The next day we returned to Kema, and I began my journey over the peninsula to Menado, and thence up to the plateau in the interior.
December 26th.—At 9 A. M. started on horseback, the only mode of travelling in the Minahassa, for Menado, the largest village in this peninsula of Celebes, and the place where the Resident of this region is located. I went there first, in order to see the Resident and obtain letters to the officials of the interior. The distance from Kema to Menado is about twenty miles. The road is made only for carts, but nearly all the way it is lined with shade-trees, and in several places, for long distances, they meet overhead so as to form a continuous covered way, thus affording to those who travel to and fro an admirable shelter from the hot sunshine and heavy showers. Among these trees were many crows, Corvus enka, not shy as they always are in our country, but so tame that I frequently rode within ten yards of where they were sitting without causing them to move. Numbers of a bright-yellow bird, about as large as our robin, were seen among the branches, and on the ground another somewhat larger than a blackbird, Dicrurus, with a long, lyre-shaped tail, and a plumage of shining blue-black. These birds rarely or never hear the report of a gun, and therefore have not learned to look on man as a universal destroyer, and the tameness they manifest is perfectly charming. Even the black crow, with its hoarse caw, becomes an attractive bird when you find he no longer tries to shun your company, but makes all the overtures he can to be social.
The road runs along the southern flanks of Mount Klabat, and is slowly ascending from Kema to Ayar-madidi, which is about half-way across, and then slowly descends again to the western shore of the peninsula. On my right hand was a deep valley, and fine scenery was occasionally revealed through the foliage of the trees that covered the way. On the opposite side of the valley were many small projecting ridges that have been formed by denuding torrents, and extend down to the level of the stream that flows out from the lake of Tondano to the ocean at Kema.
By noon I came to the village of Ayar-madidi, “Hot Water,” a name it receives from a neighboring spring, which in former times was hot. As it comes out of Mount Klabat, it was probably heated by the volcanic action that raised that great mountain, which is only an extinct volcano. As the volcanic action decreased, the heat passed off, until now, the water is as cool as that of any other stream in the vicinity. Even as late as the 12th of November, 1848, this water was described as “cooking hot.” According to Valentyn, in the year 1683, a great eruption took place in a mountain near Menado, which he calls “Kemaas,” and all the surrounding country was laid waste. “Kemaas” Dr. Junghuhn has supposed to be Klabat, but he never visited this region, and the conical summit of Klabat shows its destruction by heavy eruptions has not yet begun. It is far more probable that Kemaas was the mountain now known as Sudara, whose two peaks are only the fragments of the upper part of the cone that were left standing when the eruptive force blew off the other parts, or so weakened their foundations, that they have long since fallen, and the materials of which they were composed have been brought down, and spread out by the rains over the flanks of the mountain. Natives, who have been to the top of Klabat, inform me that there is a small lake on the northwest side. Its basin is, no doubt, that part of the old crater which has not yet been filled so as to make the whole elevation a perfect cone. If this, lake was of any considerable size, then, as occurred on Mount Papandayang, in Java, mud and hot water will certainly pour down the sides of this mountain, if it is again convulsed by the mighty forces that are now slumbering beneath it. Ayar-madidi is a large kampong, or négri, as the Malays sometimes call their villages. It is beautifully situated on the southern flanks of Mount Klabat. Its streets all cross each other at right angles, and are well shaded. So far as we are aware, the Malays and Javanese had no word for village previous to the arrival of the Telingas, and it has been conjectured, from this fact, that they were scattered everywhere over their particular territories exactly as we have seen is the custom of the aborigines of Buru, the Alfura, who have been beyond the influence of both Hindus and Arabs, and even of those natives who have adopted any foreign religion or custom. Ayar-madidi is a prettier village than Kema. Indeed, the more I travelled in the Minahassa, the more I admired the kampongs, they are so incomparably superior to those of every other part of the archipelago in the regularity of their streets and the beautiful hedges with which they are lined, and, above all, in the neatness and evidence of thrift that everywhere appear.
The chief native of this village is also the chief of the district, which contains several villages. His title in the native language is Hukom Biza, or “Great Chief,” though he prefers to be addressed by the Dutch title of major. The native official next in rank is the chief of one of the smaller villages, as at Kema. His title is Hukom Kadua. At smaller villages than Kema the chief is called Hukom Tua, or “Old Hukom,” and beneath him is the Hukom Kachil, or Little Hukom. These officers are nominally elected by the natives, but the choice is generally confined to the sons of the deceased.
