Our next call was at a coffee plantation, where we saw sixty thousand young and healthy coffee trees, and two-thirds of them in a bearing condition, yielding in the aggregate not less than fifty thousand pounds of dry coffee per annum. The trees are beautifully formed, and rise naturally to the height of sixteen feet or more, but when under culture are kept at five or six feet for the convenience of collecting the ripe fruit. They are planted in rows, the leaves grow opposite each other, and many sessile flowers are produced at their insertion. The blossoms are pure white, and when the plants are in full bloom nothing can exceed their beauty or fragrance, the branches looking as if frosted with snow, while the air is filled with the delicate perfume. But the scene is brief as enchanting: the flowers fade a few hours after they are full blown, to be succeeded by tiny berries that are at first green, then a yellowish red, and finally ripen into a rich crimson or purple; after which, unless gathered at once, they shrivel and drop from the tree. This is about seven months after the blooms make their appearance. The pulp is torn off and separated from the seeds by means of a machine, and the grains, after being thoroughly washed, are dried in the sun and put up in bags. Chek Kongtwau, the Chinese proprietor of the plantation, not only walked with us over his grounds, and answered all our questions with exemplary patience, but insisted that we should go into the house, be presented to his wife and partake of a lunch. He regaled us with tea and coffee of his own growing and curing, excellent turtle steaks, boiled rice, and curry made of shrimps and cucumbers stewed together. For vegetables there were the Malay lobak, a tender white radish, and the cocoa-nut bud stewed in the milk of the ripe fruit; and as dessert we had placed before us, for the first time, the far-famed durian, so universal a favorite among Orientals as to command a higher price than any other fruit in market, yet so abominably disgusting in smell that the olfactories of few strangers can tolerate its approach. To me the odor seemed precisely that supposed to be produced by the admixture of garlic and assafoetida; and as a plate piled with the rich golden pulp was placed before me by our hostess, I came so near fainting as to be compelled to seek the open air. The old Chinaman followed me, and when he had learned the cause of my indisposition, laughed heartily, saying, "Wait a year or two. You have not been in the country long enough to appreciate this rare luxury. But when you have become initiated into a knowledge of its surpassing excellences, never an orange, pineapple or other fruit will you touch when a durian can be had."
Just as we were re-entering our palanquins, Chek Kongtwau inquired whether we had yet seen the anoo palm or sago tree, of which he said there was but a solitary specimen in the island, most of the sago manufactured at Singapore being brought in its crude state from the swamps of Sumatra. He told us the famous tree was several miles from his house, out of our direct route, but if we had time to visit it he would undertake to guide us safely through the jungle to and from the tree. We found it standing in solitary grandeur in a low swamp, and lifting its long pinnated leaves from the extreme top of a trunk full thirty feet high and twenty-eight inches in diameter. Its general appearance is not unlike the cocoa-nut palm. Our conductor called the sago tree sibla, but the Malays give it the name of rumbiga. They say that each tree, if kept properly pruned down, will produce at least five hundred pounds of pith per annum; but it soon degenerates if suffered to grow to any considerable height. The pith is soaked in large troughs of running water until it dissolves and afterward settles, the sand and heavy dirt sinking beneath it, and the fibres and scum floating on top. After being separated from these impurities the sago is dried, and then granulated by passing it through perforated plates till it becomes smooth and polished like so many pearls, when it is packed in boxes and bags for sale. We did not see the process that day, of course, but afterward at the large factory on the river a few miles above the settlement.
One more plantation, a grove of the stately areca-nut or betel trees, we determined to visit before taking the boat. The smooth road was bordered everywhere with the beautiful melastoma or Singapore rose, of perennial foliage and always in bloom, underneath acacias and palms; and the very earth was carpeted with beauty and fragrance enough to have formed the bridal-couch of a fairy queen. Over such a highway three miles were quickly made, and we alighted at the entrance of a narrow lane that led to the abode of Cassim Mootoo, the Malay owner and cultivator of the betel-nut plantation. At the outer door a stone monster of huge proportions and uncouth features kept guard against the uncanny spirits that are supposed to frequent out-of-the-way lanes and dreary passages. The planter received us pleasantly, accepted our apologies for troubling him, and offered to show us over the grounds. He was far less courtly in manners than the Chinese coffee-cultivator, to whom we should scarcely have ventured to offer a fee, while out of the Malay's cunning eyes there gleamed the evident expectation of a snug bonus of silver rupees, which he received as a matter of course when we bade him adieu, and having counted them over and jingled them for a moment in his fingers, he thrust them into his pouch as he re-entered the house.
