From Wakasihu I continued during a violent rain-storm along the south coast to Laha at the mouth of the bay of Amboina, determined to cross the bay and reach home that night, if possible. There were a number of villages along the route, and at each I had to procure a new relay of coolies. This caused much delay, but a foreigner soon learns that he must have an inexhaustible stock of patience to draw on at any unexpected moment if he is going to deal with these people. At one village they all agreed that a neighboring stream, which we could not avoid crossing, had become so swollen by the heavy rains, that it was absolutely impassable; but I simply ordered them to quietly follow me, and where I could not lead the way they might turn back. However, when we came to its banks, we found before us a deep, foaming torrent, far more uninviting and dangerous than I had anticipated, yet by following up its course for half a mile, I came to a place where I made my way to the opposite bank; but here I found myself hemmed in by a precipitous cliff, and there could be nothing done except to beat an inglorious retreat. The natives meantime had been trying the stream farther down, and had found a ford where the strong current was only waist-deep, and here we safely gained the opposite bank. After this came another stream even more difficult to cross, and after that, still a third. Each time I almost expected that the coolies, who were carrying over my shells, would be swept away, but they were all so lightly clad that they succeeded in maintaining their footing, even where the current was perfectly boiling. The streams are changed into rapid torrents in a few hours in these islands, where the water seems to come down from the sky in broad sheets whenever it rains. There are few bridges, and the difficulty of crossing the small rivers is one of the chief obstacles in travelling here during the rainy season. However, as a compensation, there is no sultry, scorching sun. Near the beaches where the streams flow out to the sea, they all widen into deep, oblong pools, which are made very narrow at high-water level by the quantities of sand thrown up by the surf. Near the low-water level they again become broad and shallow, and during ebb-tide the best place to cross them is on the ocean shore as far down as one can go and avoid the danger of being swept away by the heavy surf.
It was nearly night when we reached Laha; we were all thoroughly drenched, and had eaten nothing since morning except some half-ripe bananas. The storm was unabated, but the rajah said it was possible to cross the bay against the wind and waves, and three men were detailed to paddle us six miles to the city. Our boat was a common leper-leper, that is, a canoe made from the trunk of a large tree, with pieces of plank placed on the sides to raise them to the proper height. Both ends are sharp, and curve upward. About four feet from the bow a pole is laid across, and another the same distance from the stern. These project outward from the side of the boat six or eight feet, and to them is fastened a bamboo, the whole forming what is known as an “outrigger.” The canoes themselves are so narrow, that without these external supports they would be even more crank than the birch-bark canoes of our red Indians. When we launched our leper-leper, and placed on board our cargo of shells, and got in ourselves, her sides were only about four inches out of water, but I could not procure a larger boat, so we started. It soon became so dark that all we could discern on the neighboring shores were large fires which the natives had made from place to place to lure the fish by night into their weirs. The wind also increased, and the waves rose higher and began to sparkle brightly, and occasionally a strong gust would seem to change the whole surface of the sea into a sheet of fire. For a time my boatmen felt strong, and encouraged each other with a wild shouting like an Indian warwhoop, and in this way we had made more than a mile from the shore, when the wind became much heavier, and occasionally an ugly wave broke over us. My men still continued to paddle on until we found that we were scarcely holding our own against the storm. Then they became discouraged and proposed to go back, but turning round such a long, narrow boat in the midst of a rough sea was by no means an easy matter. The man forward stopped to rest, and just then a heavy flaw struck the front part of the boat, whirled it round in an instant, and away we flew off before the tempest like a race-horse. It had now become so dark and thick that, though the natives knew every foot of the shore, they could not tell where to steer, and it was only by paddling with all their might that we escaped running into a mass of foaming breakers. Finally we once more reached the shore; the rajah had some rice and fish cooked, and at midnight I took my second meal that day. My bedroom was so open that the wind whistled in on every side and so completely chilled me that I expected to find myself burning with fever the next day, but the excitement counteracted the cold, and I arrived again at Amboina safe and well. After such an excursion several days were passed writing labels, one of which I placed in each individual shell, a wearying and almost an endless task, but the thought continually occurred to me that, if I should not be permitted to return to my native land, such authentic labels in my own handwriting would enable any one into whose hands my collection might fall to fully accomplish the object of my long journey.
