Life in Java/Volume 1/Chapter 3
CHAPTER III.
LEAVE SAMARANG HARBOUR FOR SURABAYA—ENTER THE STRAITS OF MADURA—ORAXGE FORT—GRESSIK—SURABATA — VISIT TO THE DOCKS AND ARSENAL—MONUMENT TO ADMIRAL VAN DEN BOSCH—FORT—IRON FOUNDRY—DRIVES ABOUT SURABAYA—THE GODOLDOK—TALE OF TYRANNY AND OPPRESSION IN BYGONE TIMES—PUBLIC GARDENS—ARTILLERIE CONSTRUCTIE WINKLE—OUR HOTEL—LIFE IN IT.
CHAPTER III.
From Samarang the coast-line is flat and receding, but when we reached the province of Japara it rose abruptly in a mountainous range.
Next morning the Madura passage opened before us. To our right we had the well-wooded coast of Surabaya, and to the left the Island of Madura, which is hilly, and apparently well wooded.Like the opposite coast it is indented with inlets and bays, and its harbours are considered to be the most protected in Java.
The Orange fort next appeared in view, presenting in the distance the appearance of a white line above a dark basement. This fort was built by the redoubtable Governor Daendals, as a prison for refractory soldiers; but Ambarrawa, from its elevated position, being considered a more salubrious locality, and therefore more desirable as a place of confinement for the military in that climate, the prisoners are kept there instead.
When we had left this fort far behind we saw the prettily situated town of Gressik, the harbour of which is very deep and safe. The town, which lies partly near the margin of the sea, and partly on the slopes of the hills, is not unlike Torquay from a distance. It carries on a large trade with Batavia in teak, which grows plentifully in the neighbourhood, several vessels being chartered by the Government, or Handel Maatschapij, for this purpose. There is also a salt factory in the town, the produce of which is a Government monopoly, and another in the village on the opposite coast of Madura.
The Arabs, under an Islam missionary, landed on the site of Gressik on their apostolical expedition, and from thence penetrated into the interior, converting and trading as they went, and finally waging war, acquiring dominion, and establishing Mahomedanism almost throughout the entire island. One of them, Maulana Ibrahim, died here in the year of Salivana 1334 (a.d. 1412), and his tomb lies a short distance from the town.
As we approached Surabaya, the hills of Gressik gradually diminished in height, and low marshy ground succeeded the picturesque mountainous district we had just passed. The change of scenery on the coast was far from agreeable, but it was some compensation that the hills and mountains in the interior, covered here and there with patches of vegetation, gave variety and beauty to a landscape that otherwise would have been totally uninteresting.
Like Batavia and Samarang, the town, being situated above a mile inland, is not visible from the sea. A river, embanked like a canal, has to be ascended for some distance before reaching it. Here, as everywhere else, the Dutch propensity for canals is remarkable. The one here is, in every respect, superior to those we had previously seen, being from eighty to ninety feet in width, and walled on both sides with solid stone work. To the left, facing the sea, is a raised battery, which, like some of ours in the East, being grown over in many parts with grass and moss, presents a most peaceful aspect. Between this battery and the canal are five or six large brick sheds, from whence issue Vulcanic sounds of all descriptions—the hammering of boilers, the hissing noise of steam, the constant whirr of machinery, and all the noises usually heard about an iron foundry. This, as we were informed, is the Government arsenal. The ground on which it stands was formerly a complete swamp. By order of the Government, the mud was dug out to a depth of fourteen feet, and the space filled up with sand and concrete. Ground to the extent of from fifteen to twenty acres was gained by this means, and that which was not required for the arsenal, was built over with low bungalows for the accommodation of the workmen and their families. Behind the arsenal and bungalows is a large dock, which is of great service to the owners of shipping, as, prior to its construction, they were compelled to send their vessels to be refitted or repaired at Singapore, Calcutta, or Whampoa. Now, fortunately, they are no longer subjected to such expense and trouble, as they are altogether independent of any port but their own.