The Majors and Second Heads receive a percentage on all the coffee raised and delivered to the government. This amounts to about twenty thousand guilders per year for the seventeen districts in the whole Minahassa. Besides this income, the Major receives one guilder, and the Second Head half a guilder from each family in their respective districts and sub-districts, and the Hukom Tua five days’ labor from each able-bodied man yearly.
The natives themselves are divided by the Dutch into burgers or “free citizens,” and inlanders or “natives,” who are obliged to work a certain number of days in the coffee-gardens belonging to the government. The total population of the Minahassa in this year (1866), as furnished me by the Resident from the official documents, is 104,418,[48] and the marked degree of variation in the population of this country, where the natives have never been a maritime people, is worth more than a passing notice, because it shows in some degree the beneficial effect of a stable government, and how the natives are sometimes swept away by disease. In 1800, according to Valentyn, the population was 24,000, though he gives the number of able men at only 3,990. In 1825 it was 73,000; in 1842, 93,332; in 1853, 99,588. In 1854 a great mortality appeared, and the population was diminished to 92,546, no less than 12,821 persons, or about one-seventh of the population, having died in a single year. In the district of Amurang the loss was as high as 22½ per cent. The principal diseases are fevers and dysentery. The population of the Minahassa, as compared to its area, 14,000 English square miles, is by no means large. The island of Madura, which is of about the same extent, has more than five times as large a population; and the residency of Surabaya, also of about the same extent, contains more than ten times as many people. The natives directed me to the major’s residence, which I found to be a small but neat and well-painted house, built in European style. It is situated in the middle of a large, oblong lawn, that is surrounded with a row of trees much like our locust-trees, and which are now in full bloom. Near the gate are a guard-house and long series of stables. Dismounting here, I walked up to the broad piazza, where the major sat smoking his pipe in the Dutch style, and discussing in the Dutch language the state of the weather, the crops, and such things as interested the Dutchmen of those lands. His manners were polished, and he received me in a most stately way. His friends were going to Menado, so that I should have companions the rest of the way. Our dinner was in European style, which seemed the more remarkable to me because it differed so much from the way I had been entertained by the rajahs of the Moluccas. In our dining-room was a fine-series of pictures representing scenes in that most charming tale, “Paul and Virginia.” We were just at the foot of Mount Klabat, but we could not see its summit on account of thick rain-clouds that covered its sides, and now and then rolled down and poured out heavy showers over the village. As one of these floated away to the east, the sun came out brightly and changed the falling drops into a remarkably broad and brilliant rainbow, which seemed suspended from the cloud, and floated along with it in a most magical manner.
Here I saw for the first time the plant from which “manilla hemp” is manufactured. It is a species of banana, Musa textilis, and grows to a height of twelve or fifteen feet. It appears to be indigenous, and can be raised here from the seed. The fibres are taken from the large, succulent leaves. Though it resembles the banana so closely that at first most people would mistake it for that plant, its fruit is small, disagreeable to the taste, and not edible. Several residents have made strenuous efforts to extend its cultivation, but the result has shown that the natives can be more profitably employed in raising coffee. The rain-clouds having cleared away, we all started for Menado. The horse that had been kindly furnished me by an officer was not fast nor sure-footed; and, finally, as we were going down a gentle declivity at a quick canter, he fell headlong. As I am, at least, a much better sailor than horseman, I went off over his head with a most surprising momentum, my feet, unfortunately, passing so far into the stirrups that I could not extricate either of them. This so frightened the horse that he reared and plunged fearfully, but I had no idea of being dragged off like Mazeppa, and held on to the reins until my feet were once more clear, when, with one leap, I was again in the saddle, and ready for further experience in this mode of travelling. Though I was aware my position was somewhat dangerous, I could not help feeling amused at the alarm manifested by my companions. They all seemed delighted to know that I had escaped with only such inconvenience as one clad in a summer suit of white would necessarily experience in coming down in such an unceremonious manner into the midst of a muddy stream. Late in the evening we came to the Resident’s house, where a cordial welcome awaited me, and I had the pleasure to find myself once more in the midst of a pleasant family after so long and lonely an exile.
