, and they finish it in a week;—not a very grand dwelling, it is true, but good enough for the fine weather; the floor is made of the hard clay from the enormous ant hills; the walls—of great slabs of wood; the roof—of wooden tiles, and the windows—of calico. When the hut is finished, a hen-house, and a pig-sty are built, and a dairy also underground. A garden is soon planted, and there the vines, and the peach-trees bear beautiful fruit. The daughters attend to the rearing of the fowls, and the milking of the cows, and soon have a plentiful supply of eggs and butter. The men clear the ground of trees, in order to sow wheat and potatoes. Thus the family soon have all their wants supplied; and they find time by degrees to build a stone house, with eight large rooms; and when it is completed, they give up their wooden hut to one of the laborers. This is the way of life in the "Bush;" for such is the name given to the wild parts of Australia.
Some settlers keep large flocks of sheep, and gain money by selling the wool and the fat, to make cloth and tallow. A shepherd in Australia leads a very lonely life among the hills, and he is obliged to keep ever upon the watch against the wild dogs. These voracious animals prowl about in troops, and cruelly bite numbers of the sheep, and then devour as many as they can. Happily there are no large wild beasts, such as wolves, and bears, lions, and tigers; for these would devour the shepherd as well as the sheep.
But there are men, called "bush-rangers," as fierce as wild beasts. These are convicts who have escaped from punishment. They often come to the settlers' houses, and murder the inhabitants.
The natives are not nearly as dangerous as these wicked white men; indeed they are generally very harmless, unless provoked by ill-treatment. They are willing to make themselves useful, by reaping corn, and washing sheep; and a little reward satisfies them, such as a blanket, or an old coat. When some of the flock have strayed, the blacks will take great pains to look for them, and seem as much pleased when they have found them, as if they were their own sheep. The black women can help in the wash-house, and in the farm-yard; but they are too much besmeared with grease to be fit for the kitchen. It is wise never to give a good dinner to a black, till his work is done; because he always eats so much, that he can work no more that day.
Some of these poor blacks are very faithful and affectionate. There was one who lived near a settler's hut, and he used to come there every morning before the master was up; he would enter very gently for fear of waking him,—light the fire by rubbing two pieces of wood together, and set the kettle on to boil; then he would approach the bed, and putting his hand affectionately on the hand of the sleeper would whisper in his ear, till he saw him open his eyes, when he would greet him with a kind and smiling look. These attentions were the mark of his attachment to the white man.
This black was as faithful, as he was affectionate. Once he was sent by a farmer on a message. It was this, "Take this letter to my brother, and he will give you sixpence, and then spend the sixpence in pipes for me." The black man took the letter, and went towards the place where the brother lived. He met him on horseback. The brother after reading the letter, rode away without giving the sixpence to the bearer. What was the poor black man to do? "Shall I go back," thought he, "without the pipes? No. I will try to get some money." He went to a house that he knew of, and offered to chop some wood for sixpence, and with that sixpence he bought the pipes. Was not this being a good servant? This was not eye-service; it was the service of the heart. But there are not many natives like this man. They are generally soon tired of working. For instance, a boy called Jackey, left a good master who would have provided for him, to live again wild in the woods, and went away with the blanket off his bed.
ANIMALS.—There are few of our animals in Australia, or of their animals in England. There is no hare, no rabbit, no nightingale, no thrush, in Australia. Once there were no horses, nor cows, nor sheep, nor pigs; but now there are a great many. Much terrified were the natives at the sight of the first horse which came from England; for they had never seen such a large animal before.
The largest beast in Australia is the Kangaroo, remarkable for its short fore-legs, and its great strong hind-legs, and for the pocket in which it shelters its little one. It is a gentle creature, and can be easily tamed. A pet kangaroo may often be seen walking about a settler's garden, cropping the grass upon the lawn. But though easily tamed, a wild kangaroo is not easily caught; for it makes immense springs in the air, far higher than a horse could leap, though it is not as big as a sheep. When hunted by dogs, it gets, when it can, into the water, and turning round, and standing still, dips the dogs, one by one, till it drowns them.