July 23d.—This morning, at a quarter-past four, I was suddenly awaked by some cause which, for the moment, I could not understand, but immediately there began a low, heavy rumbling down deep in the earth. It was not a roar, but such a rattling or quick succession of reports as is made when a number of heavily-laden coaches are rapidly driven down a steep street paved with round cobble-stones. At the next instant it seemed as if some huge giant had seized my bed, and had pushed it from him and then pulled it toward him with the greatest violence. The gentleman and lady with whom I was residing shouted out to me: “Run out of the house! run for your life! There is a dreadful earthquake!”
Back of the main house was the dining-room, surrounded by a low wall, and covered with a light roof. This was our place of refuge. The gentleman then explained to me that the shock which had just occurred was the second, and a very severe one, and the first, which was light, was what had so suddenly aroused me from a deep sleep. Of course, no one of us knew but another still heavier might come at the next instant and lay all the buildings near us in a mass of ruins, if indeed the earth should not open and swallow us all alive. The time that elapsed between hearing the rumbling noise and feeling the shock itself was about five seconds. At this time of the year, in the middle of a monsoon, the wind blows constantly day and night; but after this earthquake there was not the slightest perceptible motion in the air. The tree-toads stopped their steady piping, and the nocturnal insects all ceased their shrill music. It was so absolutely quiet that it seemed as if all nature was waiting in dread anticipation of some coming catastrophe. Such an unnatural stillness was certainly more painful than the howling of the most violent tempest or the roar of the heaviest thunder. Meantime, lights sprang up here and there in the neighboring houses, and all the doors were thrown open, that at the slightest warning everybody might run into the street. The strange words of the Chinese, Malays, and Arabs, sounded yet stranger in the dark, still night, as each called in a subdued but most earnest tone to his or her relatives. The utter helplessness which every one feels at such a time, where even the solid earth groans and trembles beneath his feet, makes the solicitude most keenly painful. It was half an hour—and that half hour seemed an age—before the wind began to blow as before. Then the nocturnal animals, one after another, slowly resumed their nightly cries, and our alarm gradually subsided as the dawn appeared, and once more gave promise of approaching day. I had long been anxious to witness an earthquake; but since that dreadful night there is something in the very sound of the word that makes me almost shudder. There is usually at least one earthquake—that is, one series of shocks—at Amboina every year, and when eight or ten months have passed without one, a very heavy shock is always expected.
On the 17th of February, 1674, according to Valentyn, Amboina suffered from a heavy earthquake, and Mount Ateti, or Wawanu, on Hitu, west of the village of Zyt, poured out a great quantity of hot mud, which flowed down to the sea. In 1822 Dr. S. Müller visited it and found a considerable quantity of sublimed sulphur, and some sulphurous acid gas rising from it. Again, in 1815, when the volcano of Tomboro, or Sumbawa, was suffering its terrible eruption, an earthquake was felt at several places on this island. Many people described to me a series of shocks of great violence that began on the 1st of November, 1835, and continued three weeks. The whole population of the city were obliged to leave their houses and live for all that time in tents and bamboo huts in the large common back of the forts. Up to that date Amboina had been a remarkably healthy place, but immediately afterward a gastric-bilious fever broke out and continued until March, 1845. On the 20th of July of that year another heavy earthquake was experienced, and this disease at once began again, but had somewhat subsided, when, on the 18th and 20th of March, 1850, another severe shock occurred, and again for the third time it commenced anew. This time both the governor and the assistant resident died. At present Amboina is one of the healthiest islands in these seas. On the 4th and 5th of November, 1699, a series of earthquakes occurred among the mountains where the river that flows through Batavia takes its rise. During these shocks a land-slide occurred, and the water was so filled with mud that the canals and ramifications of the river in the city were silted up, and their currents completely stopped. The immediate consequence was, a large proportion of the population of that city fell victims to a fever engendered by the great quantities of stagnant water. No similar cause could have operated here on the island of Amboina. As the quantity of rain, the strength and direction of the wind, and all other meteorological phenomena, appear to have been the same as in other years, it is evident that the disease was connected in some way with the earthquakes, and the view has been advanced that it was caused by quantities of poisonous gases which are supposed to have risen out of the earth during the violent shocks.