Our tambangan was towed up to the town by two men, who dragged us onwards at a pretty quick rate. We passed on our way a large native village called Pandurang, built on reclaimed land; and in less than an hour reached the steps leading to the Marine Hotel, under the roof of which we were glad to seek shelter from the piercing rays of the mid-day sun.
The next morning, at half -past six, I accompanied Capt. H to the arsenal and docks. The air was cool, and the breeze, which blew in our faces as we rowed down the river, was very refreshing and agreeable. We visited the docks first, entering them by a wide and deep passage. Men of war, as well as merchant ships, in the cradles adjoining the basin, were groaning under the blows of countless hammers, while their sides were undergoing the process of caulking and coppering.
We were next shown through the various sheds previously alluded to, which are kept scrupulously neat and clean, the first six being of brick. All the workmen are Javanese. There are also several supplementary sheds at the service of Government in case additional working room should be required, some of them being used as depots for boats.
Any one who has observed the regularity and system with which all our naval establishments are conducted will be pleased to see a counterpart of them, on a smaller scale, here in the far East.
Beyond the bungalows of the superintendents, facing the sea, there is a monument encased with iron, cast at the naval arsenal. It is surmounted with a large gilt ball, and was erected by the naval officers of Surabaya, in memory of General or Admiral Van den Bosch, whose exploits are represented on its four sides.
On our way back we passed some swampy fields, in which we saw the Attap or Bujok trees, which grow to an inconsiderable height, and spread their branches only a few feet above the ground. The leaf, which struck me as not unlike that of the palm or cocoa nut, is extensively used for thatching the roofs of houses. The root, somewhat resembling a small cocoa nut in shape, contains an esculent kernel, often preserved in sweet-meats or pickles.
Capt. H next took me to the Fort, which is situated in the town, and surrounded by a fosse, well supplied with water from the river Kedirie. The walls are of considerable thickness, and, like all the Dutch forts I have seen out here, washed over with a kind of slate colour. The European soldiers occupy the upper rooms, and their native brethren those below, a small detached building serving for recruits before they are drafted into their respective regiments. There are several subterranean passages beneath the Fort; one conducting to some quarter beyond the town, and others to different adjacent redoubts or mounds, thrown up a short distance from Surabaya, during the time, I believe, of Governor-General Janssens.
The small Fort, which originally stood on the site of the present one, fell, during the occupation of Java by the French, into the hands of the English under Gillespie.
Outside the gates were a number of Javanese women, waiting to charm the poor soldier with their wiles and graces, and rob him of his wretched pittance. The women of doubtful character seen within and without the Dutch forts are a disgrace to the otherwise well-regulated system of Dutch military Government. Dutch soldiers, being discouraged from taking wives out with them, on the plea that the promotion of married men does not follow so rapidly as that of those who are single, form despicable unions; and the degenerate progeny that springs into being lead a kind of hybrid existence, and are regarded in an indifferent light both by Europeans and natives.
We next went to the Government foundry, built near the river. It is an extensive building, and gives employment daily to three hundred Javanese, besides a large number of convicts. One of the foremen asked us to look at a Nasmyth's hammer, which was just about to commence operations, and we accompanied him, more from curiosity to see what the natives thought of the novelty, than from any desire to see the instrument itself. When the ponderous hammer descended, crashing a block of wood to pieces, and scattering the fragments about, they seemed to regard such an exhibition of mechanical power with unfeigned terror; but their fear soon changed to astonishment when they saw it once more rise and descend with all the gentleness of a lady's hand. Had they been ignorant of the power of machinery, they would doubtless have attributed its operations to some unseen evil agency.
One of the greatest luxuries of Eastern life, is the evening drive, which every one who can afford it looks forward to as an indispensable pleasure after the heat of the day; and, in our opinion, it is more conducive to promoting a good appetite, than the orange bitters and kirschwasser awaiting you on the round tripod in the hall. It was during our evening drives that we saw most of Surabaya and its environs, going each day in some new direction, till we had exhausted all the sights of the place.
