These industrious tribes of the coast also manufacture saltpeter, by boiling the soil obtained from caves frequented by bats and birds, chiefly swallows; the soil itself being the decomposed dung of these animals, which commonly fills the bottom of the caves to a depth of from four to six feet. In this process, however, the labor of the poor fellows is to a great extent wasted, since the supply to be obtained is so precarious and limited, and the cost of the niter consequently so high, that saltpeter and gunpowder may always be more cheaply imported from Bengal.
As I have said, the voyage along the north coast was tedious in the extreme. As, however, we entered the beautiful Straits of Sunda, when every mile’s advance showed to us some one or other of the many islands that embellish that region of perpetual summer, and gave to our view a mountain range, or volcanic peak, of the island of Java, our hearts became filled with delight.
A stiff breeze wafted us merrily through the straits, and in a few days we had rounded that magnificent promontory, at the extreme west of the province of Bantam, known to mariners as “Java Head;” but a week’s run, however, along the south coast, and we had become so short of water, that Prabu ran the prahu into the first inlet or bay for a fresh supply. But our captain had other matters of business ashore with the chief of the village, so, leaving his lieutenant, Kati, to see the casks filled, he landed, inviting my brother and me to accompany him—an invitation we were not unwilling to accept, if only to stretch our legs a little while on land.
The village, which was about half a mile from the sea, was a charming place—a veritable little human paradise. It consisted of some sixty or seventy bamboo cottages, neat and pretty, but the whole completely screened from the scorching sun, and so buried in the foliage of a luxuriant vegetation, that at but a short distance no appearance of a human dwelling could be detected; and in manners the inhabitants seemed no less charming than their village, for no sooner had we passed the belt of trees which led us into the wide verdant space in the front of the cottages, than several came forth from their houses, made obeisance, and begged that, being strangers, we would honor them by partaking of refreshment, and, if need be, a lodging for the night. Indeed, so many and so pressing were these offers, that, not knowing whose to accept, and fearing to offend either by a refusal, we stood in some dread of suffering in our stomachs from an embarras de richesse. Prabu, however, rescued us from the difficulty by picking out one man, with whom he seemed to have had a former acquaintanceship. True, when we did enter the house, we found nothing but rice, fruits, and spiced-water; but, then, the warm-heartedness with which they were offered rendered them more welcome than would have been a banquet at another time, at some other hands.
When we had partaken of our host’s hospitality—for it would have been a breach of Javanese etiquette to have done so before—Prabu desired to be conducted to the chief of the village.
“The ‘Head-man’ is absent, hunting the buffalo,” was the reply; “but the noble captain will honor his servant by taking up this lodging in this house for the night, and in the morning the chief will return to the village, for it is a festival.”
“My brother is good, and his hospitality to strangers will never be forgotten,” replied Prabu; “but the hands are useless without the head; the captain must not leave his ship;” and so, to the chagrin of the worthy man, we returned to the prahu. The next morning, however, we again visited the village, and found it all bustle and excitement. It was a festival in honor of the second marriage of one of the leading inhabitants. The people were all out; the bride and bridegroom, with their friends, for the greater part on horseback, were parading the village, decorated in their gayest attire, decked with jewels, and attended by a band of music.
As the procession passed us, one of the bridegroom’s friends or relations, recognizing in Prabu an old acquaintance, fell out and invited him to the wedding-feast, to which they were then proceeding.
“Won’t it be jolly?” said Martin; “we shall get a look at the bride, for I could not see her just now through the curtains of her litter.”
“There will not be much to interest us, I should think; however, as it would be uncivil to refuse, we will go,” said I.