On Board the "Rocket"

by Robert C. Adams

LIFE IN THE EAST INDIES.

"It is a goodly sight to see
What Heaven hath done for this delicious land."—Byron.
"And, oh! if there be an Elysium on earth,
It is this, it is this."—Thomas Moore.

The East Indies is a name generally applied to the archipelago lying S.E. of Asia, containing the islands of Sumatra, Java, Borneo, Celebes and others. It was visited by voyagers from the Western World in the 16th century, and since that time Portuguese, Dutch, English and French have controlled parts of its domain.

I wish I could affect the reader's imagination as my own senses were impressed, when, after the stormy night, in which we barely escaped shipwreck, we sailed in the early morning along the shores of Java, an island so beautiful in its aspect, so luxuriant in its productions, and so delightful in its varied climates, as to have been claimed by many as the veritable locality of the Garden of Eden. As we sail along, monkeys chatter at us from the trees and rocks that girt the shore; bright plumaged birds are seen on the wing, and the dewy air floats off to us so loaded with odors suggestive of delicious fruits, that one instinctively opens his mouth to devour it. This makes plain an idiom of the Malay language. "To take a walk" is expressed in that tongue by words meaning to eat the air. I can hardly recommend this chamelion diet as a staple food, but it is most excellent for dessert.

Sailing up the Straits of Sunda, the waters attract the notice by the curiosities floated on their surface. Cuttlefish bones, such as our canaries use, cocoanuts, a great variety of fruits and leaves, and even floating rocks, which are found to be pumice stone, pass the vessel in continued procession. Besides these an evidence of civilization is usually noticed in the form of square-faced gin bottles, for these abound in the neighborhood of the Dutch settlements.

At Anjer, a little village nestled among dense foliage, "bumboats" come off to supply the ships with fruits and provisions. One of these making fast to a vessel, a man climbs up on deck, dressed in jacket and pants of striped red and yellow cotton and introduces himself as Paul Jones; but if he visits an English ship he, perhaps, knows enough to select a name less offensive in its allusions. This boat contains yams (the eastern substitute for potatoes), cocoanuts, bananas, fowls, shells, Java sparrows, and always monkeys. A sailor sometimes sets these last loose, and they escape on board the ship and retain their liberty. The last time I passed Anjer homeward bound, my previous experience with monkeys led me to send word to the crew that they might buy as many monkeys as they wished, but I should charge $10 for each one's passage to New York. The consequence was that no monkeys were bought; but after getting to sea, I found the crew had invested in squirrels, which had the art of taking very long leaps through the air, so that one was often startled by hearing a whiz, and feeling an animal alight on the back of the neck. I resolved that in future squirrels should also be excluded from the free passengers' list.

Rounding St. Nicholas Point into the Java Sea, we sail among small islands, each a perfect gem of landscape beauty. All have read of the formation of these coral islands; how the little insects rear the structure and die at the water's surface when their work is done. Then the drift of the sea collects upon the coral, earth slowly accumulates; cocoanuts are washed up, and taking root, send up the tall palm-trees; finally, the whole island becomes a mass of luxuriant verdure. A glistening white sand beach surrounds it, and at a little distance it is encircled with a wreath of foam, as the sea ceaselessly breaks over the surrounding reef. These are the jewels of the eastern seas—the emerald brooch with silver setting, fastened upon the bosom of the deep.