Surabaya is surrounded by the river Kedirie, which takes its rise from a marshy lake in the interior of the province of Kedirie. When about three or four miles from the town, the river divides into two branches—one flowing northward, known as the Kali Mas, or Gold River; and the other to the south, the Permeang, the name, I believe, of some mythical goddess. By day and night these rivers present a very animated scene, but particularly at night, when the boats, with which they are crowded, rough-looking things in broad daylight, have the lanterns, with which the mast and stern are hung, brilliantly lighted; whilst the bamboo, which grows near the water, is covered with myriads of fire-flies, looking like dark ostrich plumes studded with gems.
The natives like to sit and enjoy the cool night air on the banks; and as evening is the most favourable time for " teaching the young idea how to shoot," you hear ever and anon, in passing by the houses, the shrill treble of children's voices repeating their elementary lesson, li Ho no tjo ro ko, &c."
The sounds of music also are frequently heard. The gamalan is seldom allowed to remain long idle, while from the domicile of some devout Mahomedan the nasal tone with which he chants his evening orisons attests the sincerity and soundness of his faith.
There is a curious story connected with the Javanese alphabet, whether founded on fact or not I cannot say, but I should rather be inclined to think an invention, devised to impress the letters on the mind of juvenile pupils. If such is the case, we cannot but admire the native shrewdness in adopting such a plan. A certain priest, whilst walking through a forest, found he had lost his kriss; but feeling too fatigued to return in search of it, he approached a woodman busily at work, and begged him to seek it for him. The latter obeyed, and while he was absent, the priest and his servant, sitting on the clump of a forest tree, refreshed themselves with some food which they had brought with them. Some hours having elapsed without the return of the messenger, the priest began to feel uneasy at the prospect of not completing his long journey before nightfall, and despatched his servant in quest of the woodman. The former had not proceeded far, when he met the messenger returning with the kriss. As his master had given him strict orders not to come back without it, he requested the woodman to deliver it to him; a request which the man, who anticipated a reward for his services, refused to grant. The consequence was that a violent altercation took place, ending in the death of both.
The story, told in the following manner, serves as a sort of mnemonic aid to the young Javanese learning their letters:
Ho no tjo ro ko—lie sent them both.
Dho to so wo lo—Who fell out and quarrelled.
Po do djo jo njo—They were equally courageous.
Mo go bo tho ngo—Both were killed.
The cemetery is fully three miles from the town, beyond the village of Penellay, in passing through which we were struck with the number of houses with long bamboo poles before them, and a stick fixed at right angles on the top, from the end of which was suspended a circular cage containing the Moro-bo, a beautiful small grey dove, with lines upon the breast like those of a shell parrot, or Australian love-bird. The Moro-bo is a household pet; and is almost venerated by the Javanese, who consider their Dii Penates incomplete without one of them to charm away the "evil eye" with its sweet song.
Almost opposite the Resident's house, but some distance from it, a green, or meadow, lying between them, is the little village of Tagassan, within a few yards of which is placed a huge figure, called Godoldock, seated cross-legged, a circumstance which would lead one to suppose that it must represent some Buddhist deity, though many of the natives insist that it is the effigy of a Chinaman who suffered death for offending some former governor. A short inspection will soon prove that the latter idea is erroneous, for neither in dress nor feature has the figure the slightest resemblance to anything Chinese. That it has been brought from one of the many temples formerly devoted to the worship of Buddha, to serve as a monument to the unfortunate offender, is no unlikely story; though the removal of so ponderous an object must have been a work of no small labour.