We found the areca trees planted in rows, and growing to the height of some forty feet, with straight, branchless trunks, terminated at the top with ten or twelve pinnated leaves, each of which is full five feet long. The fruit grows in clusters immediately below the tuft of leaves. The outer shell is of a bright golden hue, that gradually deepens to crimson as the fruit matures, and when opened shows a brown, astringent nut about the size of a nutmeg. This is the portion chewed with chunám and tobacco all over the East; and its use is so universal that one seldom meets a man, woman or child of any Oriental nation whose mouth is not filled, always and everywhere, with the execrable mixture. Pepper leaves are sprinkled with chunám (lime) and rolled up: a slice of betel-nut with a quid of tobacco is placed in the mouth first, and then the rolled-up leaf is bitten off, and all masticated together. When a visitor calls the betel-box is immediately passed to him; and as in regard to the eating of salt in Western Asia, so, in the eastern and southern portions, those who have once partaken of betel-nut together are ever after sworn to faithful and undying friendship. The use of the areca-nut preserves the teeth from decay, but keeps them stained of a disgusting brick-red color.
On the outer edge of Cassim's plantation, where the soil was damp, we noticed several long rows of the nepah palm, generally known as attap, and extensively used for thatching houses in the East. It has the same huge pinnated leaves as most of the other palms, but is destitute of the long straight trunk, the leaves commencing from near the root, and the entire height being seldom more than twelve or fourteen feet. We saw also a few specimens of the hutan, a strange-looking palmate shrub with leaves fifteen feet long, which are generally used by the Malays for sails, in lieu of canvas, for their piratical proas. But the strangest of all the palms we saw was the talipát, so called from the Bali word talipoin, a priest; and the name was originally derived from the fact that the sacred fans used by Booddhist priests in their religious ceremonies are formed of its leaves. This fan is a prescribed item of clerical costume, and no conscientious Booddhist priest ever appears without this long-handled fan held directly in front of his face, to prevent the sacred countenance from coming in contact with anything unclean. The sacred books of the Booddhists and Brahmins are also written on the talipát palm leaves, as are many of their historical records and scientific works. This mammoth tree sometimes reaches the height of nearly two hundred feet, and its trunk the circumference of twelve feet. It lives to the age of nearly a century, but blossoms only a single time; during the whole period of its existence. The flower, some thirty feet in length, bursts with a loud explosion at maturity, and in dying scatters the seeds that are to produce the next generation of trees. A single leaf will sometimes measure forty feet in circumference; and it is no unusual sight on the Malabar coast, where storms are so fierce and sudden, to see ten or fifteen men finding shelter in a boat over which is spread a single; palm leaf, which effectually shields all from both wind and rain. When the storm has subsided the huge leaf may be folded up like a lady's fan, and is so light as to be readily carried by a man under one arm. The talipát never grows wild, it is said, as do most of the other palms; and it reaches its greatest perfection in the island of Ceylon. All that I ever met with were under cultivation, being tended and nursed with the utmost care. Indeed, half a dozen talipát palm trees are a fortune in themselves, the leaves being very profitable as merchandise, while a crop may be gathered every year during a long life, and then the tree be of sufficient value to be bequeathed to the heirs of the owner.
Bidding adieu to our Malayan host, we once more entered the palanquins, and in a little while were set down on the coast, where lay our sampán with flag hoisted and pennons gayly flaunting in the breeze. First we passed Battu Bliah, "the sailing rock"—so called from its fancied resemblance to a ship under widespread canvas; then around an abrupt projection of Erskine's Hill, in a narrow passage between Singapore and Baltan Máteo, we came in full view of the promontory upon the highest point of which is built the palace-bungalow of the old sultan-rajah who held sway over the island previous to its purchase by Sir Stamford Raffles for the British government, in 1819. The old rajah has passed away, but the bungalow is still occupied by his son, a pensioner on the English Crown, and one of the most daring pirates in all that region—successful enough to have achieved a fame for prowess, but too crafty ever to be caught.