There is another beast, called the opossum, not much bigger than a large cat, and it also has a pocket for its young ones. But instead of cropping the grass, it eats the leaves of trees. It has a gentle face like a deer, and a long tail like a monkey. It hides itself, as the squirrel does, in the hollows of trees. Like the owl, it is never seen in the day, but at night it comes out to feed. The blacks are very cunning in finding out the holes where the opossums are hidden, and they know how to drag them out by their long tails, without getting bitten by their sharp teeth. With the skin of the opossum the natives make a cloak.
The wild dogs, or dingoes, are odious animals. They may be heard yelling at night to the terror of the shepherd, and the farmer. They are bold enough to rush into a yard, and to carry off a calf, or a pig; and when they have dragged it into the woods, they cruelly eat the legs first, and do not kill it for a long while.
These three—the kangaroo, the opossum, and the dingo,—are the principal beasts of Australia.
Among the birds, the emu is the most remarkable. It is nearly as tall as an ostrich, and has beautiful soft feathers, though not as beautiful as the ostrich's. But the most curious point in the emu is,—it has no tongue. You may suppose, therefore, that it is neither a singing bird, nor a talking bird; it only makes a little noise in its throat. But if it is silent, there are numbers of parrots, and cockatoos, to fill the air with their screams. In England, these birds are thought a great deal of, but in Australia, they are killed to make into pies, or into soup. Parrot-pie and cockatoo-soup, are common dishes there. However, many of the parrots and cockatoos, are caught by the blacks, and sold to the English, who send them to England in the ships.
There are not such singing birds in Australia, as there are here. Though there is a robin red-breast there, he does not sing as sweetly as he does here. But there are laughing birds in Australia. There is a bird called the "laughing jackass." He laughs very loud three times a day. He begins in the morning;—suddenly a hoarse loud laugh is heard,—then another, then another,—till a whole troop of birds seem laughing all together, and go on laughing for a few minutes;—and then they are all quiet again. Such a noise must awaken many a sleeper on his bed. At noon the laugh is heard again. At evening there is another general fit of laughter. These birds are not like children, who laugh at no particular hour, but often twenty times a day. The laughing jackass is almost as useful as a clock, and it is called, "the bushman's clock."
BOTANY BAY.
This is a famous place, for here the English first settled, and here it was thieves were sent from England as a punishment. Some were sent there for fourteen years, and some for twenty-one years, and some for life. How did the place get the beautiful name of Botany? which means "the knowledge of flowers." Because there were so many beautiful flowers seen there, when Captain Cook first beheld it. Yet the name Botany Bay, does not seem beautiful to us; for it reminds us not of roses, but of rogues; not of violets, but of violent men; not of lilies, but of villains.
SYDNEY.
This town is close to Botany Bay. It is the largest town in Australia. It is a very wicked city, because so many convicts have been sent there. Many of the people are the children of convicts, and have been brought up very ill by their parents. Of course there are many robberies in such a city, far more than there are in London. Who would like to live there! yet it is a fine city, and by the sea-side, with a harbor, where hundreds of ships might ride,—safe from the storm. It is plain, too, that Sydney is full of rich people, for the streets are thronged with carriages, driving rapidly along. The convicts often become rich, after their time of punishment is over, by keeping public-houses, and when rich they keep carriages.
If you were in Sydney, you would hardly think you were in a savage island; for you would see no savages in the streets. What is become of those who once lived in these parts? They are all dead, or gone to other parts of the island. The last black near Sydney, used to talk of the old times, and say, "When I was a pick-a-ninny, plenty of black fellow then. Only one left now, mitter."
ADELAIDE.
It is much better to live here than in Sydney, because convicts have never been sent here. Numbers of honest poor people are leaving England and Ireland, every year, to go to Adelaide. When they arrive at the coast, they get into cars, and are driven seven miles, passing by many pretty cottages, and gardens, till they arrive at Adelaide. There they find themselves in the midst of gardens; for the houses are not crowded together, as in our English towns, but are placed in the midst of trees, and flowers, and grass; because there is plenty of room in Australia.
