Travels in the East Indian archipelago

by Albert S. Bickmore

After dark that evening we anchored near the village of Kupang, which is situated on the south side of a great bay, some twelve miles wide and twenty long. This is a fine harbor now in the eastern monsoon, but during the western monsoon it is so slightly protected by the northern end of Semao that the sea may be said to roll directly in from the open ocean. At such times the steamer is obliged to seek a partial shelter under the lee of a small island on the north side of the bay. Whalers, and merchant-ships bound to and from China in the western monsoon, however, frequently call here, because it is the only harbor of any kind near the southern end of the island. If the projected line of steamers between northern Australia, Surabaya, Batavia, and Singapore, is established, this port would be one of the places they would visit. The village is situated on a sandy beach, that is terminated on either hand by cliffs of coral rock, which the sea has worn out into caves and small projecting points of the most grotesque forms. It has a population estimated at from six to seven thousand. Its chief exports are tripang, beeswax from the interior, and a sandal-wood, which is said to be the best in the whole archipelago. They raise several kinds of the nicest oranges. The Mandarin orange, probably brought originally from China, is the most delicious of any kind of this fruit that I ever tasted. I doubt very much whether our West India Islands, or Sicily, or any other part of the world, can compete with Timur in the rich flavor of its oranges. The hills around the village are only covered with a scanty vegetation, through which the coral rock outcrops, and in every direction the whole country, except in the valleys, presents a most barren and uninviting aspect, compared to the richly-clothed shores of Java, and most of the other islands we have seen. Indeed, none of the hills and high ridges throughout all the southern half of the island are covered with such dense forests as are seen in the eastern and northern parts of Java, and the middle and northern parts of Celebes, and over all the higher parts of Borneo and Sumatra.

As we passed through Sapi Strait, I noticed that, although both shores were green, yet forests appeared to be wanting both on Sumbawa and Floris, and this is also said to be true of Sandal-wood Island. It is also asserted that this is somewhat the condition of the eastern end of Java and the southern end of Celebes. Probably the cause of this partial sterility is chiefly owing to the circumstance that the southeast monsoon, which continues here most of the year, from about March till November, comes over the dry, desert-like interior of Australia, and does not become saturated with moisture on its passage over the Arafura Sea. Most of the precipitation, therefore, that does take place on Timur, must occur on the southeast side of the water-shed, and it is possible that extensive forests may exist on that part of the island. The northern half of the island, which is owned by the Portuguese, is far more fertile, and if it were thickly inhabited, and properly cultivated, might yield large crops of coffee. On landing, the most surprising of all the objects that meet the eye are the natives. At that time there were at least six different kinds in this same village, besides descendants of Malay mothers, and Chinese, Portuguese, Dutch, English, and probably American fathers, of every possible degree of mixture, a perfect Gordian knot for the ablest ethnologist. Each of these varieties of natives had some peculiarity in dress, and one wore the hair long and frizzled; but I doubt whether they could be referred to the true Papuan type. They appeared to be fair specimens of the aborigines, who have been already mentioned as inhabiting the interior of Floris, Solor, Omblata, Pintar, and Ombay. The natives of Savu are described as belonging to this same group, which Mr. Crawfurd calls the Negro-Malayan race. The Rajah of Savu was at Kupang while we were there, and certainly was nearly of pure Malay blood.

Contrary to what would be supposed, from its position, the island of Rotti, off the southern end of Timur, is inhabited by a lank-haired race, who are probably Malays. They were represented to me, by the Resident of Kupang, as a most peaceable people, and very different in this respect from the wild natives of Timur. On the southeast coast of Timur, near Mount Alias, there is said to be a tribe of black people whose hair is frizzled, and, instead of being evenly distributed over the scalp, is collected into little tufts, a characteristic which seems to separate the Papuans from all other people. Mr. Earl says[21] that some of the people on the table-land back of Dilli have “opaque yellow complexions, the exposed parts of the skin being covered with light-brown spots or freckles,[22] and the hair is straight, fine, and of a reddish hue, or dark-auburn color. Every intermediate variety of hair and complexion between this and the black, or deep-chocolate color, and the short tufted hair of the mountain Papuan, is found in Timur.” This statement would indicate that all the intermediate shades of difference were the results of a mixture of the Malayan and Papuan blood, and this seems to be the probable origin of the whole Negro-Malayan race. Its position in that part of the archipelago nearest Papua is in entire accordance with this hypothesis.

Tradition says that the Rajah of Kupang formerly sacrificed a young virgin to the sharks and crocodiles once every year, but this was generally regarded as a fable, until a gentleman visited the island of Semao, some twenty years ago, and asserted that a rajah pointed out to him a place on the beach of a bay near the southeast point of that island, where “it was their custom after harvest to bring sugar-cane, rice, fowls, eggs, pigs, dogs, and a little child, and offer them to the evil spirits,” and the rajah further declared, that he had witnessed this murderous rite himself.