Anchoring in Batavia harbor, native boatmen row us ashore, giving monotonous grunts as they ply their oars; and pulling up a long canal, we land at the "boom," or Custom House. A carriage is secured, a sort of barouche, having four wheels, and one seat with projecting hood. A driver sits on the box, wearing a loose bright-colored frock, his head covered with an enormous gilt hat, in shape like an inverted wash-bowl. Two ponies are attached to the carriage; the driver cracks his whip and beats them to enforce a start, but in vain. This carriage, in the Malay tongue, is called a "crétur," but an Irishman would certainly apply that term to the horses, for of all created animals, donkeys not excepted, these East Indian horses are the most erratic and unaccountable in their movements. In this case an appeal to the bystanders brings a crowd to push the vehicle ahead, until the ponies, through fear of being run over, decide to get out of the way, and start off upon a gallop, which is maintained till the destination is reached; unless they should happen to stop suddenly, stand on their heads and kick their heels at the driver's wash-bowl hat; or else, turning at right angles, dash off the road into a hedge. I was once driving in Penang, in the Straits of Malacca, with a gentleman, in an American buggy drawn by a Sumatra pony; a horse passing at a gallop infuriated the animal, and he rushed at his utmost speed along a smooth, wide road. At its sides were ravines fifteen or twenty feet deep, at the bottom of which ran streams of water. No obstruction was in sight save a solitary buffalo cart on the left hand side of the road; and because that was the only point where he could not have the freedom of the whole road, there that pony deemed the path of duty to lie. As he approached the cart he bolted off to that side of the road, tottered a moment on the edge of the bank, and over it we went. Flying through the air, I struck my head on the opposite side of the ravine, and rolled down into the stream under the pony, who looked as though he wished he hadn't done it. Some natives helped me up into the road, and when I appeared on board ship the next morning with my bruised and battered face and soiled clothing, the sailors cast suspicious glances, and I learned afterwards, were quite elated at having detected their moralizing captain in the indulgence of a night-long spree with such results. This injury to my reputation may account for my prejudice against East India ponies; but now that I have given them a bad name I have had my revenge. It must be admitted that they are indispensable to comfort, with all their ills, for the fierce tropical sun forbids noon-day walking, and some covered conveyance is an essential of life in the East; so, in China, each person has his sedan chair carried by two coolies; in the Straits' Settlements, his one-horse gharry, and in the Dutch places his crétur. Some security is given against the waywardness of the ponies by the frequent practice of building embankments at the sides of the roads; and some escape their dangers by using good horses from Australia, or, occasionally, fine Arab steeds.

The hotel at which we arrive is a two-story building, and in the rear extend lines of one-storied structures, with wide walks covered by verandahs, upon which the rooms all open. Upon my first arrival at this hotel I entered the office, but saw no person there, unless Mr. Darwin's friends should insist that I applied that term to a large monkey, who was seated upon the table engaged in pouring the contents of a capacious inkstand upon the open pages of the hotel register. My presence ended this evidence of a dawning fondness and aptitude for the fine arts.

Allow me to describe a day's life as a sample of the mode of existence among the foreign residents. In the morning one is awakened by a servant entering the room with a cup of tea; looking out upon the verandah, another servant may be seen engaged in cleaning the shoes. He plucks a flower from a plant close at hand, rubs it over the shoe and then applies the polishing brush, with brilliant effect. This is called the shoe-plant; and nature makes another appropriate arrangement in producing the soap tree, with the fruit of which the hands may be cleansed. Seizing the towels, one next proceeds, in his sleeping costume, across the court yard to the bath house; this is a room paved with tiles, containing a large tank of water. The mode of bathing is that practised by the natives. Standing alongside the tank the person dips out water in a small bucket and pours it on the head. This becomes a very favorite method of performing ablution. Returning to the room, the sleeping costume is laid aside for the habiliments of the day; but it demands a description, for few things are more peculiar or essential to a comfortable life in the East. It consists of loose trousers, called pajamas, and a jacket, called bajou. The pajamas are made of colored calico, the more brilliant in color and startling in pattern the better. They are gathered about the waist with a string. The bajou is of white calico, buttons closely about the throat and reaches to the hips. This dress is worn not only at night, but whenever in the day one is free from business or society. The first morning I spent in Java I encountered a lady robed in white. I averted my eyes, but saw another lady approaching, and then another; and finding them unconcerned, I gained assurance enough to inspect their costume. I learned that in the Dutch settlements in the East Indies ladies adopt a dress corresponding somewhat to that of the native women, which they wear during the heat of the day, and only appear in European costume in the evening. This dress consists of the "sarong," or loose skirt of colored calico reaching to the ankles, and the "cobaiya," a white sack descending to the knees. Sandals are worn, but no stockings. The first impression upon the masculine beholder is not pleasant. It seems a decidedly slipshod attire; but we soon become accustomed to it, and admire, at least, the good sense that leads to the consideration of comfort, rather than fashionable appearance.