But there is one great evil both in Sydney and in Adelaide, which is the dust blown from the desert, and which almost chokes the inhabitants. If there were more rain in Australia, there would be less dust.
Australia is divided into three parts:—
I. New South Wales. Capital, Sydney.
II. Western Australia. Capital, Perth.
III. South Australia. Capital, Adelaide.
The Australian mountains are about seven thousand feet high.
VAN DIEMAN'S LAND.
This island is as cool as Great Britain; yet it is not a pleasant land to live in; for it is filled with convicts. There are no natives there now; they died away gradually, except a few, who were taken by the English to a small island near, called "Flinder's Island." They were taken there that they might be safe; yet they never ceased to sigh, and to cry after their native land.
THE YOUNG SAVAGES.
Many travellers have tried to see the land in the midst of Australia, but hitherto they have not succeeded. After going a little way, they have been obliged to return, and why? Because they have found no water.
I will give you an account of the journey of Mr. Eyre. This traveller wished to go into the midst of the land, but finding he could not, he travelled along the coast, at that part called the Great Bight (or the Great Bay).
He set out from Adelaide with a large party, but various accidents occurred by the way, and at last he found himself with only one Englishman, and three native boys. The eldest was almost a man. His name was Wylie, and he was a good-tempered, lively youth. The second was named Neramberein. I shall have nothing good to relate of him, but a great deal of evil; for he was indeed a very wicked boy. The youngest was called Cootachah—a boy who was easily induced to follow bad examples.
Mr. Eyre was the chief person in the party, and his English companion was Mr. Baxter. Ten horses carried the packages, and six sheep were made to follow, that they might be killed one by one for food.
All these poor animals suffered terribly from want of water. Sometimes they went a hundred miles without a refreshing draught. The horses became so weak, that the travellers were unwilling to mount their backs; and as for the sheep, they could scarcely crawl along.
Many ways of getting water were tried. One way was digging up the roots of trees. A little,—a very little,—water may often be squeezed out of the end of a root; because the root is the mouth of the tree, and sucks up water from the ground. Another way of getting water was by gathering up the dew in a sponge. Enough dew to make a cup of tea might sometimes be obtained; but not enough for the poor beasts to have any. When the travellers, by digging, could make a well, then they were glad indeed; for then the beasts could be refreshed as well as themselves.
The whole party were become so weak from fatigue and thirst, that they could not get on fast, and they found it necessary to save their food as much as possible, that it might last to the end of the long journey. They took a little flour every day out of their bag, and made it into a paste. Sometimes they caught a fish, or shot a bird or beast, and then they had a hearty meal. When they killed one of their sheep, then they had plenty of mutton. At last, all the sheep were killed but one.
It happened at this time, that one of the horses was so sick that he could not move. It was plain he would soon die; therefore the travellers determined to kill him, and eat his flesh. Mr. Eyre was grieved at the thought of killing his horse, neither could he bear the idea of eating horse flesh; but then he feared, that if the horse were not killed, the whole party would be starved.
The native boys were delighted when they knew the horse was to be eaten; for they had long been fretting for more food. They would like to have devoured it all on the spot; but they were not allowed to do so; the greater part of the flesh was cut off in thin slices, dipped in salt water, and then hung up in the sun to dry, to serve as provision for many days to come. The boys were permitted to devour the rest of the carcase.
With what haste they prepared the feast! They made a fire close to the carcase, and then cut off lumps of flesh, which they roasted quickly, and then ate. They spent the whole afternoon in this manner, looking more like ravenous wolves than human creatures. When night came, they were not willing to leave their meat, but took as much as ever they could carry into their beds, that they might eat whenever they awoke. Next day, they returned to the roasting and eating, and the next night again they took meat with them to bed.
Mr. Eyre wondered at their gluttony and he thought it necessary to give them an allowance of food, instead of letting them eat as much as they liked. He gave five pounds of meat to each boy every day. Five pounds is as much as a shoulder of mutton—and ten English boys would think it quite enough for dinner; but the Australian boys were not satisfied!