Many fine shells were now brought me from Tulahu, a kampong on the northeast coast of Hitu, so I determined to go on my next excursion in that direction. Two miles up the bay from the city of Amboina a tongue of land projects out from either shore, until a passage only five hundred yards wide is left between them. Within this passage the sea again expands into a bay about three miles long and a mile and a half wide. The depth of the water in the passage is sufficient for the largest ships, yet inside it is nowhere more than twenty or twenty-five fathoms. A large navy could anchor here, and be perfectly sheltered from all winds and seas; but vessels rarely or never enter it, as the road off the city is so far from the mouth of the bay that it is very seldom any considerable swell rolls in from the ocean, and moreover, the shores of this bay are considered extremely unhealthy on account of fevers, while sickness of that kind is very rare at the outer anchorage. On the eastern or Laitimur side of the bay there are several kampongs upon the low land along the shore. Back from the low land, on the Hitu side, there is a gradual ascent to mountains a mile or two back. One of them, Salhutu, rises twelve hundred metres above the sea, and is the highest peak on the island. In the shallow water around the head of the bay grow many mangrove-trees (Rhizophoræ). A low isthmus of sand and alluvium, only some thirteen hundred yards broad, and but a few feet above high-water level, connects Laitimur with Hitu. Through this a canal was cut in 1827 to the large bay of Baguala, in order that the praus bound from Ceram to Amboina might avoid the long route round the dangerous shores of Laitimur; but in twelve years this passage became so filled up with sand as to be impassable, except for small boats, and now they can only go to and fro during high tide, and thus whatever there is to be transported must be carried on the backs of coolies. It is very painful to see such valuable improvements neglected and becoming useless, for it shows that the whole tendency in this region, instead of being toward progress, is only toward decay. Crossing this isthmus, we continued along the sandy shores on the north side of Baguala Bay, for this is the only highway between the city of Amboina and the populous islands of Haruku, Saparua, and Nusalaut, to the east. Occasionally the path passed over a projecting point, but when it is low water the natives usually prefer to follow along the shore, just as their fathers did for centuries before them, although it is frequently twice as far as by the road. In an hour and a half we came to Suli, a pretty Christian kampong. The road then turned to the north and led us for two or three miles over low hills of coral rock, covered with a thin layer of red soil, to Tulahu, a village on the north coast, which contains a population of about fifteen hundred, and is the largest on the island. Near its centre is a mosque, for the whole community is composed of Mohammedans. As I passed up the main street on my way to the house of the rajah, scores of boys and men kept gathering and following, to learn from my servants who this strange foreigner that headed the procession could be, and what was the object of his coming. The rajah had been notified by the Resident of my proposed visit, and received me with a profound “salaam.” In the village was a ruma négri, or “house belonging to the village.” It had been erected by the villagers, in accordance with orders from the Dutch Government, for the accommodation of all officials and foreigners passing that way. It was built in the usual style of foreign houses in the East, with a broad veranda in front, an admirable place to trade with the people. A comfortable bedroom was fitted up for me, but I dined with the rajah. I was always careful to take a good supply of tea and sugar on such excursions, and my servants purchased chickens, fish, and whatever else was to be procured; in short, I bought all the food, and the rajah helped me eat it, so that I fulfilled to the letter the order of the governor-general that I should prove “no burden to the native people;” but, on the contrary, as I spent many guilders for shells in each village, my visits, in their eyes, were special blessings. Again and again mothers would come with their children and complain most bitterly that they had so little food and clothing, and beg me to take the shells they had brought, and name my own price. The rajah at first could hardly believe I should collect many shells in his village, but I asked him to beat the tifa for his capalas, literally “head men,” but really a higher class of servants, whose duty it is to convey to the people the rajah’s