It is well known that Mahomedans in general have a great objection to carve any large figure in stone, being fearful that on their death the weight of it will retard their progress to heaven. The figure is now highly coloured, the face being nearly all red, the eyes, eyebrows, and moustache black, and the forehead yellow. Over the shoulder is thrown a scarf—which unquestionably proves its Buddhist origin—gaily painted, so that, in place of the pure cold stone, the figure is now positively illuminated with gaudy hues.
The tale of cruelty and oppression to which I have already alluded may be related before I proceed further. The road immediately before the house of the Resident is called Cobang, and that which branches from it, about a quarter of a mile farther on, goes by the name of Simpang. All this part once belonged to a wealthy Chinaman, who resided with his family, about the middle of his possessions, in a house which he had built after his own fashion. Chogius, who was at that time Governor-General of Java, lived in Surabaya, which, as all well know, was formerly the seat of Government instead of Batavia. Thinking the estate of the Chinaman a most desirable situation for a residency and hospital, he determined to make a considerable offer for it, quite convinced that nothing would induce the Chinaman to give it up unless it were greatly to his advantage. Accordingly, Chogius sent a message to inform the possessor of the coveted property that the Government required his estate, but would pay him more than double its value for it. To this overture the Chinaman coolly replied that he did not wish to sell his estate for any money whatever; that he meant to live in it during his lifetime, and leave it to his children after his death. The Governor, nothing daunted in his selfish resolve, determined to send for the man and see what a personal interview would effect.
On his entering, Chogius thus accosted him: "Why do you thus stand in your own light? Do you not see how much you would gain by accepting the offer I make you in the name of the Government?"
"Yes, sir, I see that; but no money could compensate me for the loss of the property on which I have spent so much time and thought. I am now old, and could not, during the few years left me, bring any other piece of land I might purchase to suit my taste as that does. There are other estates you can purchase, larger than mine, and for which their owners would gladly take their just value; I pray you, sir, turn your attention to some of these, and forget mine." This the poor landholder said in fear and trembling, for he well knew how unimportant was even the fact of his possession in these days of absolute power.
"No, no, man, all this is nonsense; I sent for you here not to inform me of other estates, but to tell you the advantage of taking the price offered. And as you are obstinate, I must now warn you that it is not with ordinary individuals you are dealing, but with one who speaks in the name of the Government. Once more I ask, will you change your mind? Will you accept the offer I have made?"
The Chinaman made no reply, but stood—his lips tightly pressed—the picture of mute determination. Probably his silence irritated Chogius, who, taking two cents from his pocket, threw them on the table before him, saying,
"There, as you will not take what I have offered you, and refuse to name any price, in the name of the Government I give you a coban? (or cobang)—a common name for two cents in Java—" and I will simpang " (rightly simpan, or keep) " your estates."
Disgusted, mortified, and overwhelmed, the poor man left the room, inwardly determining, as life was now of little value to him, to risk it in his desire for vengeance on the haughty and tyrannical governor.
At that time the Dutch exacted from every native the most humiliating obeisance, compelling them, immediately on the appearance of any European, to squat on the ground, and uncover their heads. This act of humiliation, whatever might be the consequence, the Chinaman resolved to omit whenever he happened to meet Chogius.
The first time, therefore, that cries of "the governor!—the governor!" were heard in his presence, in the most crowded street in Surabaya, he boldly stood up with his head covered in the midst of the crouching Javanese, and other natives. The governor, observing this act of disobedience, was infuriated, and fearful of the effect such an example might have on the minds of the high-blood Javanese—who all sympathised with the Chinaman suffering under the cruel oppression to which he had been compelled to submit—sent a messenger to order the man immediately to sit down.
" No, no—tell your master,*' said the poor old man, quivering with rage, " he will have to kill me first before I'll do that."
"Very well," replied the governor, as the man delivered his message, " we'll see."
That night the Chinaman was a prisoner, and the next day he paid the penalty of his rashness with his head.
One great want in Surabaya was the paucity of public gardens—a deficiency, however, which none endeavoured to supply; and those who had been cooped up in some heated office all day, were compelled by necessity to take the cool evening air on the roads about the town.