Mr. Eyre began to suspect that in the night they stole some of the meat hanging up to dry on the trees. Therefore one night he weighed the meat, and in the morning weighed it again. He found that four pounds were gone. He thought it was very ungrateful of boys, to whom he gave so much, to steal from his small stock. As a punishment he gave them less meat next day than usual.
He entreated the boys to tell him who was the thief. The eldest and youngest declared that they had not stolen any meat; but Neramberein would not answer at all, and looked sulky and angry, and muttered something about going away, and taking Wylie with him. Mr. Eyre replied, that he might go if he pleased, while at the same time he warned him of the dangers of the way.
The next morning, as soon as breakfast was over, the three boys all rose up and walked away. Mr. Eyre called back the youngest, as he felt he was misled by his elders, but he let the others go. They had stayed with him till the horse was all eaten up, except the dried pieces—but now they hoped to get more food, when travelling alone, than with Mr. Eyre.
As soon as the boys were gone, Mr. Eyre determined to stop some time longer where he was, that he might not overtake them. There was one sheep still remaining, and which seemed very restless all by itself. This sheep was killed for food, and in that place there was plenty of water; so that the little company fared well that day and the next; especially as Mr. Baxter had the good fortune to kill an eagle, which made an excellent stew.
Just as the travellers had finished their evening meal, they were astonished to see the two runaway boys approaching. Wylie came running up, declaring that both he and his companions were sorry for their bad behavior, and were anxious to be received again, not being able to get enough to eat. But though Wylie acted in this frank manner, his companion was very sulky. He said nothing, but seated himself by the fire, pouting and frowning, and evidently much vexed at being obliged to come back. Mr. Eyre thought it well to give the boys a lecture on their bad conduct, especially upon their thefts; for they now owned that they had stolen meat from the trees, though they had before denied it. But though Mr. Eyre reproved the boys, he treated them very kindly, for he gave them some tea, and bread and meat for supper.
The next day the whole party continued their journey. They were obliged to be very sparing of their food, lest when it was gone they should get no more. But their greatest trial was the want of water.
After travelling during four days, they stopped one evening in a rocky place at the top of high cliffs, hoping that if any rain should fall, some might be caught in the hollow places among the rocks. That evening they ate no supper; for having had dinner, they might do without supper.
Before they lay down to sleep, they made themselves places to sleep in, by setting up boughs, as shelters from the wind. They also piled up their goods in a great heap, and covered it with oil skin, to keep out the damp. Mr. Eyre did not sleep when the rest did, for he undertook to watch the horses till eleven at night, and then he agreed to change places with Mr. Baxter.
The hour was almost come, and Mr. Eyre was beginning to lead the horses towards the sleeping place, when he was startled by hearing a gun go off. He called out,—but receiving no answer, he grew alarmed, and leaving the horses, ran towards the spot, whence the noise had come.
Presently he met Wylie, running very fast, and crying out, "Oh! Massa, Oh! Massa, come here."
"What is the matter?" inquired Mr. Eyre.
Wylie made no answer.
With hurried steps, Mr. Eyre accompanied him towards the camp. What a sight struck his eyes! His friend Baxter, lying on the ground, weltering in his blood, and in the agonies of DEATH.
The two younger boys were not there, and the goods which had been covered by the oil-skin, lay scattered in confusion on the ground. It was too clear that one of the boys had KILLED poor Baxter. No doubt it was Neramberein who had done it!
It seems that the boys had attempted to steal some of the goods, and that while they were gathering them together, Baxter had awaked, and had come forth from his sleeping place, and that then one of the boys had shot him.
Mr. Eyre raised the dying man from the ground where he was lying prostrate, and he then found that a ball had entered his left breast, and that his life was fast departing. In a few minutes he expired!
What were the feelings of the lonely traveller! Here he was in the midst of a desert, with no companion but one young savage, and that young savage was not one whom he could trust; for he knew not what part Wylie had taken in the deeds of the night. He suspected that he had intended to go away with the other boys, but that when Baxter was murdered, he had grown alarmed. Wylie indeed denied that he had known anything of the robbery, but then he was not a boy whose word could be believed.