commands, and see them duly enforced. The capalas were ordered to summon all those who probably had shells in their houses, that I might invite them to trade. Meantime supper was prepared. The first object on the table that attracted my attention was an Octopus, or “inkfish,” an animal much like the squid of our own shores, which fishermen sometimes use for bait, and which whalers know is a favorite morsel for blackfish; but I never heard of men feasting on it before. After this questionable dish and a chicken were disposed of, the fried fruit of the Artocarpus incisa, or “bread-fruit tree,” was placed on the table. After supper I walked through all the principal streets of the village, supported on either side by a capala, who persistently drove all the natives out of the street before us, and forced them to take their proper place behind us. To give the trade more éclat, I took a good quantity of small copper coins and distributed them freely among the small children as I passed along. The result of this manœuvre was most magical; everybody was anxious to make my acquaintance and sell me shells. Even the good Mohammedan priest laid aside his feelings of indifference toward the Christian stranger, and invited me under his roof. He also intimated that he could favor me with a few species, but, as his prices were five times as high as those of the common people, I neglected to make a selection from his treasures.
Each evening that I was in this village the rajah insisted on my passing hour after hour on his veranda, describing to him the foreign countries he could name. Like many other natives who would like to be free from all European rule, it afforded him great comfort to hear that Tana Ollanda (Holland) was much smaller in area than France or England. When I came to tell him that Tana America was a still greater country, he listened politely, but a half-incredulous smile revealed his belief that I only spoke of it in such an enthusiastic manner because I was an American; yet when I added, that however much other nations might wish to possess these beautiful islands, America would never have such a desire, his knowledge of geography seemed to have become complete at once, and he explained to all who were listening that Tana America was admitted by all to be the largest and the most powerful of all nations. He also had an almost endless series of questions to ask about the sovereigns of the lands I had described, and, like a good Mohammedan, expressed his confidence that I should speak well of the Sultan of Turkey, whom he appeared to regard as the next in authority to the Prophet himself.
The next day I went westward to Waai, where I obtained many specimens of the great Trochus marmoratus, which lives in abundance a little farther toward the northwestern end of the island, but can only be procured alive during the opposite monsoon. Its beautifully marbled, sea-green surface, and bright, pearly interior have always made it a favorite ornament for the parlor in every land. Many, wishing to improve on Nature, remove the green outer layers either by hydrochloric or nitric acid, so as to give the exterior also a bright nacreous iridescence. Hundreds of the heavy opercula of these animals are found on the neighboring shores, for Nature has provided each with this thick door, which, after it has withdrawn itself into the shell, it can close behind it, and thus be free from all harm.
On my return I found my house besieged with more than two hundred of both sexes and of every age, from infancy to second childhood. Each had a lot of shells to sell, and therefore the prices were very low; but I was careful to pay them more than they could earn in any other way in the same time. The women and children on all these islands are accustomed to gather mollusks at every low tide for food, and whenever any particularly rare or beautiful shell is found, it is always saved; and it was for this reason that I was always confident that I could obtain some valuable specimens in every village. Here I secured one shell, the Strombus latissimus, or “thick-lipped strombus,” that I had long been hoping to see. It lives in the deep water between these shores and the opposite coast of Ceram, and I could not hear that it is found in any other locality. Many species of long “spindle-shells” (Fusi) are found here—some nearly smooth and some richly ornamented with tubercles.
I had now been on the island four weeks, and it was time for the monthly mail to arrive, bringing me letters from home. This exciting thought caused me to forget even my passion for shells, and, promising the natives I would come again and purchase all the specimens they could collect, I returned to the city of Amboina.