As we were to remain only one day, and I was chiefly interested in collecting shells, I at once engaged a Malay guide to conduct me to a village near the shore, a mile westward toward Semao. Our road was a bridle-path, a few large stones having been removed, but the ragged coral rock everywhere projects so completely through the thin soil, that it was a constant wonder to me how the natives could travel barefoot with such apparent ease. We soon came to half a dozen circular huts, enclosed by a low stone wall. They were the most wretched abodes for human beings that I saw in all my journeys over the archipelago. The walls, instead of being made of boards or flattened bamboos, as in the other islands, are composed of small sticks about three feet high, driven into the ground. These supported a conical roof, thatched with palm-leaves. Ugly-looking pigs, with long bristles on their backs, were rooting about these detestable hovels. Soon after, we passed a burial-place. A low wall enclosed a small irregular plat, that was filled with earth. This contained one or more graves, each of which had for its foot and head stones small square pyramidal blocks of wood, with the apex fixed in the ground. The next village we entered contained only a dozen huts. A pack of wolf-like dogs saluted us with a fierce yelping and barking, and my attendant, after much shouting and bustle, roused the inmates of one of these miserable dwellings. The men were gone to fish, but the women and children came out to gaze at us, and when their dull apprehensions finally allowed them to realize that we had come to purchase shells, and had a good supply of small copper coins, they briskly hunted about, and soon brought me a large number of nautilus-shells of enormous size. The children were nearly all entirely naked, and the women only wore a sarong, fastened at the waist and descending to the knees. This scanty clothing they supplied by coyly folding their arms across their breasts as they approached to sell their shells. Those of the nautilus, they all agreed in saying, did not come from their own shores, but from Rotti; and a gentleman, who had been along all the neighboring shores, assured me that he had seen the natives there dive for them, in about two fathoms at low tide, and bring them up alive, and that in this way great numbers are gathered for food.

The latter part of the western monsoon, or the changing of the monsoons, was recommended to me as the most favorable time to collect these rare animals. Besides the nautilus, I obtained many species of Pteroceras, Strombus, and many beautiful cones and cypræas.

The coral rocks on the hills that we crossed contained specimens apparently of living species, at a height which I judge was five hundred feet above the level of the sea. I marked the whole in my notebook as merely a coral reef of very recent elevation. Since returning, and comparing this observation with the careful description of that region given by Mr. Jukes,[23] in his voyage of the Fly, I find he expresses the same view, having seen this same late formation at an estimated height of six hundred feet above the sea; and a plateau, which rises in the interior to the height of one thousand feet, he also suspects is of the same origin. Mr. Schneider, however, has described a “kalk formatie,” about Kupang, which, from its position on the map, would seem to be identical with that seen by Mr. Jukes and myself. This formation Mr. Schneider refers to the age of the “Coral Rag,” of the Jura, in England. Other fossiliferous strata he regards as belonging to the old Oölitic period, or the Lias, and underlying all he thinks is a “diorite, or dioritic porphyry and amorphous dioritic porphyry—the last, like that found in Humboldt’s Bay, on the north coast of New Guinea, and much like the amorphous dioritic porphyry of Australia.” Copper-veins are found more or less wherever the Jurassic beds appear, but in the greatest quantity nearest the diorite.

On the evening of the 24th we steamed out of Kupang Bay, and along the northwest coast of Timur, for Dilli; and all the way to that port we were so completely under the lee of the land, that we had only calms, and light airs from the southeast and east-northeast. With these light winds we always had a very clear sky; but on coming round the southwestern end of Floris, and also on entering Kupang Bay, each time when there was a strong breeze from the east, the sky was remarkably thick and hazy. Our captain, who has made many voyages, at all seasons, in these seas, informs me that the sky is almost always thick when the eastern monsoon has become strong. This coast of Timur is not low, like the north coast of Java, but rises immediately up from the sea, in a succession of hills. No gigantic and lofty peaks can be seen, as in Java, and in all the islands east to and including Ombay; the peaks along the water-shed, on Timur, generally rising to not more than four or five thousand feet, and Lakaan, which is regarded as the highest in that chain, is supposed to be only six thousand. The soil appears to be very infertile, yet when the sun was approaching the western horizon, and the cumuli, floating in the pure air, slowly drew along their changing shadows over the innumerable hills and valleys, the whole scene was nearly as delightful as my first view of the tropics in coming up the Strait of Sunda. There is no road in the interior of the island, and every one who will travel the shortest distance, must go on horseback along the sandy beaches.

This afternoon we passed Pulo Gula Batu, “Sugar-Loaf Island.” It is quite high, with steep, almost perpendicular sides, which have a white, chalky appearance, and appear to be composed of strata of coral rock, which would indicate that it had recently been elevated above the sea. At sunset we entered Ombay Passage, the one that ships from England and America usually choose when going to China in the western monsoon, and frequently when returning in the eastern monsoon. One was just then drifting down into the Indian Ocean, on her homeward voyage. This was the first vessel we had seen since we passed down Sapi Strait, and left the Java Sea. It was then nearly calm, and yet I saw flying-fish come out of the water and go a considerable distance before plunging into it again, thus proving that they must sustain themselves in the air chiefly by a vibrating motion of their great pectoral fins. The sun was now sinking behind the high, dark peaks of the island of Pintar.

At daylight next morning we were steaming into a little bay surrounded by hills of fifteen hundred to two thousand feet. At the head of the bay and around its southern shore extended a narrow strip of level land, bordering the bases of these high hills. On the low land are two miserable forts, and a few houses and native huts. These comprise the city of Dilli, the Portuguese capital in all these waters. Of all the nations in Europe, the Portuguese were the first to discover the way to the Indies by sea. Then, for a time, they enjoyed an undisputed monopoly over the Eastern trade; but now the northern half of this island, the eastern end of Floris, the city of Macao in China, and Goa in Hindustan, are the only places of importance in all the East that continue in their hands. The common, or low Malay language, has been more affected by the Portuguese than any other nation, for the simple reason that those early navigators brought with them many things that were new to the Malays, who therefore adopted the Portuguese names for those articles. The last governor of this place had run away a few months before we arrived, because he had received no pay for half a year, though his salary was only five hundred guilders per month; and a merchant at Macassar told me that, when he arrived at that city, he did not have the means to pay his passage back to Europe. The first inquiry, therefore, that was made, was whether we had brought a new governor. The captain’s reply was, that he had but one passenger in the first cabin, and the only place he appeared to care to see in that region was the coral reef at the mouth of the harbor.