The remainder of that dreadful night was passed by Mr. Eyre, in watching the horses. Anxiously he waited for the first streak of daylight. He then drove the horses to the camp, and once more beheld the body of his fellow-traveller. How suddenly had his soul been hurried into eternity, and into the presence of his God!
It was Wylie's business to light the fire, and prepare the breakfast. Meanwhile, Mr. Eyre examined the baggage to see how much had been stolen. These were the chief articles he missed. All the bread, consisting of five loaves, some mutton, tea and sugar, tobacco and pipes, a small keg of water, and two guns. And what was left for the traveller? A large quantity of flour, a large keg of water, some tea and sugar, a gun, and pistols. But would these have been left, had the ungrateful boys been strong enough to carry them away?
Mr. Eyre desired before leaving the fatal spot to bury the body of his friend; but the rocks around were so hard, that it was impossible to dig a grave. All he was able to do, was to wrap the corpse in a blanket before he abandoned it forever.
Slowly and silently he left the sorrowful spot, leading one horse, while Wylie drove the others after it. During the heat of the day, they stopped to rest. It was four in the afternoon, and they were soon going to set out again, when they perceived at a distance—TWO WHITE FIGURES! two white figures! and soon knew them to be the two guilty boys, wrapped in their blankets.
Mr. Eyre had some fear lest the young murderer should shoot him also; yet he thought it wise to advance boldly towards him, with his gun in his hand. He perceived that each of the wicked youths held a gun, and seemed ready to shoot. But as he approached, they drew back. He wished to speak to them in order to persuade them not to follow him on his journey, but to go another way; however he could not get near them; but he heard them cry out, "O Massa, we don't want you; we want Wylie." The boys repeated the name of Wylie over and over again; yet Wylie answered not, but remained quietly with the horses. At length Mr. Eyre turned away, and continued his journey. The boys followed at some distance, calling out for Wylie till the darkness came on.
Mr. Eyre was so anxious to get beyond the reach of these wicked youths, that he walked eighteen miles that evening. And he never saw them again! I do not know whether he had ever told them of the true God, of that EYE which never SLEEPS, of that EYE which beholds ROBBERS and MURDERERS in the night;—but whether he had told them or not of this great God, they must have KNOWN that they were acting wickedly when they robbed their benefactor, and murdered his friend; and they must have felt very MISERABLE after they had done those deeds.
Alone with Wylie, Mr. Eyre pursued his journey along the high clefts of the Great Bight, or Bay.
For five days they were without water for the horses; at last they dug some wells in the sand. But by this time one of the horses was grown so weak, that he could scarcely crawl along. This horse, Mr. Eyre determined to kill for food. Wylie, delighted with the idea, exclaimed, "Massa, I shall sit up, and eat the whole night." And he kept his word. While his master was skinning the poor beast, he made a fire close by, and soon began tearing off bits of flesh, roasting, and eating them, as fast as he could. Mr. Eyre, after cutting off the best parts of the flesh to dry, allowed Wylie to eat the rest. See the young glutton, with the head, the feet, and the inside, permitted to devour it as best he could! He hastened to make an oven, in which to bake about twenty pounds to feast upon during the night. It is not wonderful, if during that night he was heard to make a dismal groaning, and to complain that he was very ill. He said, indeed, that it was working too hard, had made him ill, but his master thought it was eating too much, for whenever he woke, he found the boy gnawing a bone.
Next day, Wylie was not able to spend his whole time over the carcase, for he had to go, and look for a lost foal; but the day after, it was hard to get him away from the bones.
For some time the travellers lived upon dried horse flesh, with a kangaroo, or a fish, as a little change. Wylie continued to eat immoderately, though often rolling upon the ground, and crying out, "Mendyat," or ill.
