Descending into the crater, we cross its sandy floor, the Dasar,—or, as it is appropriately called, the Sandy Sea,—where grows not tree nor shrub, and the only signs of vegetation are a few scattered patches of dried and scrubby grass. The surface is strangely corrugated or ridged, like the sea-sand at ebb of tide; and the whole landscape is as full of gloom as the waste of the African Sahara.
Like many other volcanoes, the Bromok is a truncated cone. From one of its sides project numerous irregular masses, or mounds of mud and sand, incrusted in a baked clay like red lava. Some of these have been largely reduced in size by the heavy tropical rains, which have ploughed deep broad fissures in the Sandy Sea; while others, still supplied with liquid matter from the volcano, are encroaching on the Dasar, and covering so much of it as lies within the more immediate neighbourhood of the crater. Large blocks of lime and limestone lie embedded in these mounds; also huge black stones veined like marble and glittering like granite. These, as well as the scoriæ which abound in every direction, were products, it is supposed, of the last eruption of the Bromok.
Climbing to the summit of the ridge, and looking down into the abyss of the crater, the traveller at first is tempted to suppose that before him lies one of the “circles” of Dante’s mediæval Inferno. A yawning pit in the centre belches dense volumes of sulphureous smoke, accompanied by terrific sounds, like groans and shrieks and yells. The inner crater forms a large basin, about 350 feet in diameter, with irregular broken sides, descending to a depth of fully 250 feet. The sides, as well as the bottom, are encrusted with deposits of yellow sulphureous matter.
The ceremony of the benediction of this dread volcano takes place two or three times a year; it is not without its picturesque details. Groups of pilgrims are scattered about the Sandy Sea; some eating, others praying; some singing, others laughing, talking, chaffering. Men are selling, and finding a ready market for, amulets, charms, and volcanic stones, which, in language as extravagant as that of the European proprietor of a patent pill, they declare to be sovereign remedies for every human malady. Provisions of all kinds are on sale, and lie exposed upon roughly constructed stands, resembling those which are seen at English fairs; a plank or two, supported on a couple of stone trestles. “Wodonos and Mantries”—the Javanese nobles—parade up and down in gay attire, their burnished krisses glittering amidst the folds of their sarong. Old men and old women, who have come to pay their last homage to the shrine, totter along feebly; watching with delight, however, the frolics of their grandchildren as they scamper about in unchecked glee.
At one part of the Sandy Sea twenty mats are ranged in a row, and upon each a young priest kneels, having before him a box of myrrh, frankincense, aloes, and other spices, which are sold for offerings. At right angles runs another row, with the same number of priests, all kneeling in the Arab fashion, their bodies partly resting on the calves of their legs. These are older than the former group, and may be regarded as the patriarchs of their respective villages. Behind each stands a payong-bearer, shading his master from the sun with a large umbrella. Their dress consists of a white gown worn over the sarong, which is tied to the waist by a broad red belt. Over the shoulders hang two bands of yellow silk, bound with scarlet, and their ends ornamented with tassels and gold coins. The head-dress consists of a large turban, adorned with gay silken scarfs. In front of each priest are spread small packets made of plantain leaves, containing incense, sandal-wood chips, and other preparations; wooden censers, throwing forth jets of fragrant smoke; and a vessel, made of plaited ratan, for holding water.
At a short distance from the priests a motley crowd is assembled, waiting for the various offerings they have deposited upon specially prepared bamboo stands, to be consecrated. These offerings consist of cocoa-nuts, plantains, pine-apples, mangoes, and other fruits; of baskets of young chickens; of trays loaded with all kinds of cakes; of strips of silk and calico; of gold, silver, and copper coins.
After spending a few minutes in prayer, the priest dips his goupillon or cup into the vessel of water before him, mutters a few unintelligible words, and sprinkles the oblations as they are successively presented. Then all the holy men bow their heads, and repeat loudly and distinctly a ritual prayer.
The oldest rises up, followed in succession by his sacerdotal companions, uttering a phrase which sounds like “Ayo, ayo, Bromok!” and probably means, “Forward, forward to the Bromok!” At this signal all the crowd rush to the Bromok, impressed with a belief that he who first gains the ridge will be the favourite of fortune, and presently meet with some exceptional stroke of good luck. At intervals some of the older priests come to a halt, spread their mats, and prostrate themselves in prayer for five or ten minutes, thus securing an interval of rest at the same time that they win a reputation for special devoutness.
On reaching the summit of the volcano, the various families and individuals again present their offerings to the priests, who mumble over them a few additional words: they are then thrown into the crater, each person eagerly repeating some prayer or wish. And thus concludes the strange ceremony by which the spirits of the Bromok are supposed to be propitiated. The crowd descend from the volcano to join in various games and pastimes; towards evening they begin to disperse, and as the night spreads its cloud of darkness over the scene, the Sea of Sand resumes its ordinary aspect of loneliness and desolation.
The Dyaks of Borneo.