A short time previous to our visit, the Surabayans were gratified by seeing this want supplied. A whole village was razed to the ground, and the space, probably from twelve to fifteen acres, when cleared of the rubbish, was laid out in walks, bypaths, lawns, and flower-beds; which, together with the old trees that had been left standing, soon assumed the appearance of a beautiful garden, with a river running on one side of it, to enhance the cheerful beauty of the place.
This work had been accomplished by two gentlemen, residents in Surabaya, who obtained permission of the municipal authorities to carry out their scheme, on condition that suitable dwellings should be provided for the villagers; and that, if it proved a failure, a new village should be erected where the former one had stood, and that solely at their own expense. Though still unfinished at the period of our visit, the works were so far advanced as to enable the inhabitants to enjoy the boon of so pleasant a retreat near the crowded town. We were agreeably surprised, on visiting it, to find how much had been made of such a limited space. Shrubberies, ponds, aviaries, were to be seen in all directions; suspended from the trees, were perches, with bright-coloured parrots, sheltered under parasols of tin, gaudily painted, to protect them from the sun; and by the side of these were wire baskets of fragrant orchids. When I was told what this place had been a year ago, I seemed to realise the Arab tale of Sheddad's garden springing from a desert.
The Artillerie Constructie Winkle, or Military Arsenal, is situated in the town, not far from the Hotel, or Herren Logement. I will not weary the reader with a description of what they may see in our own arsenals. Suffice it to say that most of the men employed are soldiers, who offer their work voluntarily, and for it receive an additional allowance; and that the army, with the exception of firearms and guns of a large calibre, is supplied with all necessaries from this establishment.
Our hotel was a fine spacious building—that is to say, the house itself; but so anxious had its proprietor been to increase the number of dormitories, that almost every available space in the yard behind was crowded with small out-houses, like stables, thus preventing the circulation of air. These chambers, too, were intolerably hot, from being so near the roof. We were unable to procure accommodation in the large house, for the hotel was crowded; and as many business-men make it their permanent residence, they, of course, had the choice of the coolest rooms. It was quite an amusing sight of an evening, in our "row," to see all our companions in misfortune turning out of their close rooms to sit outside the door, the ladies fanning themselves, or having it done for them, and the gentlemen in the cool neglige toilette I have before alluded to. As to sleeping at night, that was next to impossible, for with the temperature at ninety and ninety-five degrees Fahr., and mosquitoes thick as bees round a hive, it was not likely there could be much rest for anyone. Between six and seven in the morning, whether outside courting a little fresh air, or sipping weak tea and eating cold boiled eggs within your quarters, the first cry which greeted your ear was "Api! api!" (light! light!) quickly responded to by "Ada! Ada!" from several small boys, whose chief occupation seemed to be running about from room to room, with a long cord of twisted cocoa-nut fibre, flaring at one end, and shouting responses in a broken and shrill treble voice.
From eight to nine everyone bathes, a luxury nowhere better understood than in Java; after which they dress for the business of the day, whatever that may be. At twelve, the breakfast is served (nominally so, of course), and all the inhabitants of the hotel, and those absentees who can leave their offices, assemble in the long diningroom, where we unsophisticated foreigners gazed with astonishment at the alarmingly rapid manner in which the Dutchmen ate their meals, gobbling them up as though they were eating for a wager, and calling " Api!" long before we could get through a quarter of that which was on our plate.
After this hearty meal, those who can, retire for a siesta, and those who can't return to work. At four p.m. tea and cakes are brought round to the several rooms, and then another bath is taken, followed by the evening drive.
As we made our way out of the hotel, and passed along the streets, we saw smokers in all directions, puffing most vigorously. When it is dark, dinner is served, and the same hurried scene of eating takes place, followed by calls for " Api," which resound on all sides before your first course is removed, the smoke mingling the while with the rich savour of European and Oriental dishes.