One night he appeared to be in a very ill-humor, and Mr. Eyre tried to find out the reason. At last Wylie said in an angry tone, "The dogs have eaten the skin." It seems he had hung the skin of a kangaroo upon a bush, intending to eat it by-and-bye, and the wild dogs had stolen the dainty morsel. Wylie was restored to his usual good-humor by the sight of some fine fishes his master had caught. Next time the boy shot a kangaroo, he took good care of the skin, folding it up, and hiding it.
One day he was so happy as to catch two opossums in a tree. His master determined to see how Wylie would behave, if left entirely to himself. He sat silently by the fire, while Wylie was cooking one opossum. The boy, having got it ready for his supper, took the other to his sleeping place. His master inquired what he intended to do with it. Wylie replied, "I shall be hungry in the morning, and I am keeping it for my breakfast." Then Mr. Eyre perceived that the greedy boy intended to offer him neither supper nor breakfast. Accordingly he took out his bag of flour, and said to Wylie, "Very well, we will each eat our own food; you eat the opossums you shot, and I eat the flour I have; and I will give you no more." In this manner, Mr. Eyre hoped to show the boy the folly of his selfishness. Wylie was frightened at the idea of getting no more flour, and immediately offered the smaller opossum to his master, and promised to cook it himself. What a selfish, and ungrateful boy! Wylie had a wicked heart by nature, and so have we. Only he had not been taught what was right, as we have been. This is a prayer which would suit well every child, and every man in the world, "Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me."
Mr. Eyre continued to be kind to Wylie, though he saw the boy did not really love him.
But the troubles of the journey were nearly at an end. At last the travellers saw a ship a few miles from the shore. Oh I how anxious they were that the sailors should see them! What could they do? They kindled a fire on a rock, and they made a great deal of smoke come out of the fire. Soon a boat was seen approaching the shore. How great was the joy of the weary travellers. The sailors in the boat were Frenchmen, but they were not the less kind on that account. They invited Mr. Eyre and Wylie to accompany them to their ship.
When the young savage found himself on board, he was almost wild with delight, for he had now as much to eat as he could desire, and he began eating biscuits so fast, that the sailors began to be afraid lest he should eat them all; and they were glad to give him fishes instead, as they could catch plenty of them.
For twelve days Wylie and his master lived in the ship, and then left it, laden with provisions, and dressed in warm clothes.
They had still many miles to go along the shore, but they suffered no more from want of food and water.
Great was their rapture when they first caught sight of the hills of St. George's Sound; for then they knew their journey would soon end. But they had rivers to cross on the way, and in trying to get the horses over, they nearly lost the poor beasts, and their own lives too. For three days their clothes were dripping with wet, and the last night was one of the worst; but then they knew it was the LAST, and that thought enabled them to bear all. So does the Christian feel when near the end of his journey. He is in the midst of storms, and wading through deep waters, even the deep waters of DEATH; but he knows that he is near HOME.
It was in the midst of a furious storm, that these travellers arrived at their journey's end. Though they were now close to the town of Albany, neither man nor beast were to be seen; for neither would venture out. At last, a native appeared, and he knew Wylie, and greeted him joyfully, telling him at the same time that his friends had given him up for dead a long while ago. This native, by a loud shrill cry, let his countrymen know that Wylie was found; and presently a multitude of men, women, and children, came rushing rapidly from the town, and up the hill to meet him. His parents and brethren folded him in their arms, while all around welcomed him with shouts of joy. His master was kindly received at the house of a friend; but he did not meet with so warm a welcome as Wylie, for he was not like him in the midst of his family.
The kind master overlooked all Wylie's faults during the journey, and remembered only his kindness in keeping with him to the end. He even spoke in his favor to the government, requesting that Wylie might have a daily allowance of food as a reward for his good conduct. What great reason had this young savage to rejoice that he had not listened to the enticements of his wicked comrades, when they called him so often by his name, and tried to induce him to forsake his kind master!
LITTLE MICKEY.
Mickey was born in the wilds of Australia; yet he was a highly favored boy; for he became servant to a missionary. This was far better than being, like Wylie, the companion of a traveller.
Mickey was a merry and active little fellow, and was a great favorite with his master's children. The older ones taught him to read, and the little ones played with him. During the day, Mickey took care of the cattle, and at night he slept in a shed close by his master's house. He might have been a happy boy, but he soon fell into sin and sorrow.