The next morning I walked through the village. Its total population is only about 2,500, of which 300 are Europeans and mestizoes; about 600 Chinamen, and 1,200 natives, half of whom are Christians and the other half Mohammedans. The Resident’s house is surrounded by large grounds, abounding in the choicest of tropical plants. Not far from it is the market, a house without walls, the roof resting on pillars of wood and masonry. This is the universal style of the markets in all parts of the archipelago. Here various kinds of fruits, gambier, betel-nuts, and siri are sold by the natives, and salt, cotton fabrics, and cutlery, by Chinese. The salt used here is not imported from Java, as that used on the other islands I have visited, but is made by the natives themselves in the following manner: Littoral-plants are gathered and burned. The ashes are then placed in a bamboo, which is filled with water. After this has remained for some time, the water is strained off and evaporated. The residuum is a dark, impure salt, but the natives prefer it to any that can be imported. This custom seems to have been introduced lately, for in 1841 the government sold three hundred and twelve thousand pounds of imported salt, but in 1853 only two thousand. From the village of Menado I walked northward parallel to the bay, and, crossing the little stream Menado, came to the village of the Bantiks, a peculiar people, numbering about two thousand five hundred, who refuse to become Mohammedans or Christians, and continue to retain the heathen belief of their forefathers. Many of them are taller than the other people I saw in the Minahassa. Their houses are not placed on higher posts than those of other natives, but they are frequently long, and occupied by several families—a custom which appears to have been general throughout the archipelago in ancient times, and is still practised at Dorey, on the north coast of New Guinea, and again by the people of the Tenger Mountains in Java, who pride themselves on retaining the customs of their ancestors. The view has been advanced that the Bantiks are descendants of Chinamen, who established themselves here when they first came to the Moluccas to purchase spices. This may have been the case, but their features, though somewhat different from the other natives, did not appear to me to be so unlike them as to necessitate such a theory. As they have kept themselves more away from the influence of all foreigners than most Malays, they give us a good idea of what the aborigines of this region were before the arrival of the Portuguese.
About three miles round the northern side bay, we came to Temumpa, where all the lepers of this residency are obliged to live, banished forever from all communication with other natives, except such of their friends as come to see them. The little village consists of twelve small houses, regularly arranged on either side of a street. They were all neatly whitewashed, and each has a small plot of ground, where its unfortunate occupants can busy themselves, and forget their incurable sufferings and their banishment. A native who lives near by has charge of them, and my opinion was very decided that they were well cared for by the government. As we passed from house to house, the officer called them out, and I gave each a small piece of silver, for which they appeared very grateful. There are now nineteen here afflicted with this loathsome malady. The part that appears to be the first attacked is the nose, the next is the hands, and the last the feet, though in some it only appears in one of these organs. In one case the nose had wholly disappeared—even the partition between the nostrils—so that I could look directly into the chamber over the mouth. At the same time the muscles on one side of the face were so contracted that the features presented a most sickening sight. In another case, the nose and all the upper lip were gone, and even the outer part of the upper jaw, so that the front teeth only stuck fast on one side, and were completely exposed to view throughout their entire length. These, however, were the older cases, in which the disease had made greater progress. Many had lost their fingers and toes. One little girl had her ankles and feet so swollen that her ankle-bones could not be seen, and yet I could not but notice how cheerful she appeared. Two men had the disease in their feet, which had swollen until they were three times their proper size, and all broken open and fissured in the most shocking manner. No one who has not seen such lepers as these can have any idea of what forms human flesh can assume, and life yet remain in the body. Suffering from such an incurable, loathsome malady is literally a living death. I found it so sickening, even to look at them, that I was glad when I came to the last house. Here I was shown a young child, a few weeks old. No marks of the disease could be detected, unless it might be that it was very much lighter colored than either of its parents. The father was one of the worst cases I saw, but the disease had not appeared in the mother, except as a great swelling in the ankles. This child must certainly die a leper, and probably will never leave the village where it was born. For this reason, if for no other, the government certainly acts wisely in compelling all who have this disease to come and live here together, where, at all events, it cannot be widely spread. When it does not appear in a very malignant form in the parents, it has been known to fail to appear in the children, but to appear again in the grandchildren. Governor Arriens told me of such a case in Java. It was evident that the man was a leper, though only a considerable swelling could be detected on one ear, yet he was able to prove that neither of his parents was a leper, but, on further inquiry, the governor found that the man’s grandfather was a leper. This disease is regarded here as an endemic, that is, chiefly confined to the Minahassa and the Moluccas. Much discussion has arisen whether leprosy is contagious. The doctor with whom I resided while at Buru had been previously stationed at Amboina, and while there a soldier who was born in Holland was taken, and died with this disease. In that case it was evident that the disease was not hereditary, and, after the most careful inquiry, the doctor was not able to learn that he had ever been near a leper, or that he might have taken the disease from any one; for all afflicted with this loathsome malady in Amboina and the neighboring islands are banished to Molano, a small island southwest of Saparua. This is the only case that I heard of, during my travels among these islands, where a foreigner had suffered from this disease. It may be remarked that this is not the leprosy spoken of in the sacred Scriptures, where the sufferers are described as being “white as snow.”