At Pulo Nánas, where we were to lunch, we found the cloth was already laid on the green grass under the protecting shadow of a huge orange tree, whose ripe golden fruit offered a dainty dessert. We took our seats with the "professor" at the head, and were soon discussing the merits of boiled chicken, fried fish, omelette, oysters, turtle eggs and sundry fruits and confections with the zest created by seven hours of active exercise in the open air. Then came the reaction, inclining every one more to repose than research, and the hours would probably have been dreamed away barren of adventures, had it not been for our indomitable professor. We had missed him but a moment, when suddenly he reappeared, holding at arm's length what seemed in the distance about a dozen brown, scaly snakes a yard long, all strung together. Simultaneously the entire company sprang to their feet and started for a race as this regiment of frightful reptiles was thrust into their midst by the radiant "dominie," whose face was fairly aglow with mischief. "Where did they come from? What are you going to do with them?" exclaimed everybody at once, turning to look at the monsters as they lay passive and motionless where the professor had thrown them. "Give them to Saint Patrick, to keep company with those he drove out of the Emerald Isle; or we'll have them for dinner if you prefer," was the laughing response. Reassured by the non-combatant air of the dreaded reptiles, we ventured a nearer approach, and our astonishment may readily be imagined when we found not snakes, but simply a cluster of the pendent blossoms of the rattan tree (Arundo bambos), one of the strangest of all the floral products of the tropics. They hang from the tree in clusters usually of ten or twelve, each a yard or more in length, looking like a soldier's aigrettes suspended among the green leaves, or perhaps still more like a string of chestnut-colored scales threaded through the centre. Waving to and fro in the summer breeze, as I afterward saw them, intertwined with the graceful tendrils of the beautiful passion-flower with its rare feathery chalice of purple and gold, and flanked on every side by ferns of exquisite symmetry, reflecting their dainty fringes in the clear waters, the tout ensemble is one of radiant loveliness, seemingly too fair to be hidden away among lonely jungles.
Consigning our newly acquired treasure to the keeping of the comprador, we sauntered forth in search of other discoveries, and were richly rewarded by finding several perfect specimens of the monkey-cup or pitcher-plant (Nepenthes distillatoria). This plant is found in moist places, such as are suited to the growth of ferns, mangroves and palmate shrubs. It has pendent from each leaf a natural pitcher or elongated cup, growing perfectly upright and capable of holding a pint or more of liquid. It is provided also with a natural cover, which when closed prevents the ingress of leaves or rubbish falling from other trees. The most curious circumstance connected with this strange plant is, that it is nearly always found full of pure, sparkling water, and that the lid closes of itself as soon as the receptacle is full, and opens whenever it is empty. The water is thus protected from dust, and kept always fit for the use of thirsty travelers, as well as of the immense troops of monkeys that inhabit tropical jungles. When the dainty cup has been drained of its refreshing contents, this wonderful little plant again throws wide the portals of its exhausted receptacle for the free entrance of rain or dew. Another plant, one we had often heard of, and sought for without success, the so-called oyster tree, was found, and proved to be nothing very wonderful after all. It is simply an ordinary oyster or other shell-fish, that, tired of lying in the mud, concludes by way of variety to try swinging in the air for a while, and so fastens itself to the long, pendent branches of the mangroves that grow luxuriantly on the shores of most tropical islands.
There seeming to be no more objects of interest to detain us at Pulo Nánas, and our chuliahs having already gone on to prepare dinner at Pulo Panjan, we rallied our forces and followed suit. It was already four o'clock, and so near the equinoctial line, where there is no twilight, it is dark soon after six; but then Pulo Panjan was on our route homeward, and we should have time at least to dine and gather some of the beautiful flowers for which the island is famous, as well as to taste the white pineapple, a rare and exquisite variety that grows here in great abundance. Both rind and pulp are of a pale straw-color; hence the name, to distinguish this species from the ordinary golden-colored fruit, which is far inferior to the white. Those we obtained were magnificent specimens—large and juicy, with a flavor to tempt the appetite of the veriest epicure. Abdallah peeled them in such a way as to remove the bur entire, and brought them to our grassy "board" on pure white porcelain plates garnished with wreaths of fragrant flowers. Never were the gods feasted on nectar and ambrosia more divinely luscious than the white pines and golden mangoes, the rich juicy grapes and sparkling sherbet, with which we were regaled on that bright summer eve at the base of the old flagstaff towering above our heads.
We had not much time for roaming, but gathered whole handfuls of the lotus or water-lily, with its pale-blue, golden or rose-tinted blooms gleaming up from the sparkling waters like the fabled charms of mermaid or sea-nymph. There are many varieties of this exquisite flower—blue, pink, carnation, bright yellow, royal purple fringed with gold, and, more beautiful than all, pure, virgin white, with the faintest possible rose tinge in the centre of each section of the corolla, a just perceptible blush, as of its own conscious loveliness. This last variety is the royal flower of Siam: it is borne before the king at weddings, funerals and all state festivals, and the royal reception-rooms are always beautifully decorated with the young buds arranged in costly vases of exquisite workmanship. The costly silk and lace canopies over the cradles of the infants of the king's family are also made in the form of a lotus reversed; and it is said that in cases of fever or eruptive diseases the leaves of the fresh lotus are spread over the royal couches, as being not only sanitary, but more agreeable to the invalid than the ordinary linen or silk bedding. Guided by the rare rich perfume of its waxen buds, we found a choice specimen of the bride-like moon-creeper, and bore if off, vine, blooms and all, to a place among the floral adornments of our own home.