One evening he was in the cooking-house, eating his supper with another native boy, his fellow-servant. The oven was hot, and the bread was baking. Mickey opened the door of the oven, and looked in. That was wrong; it was the first step towards evil. Mickey had eaten a good supper, and ought to have been satisfied; but, like his countrymen, he had an enormous appetite, and was always ready to eat too much when he could. He took some of the hot bread, and gave some to his fellow-servant. How like was his conduct to that of Eve, when she took the fruit, and gave some to Adam!
That night Mickey was nowhere to be found, nor his little fellow-servant either. Where could they be? Their master sent people to search for them; but no one had seen them. It seemed strange indeed, that a boy who had been so kindly treated, and who had seemed as happy as Mickey, should run away. The good missionary and his children were in great grief, fearing that some accident had befallen the lads.
But when the time came to take the bread out of the oven, they began to suspect why Mickey had gone away. They saw some one had stolen large pieces of bread. They said, "Perhaps it was Mickey who stole the bread, and perhaps he is ashamed, and so he has run away." What a pity it was that Mickey did not come, and confess his fault; he would have been pardoned and restored to favor. Even a good boy may fall into a great sin; but then he will own it, and ask forgiveness, both of God and man. Still Mickey was not like those hardened boys who robbed Mr. Eyre, for he was ashamed.
Month after month passed away, but no Mickey appeared. The missionary feared that the boy would never return, but live and die amongst his heathen countrymen.
One day, however, he was told that a man was at the door, who wanted to speak to him.
"Who is he?" inquired the missionary.
"A schoolmaster, sir," replied the servant.
"And what does he want?"
"He has brought with him some native boys, and he wants you to come out and see them, and speak a few words to them about their Saviour."
The missionary gladly consented to go out to behold so pleasing a sight, as a school of native boys. As soon as he appeared, several young voices called out, "Mickey no come."
The missionary was surprised, and inquired of the boys, "What do you mean? where is Mickey?"
"Mickey no come," repeated the boys. "He too much frightened."
"Why is he afraid?" asked the missionary.
"Because he steal de bread," replied the boys.
The missionary now began to look around, and soon espied Mickey, trying to hide himself behind a fence. He called him; but Mickey, instead of coming, went further off. Two or three boys then ran towards him, and attempted to bring him back, but Mickey resisted.
The missionary then went into the house hoping that the trembling culprit, seeing he was gone, would come out of his hiding-place.
Very soon he was told, that Mickey was standing with the other boys at the door. Then the good missionary appeared again. Looking kindly at Mickey, he said, "Why did you run away?"
"Because me steal de bread; me very sorry."
The missionary held out his hand to the sorrowful offender, saying, "I forgive you, Mickey." The boy eagerly seized the kind hand, and holding it fast, and looking earnestly up in the missionary's face, he said, "When me steal again, you must whip me—and whip me—and whip me—very—very much." Again the missionary assured the boy he had entirely forgiven him—and then Mickey began to jump about for joy.
How glad Mickey would have been to return to the service of his old master! But that could not be; for that master was just going to set sail for England, to visit his home and friends, and he could not take Mickey with him. Just before he went, he provided a feast for many of the native children, and gave them a parting address. Mickey was there—no longer afraid—but glad to look up in the face of his beloved friend; for now he knew he was forgiven.
When the moment came to say "Farewell," the children ran forward, eager to grasp the missionary's hand—but none pressed that hand so warmly and so sorrowfully, as the little runaway.
I know not whether that generous master, and that penitent servant ever again met upon earth; but I have much hope they will meet in heaven; for Mickey seems to have been sorry for his sin; and we know the promise: "If we confess our sins, God is faithful and just to forgive us our sins." And why? Because the blood of Christ cleanseth from all sin. There are many sinners who were once as much afraid of God, as Mickey was of his master; but who have been pardoned, and who will be present at his HEAVENLY FEAST.
THE END.
A CEDAR TREE. See [ p. 32.]
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