ARRIVAL IN JAVA.—SIGHTS AND SCENES IN BATAVIA.
At daylight the next morning the boys were on deck for their first sight of Java. They could see nothing but a low coast, like that of Siam, with a fringe of tropical trees, and a backing of mountains in the distance. They had expected to go into a snug harbor, but found that the harbor of Batavia is more imaginary than real, as it is little better than a shallow roadstead, where ships of deep draught must anchor far from shore.
The steamer came to her resting-place, and the anchor went plunging down to its muddy bed. A noisy little steam-launch came to carry the mails ashore, but our friends were not allowed to take passage in her; they were told there would be a steamer for the passengers in an hour or two, or, if they preferred, they could go ashore on a native boat.
They chose the latter conveyance, as the time of waiting for the steamboat was a trifle uncertain; and, besides, they desired to get to land as speedily as possible. There were a dozen boats hovering around the steamer, and it did not take long to make a bargain; for three florins—a Dutch florin is equal to forty cents of our money—they were to be carried to the "Boom," or custom-house, where their baggage would be examined, and they could find conveyance to the hotel. As soon as the bargain was made their baggage was lowered into the boat, and they were off.
It was a long pull, and the sun was hot. Our friends reclined under their umbrellas, and tried to be comfortable; and the boys wondered how the boatmen could pull away so cheerily and not be fatigued. The Doctor reminded them that the men had been accustomed all their lives to the climate of Java; and what seemed very severe to strangers from the North was nothing to those who were used to it. The men evidently understood the subject of conversation, as they offered to pull twice as fast for another florin; their proposal was declined, as none of the newcomers wished to be the cause, however indirectly, of a sunstroke among the natives.
ARRIVAL IN PORT.
It was a journey of three miles from the steamer to the custom-house, partly in the harbor and partly in a canal. The canal is pushed out a considerable distance into the harbor by means of stone dikes; and the space between these dikes is dredged to a depth of twelve or fourteen feet. Nothing but small craft can come up to the docks; heavy sea-going ships, whether steam or sail, must anchor in the harbor, and their cargoes are transferred by lighters.