Scented Isles and Coral Gardens: Torres Straits, German New Guinea and the Dutch East Indies/Dutch East Indies
III
DUTCH EAST INDIES
Having once passed through the narrow Pitt Straits, just south of the Equator, we were in another world, and New Guinea was left behind. It was almost with a pang that I realised it. No longer were we in the savage cannibal Papuan area, but had entered upon the pirate-haunted seas of the Malays, the golden sphere of the famed spice inlands.
How is one to speak of this great wonderland of seas and islands?—thousands of isles of all shapes, sorts, and sizes—coral reefs, palm-clad and bordered by veritable coral gardens full of exquisite colour and beauty—scented isles in an azure sea.
"Beneath the spreading wings of purple morn,
Behold what isles these glist'ning seas adorn!"
SULTAN OF SOLO AND ESCORT.
SOLO NOBLES.
JAVA.
Then next to Celebes comes the great island of Borneo, larger than France and Germany combined, south of which, across the Java Sea, stretches that long line of islands, over 1200 miles in length, from Sumatra to Timor, the nearest to Australia, and often called the Sunda Islands. Between them and Borneo and the Malay Peninsula are the shallow seas, and north-west of Borneo the China Sea. The deep seas and the shallow make the real division between the systems, though they merge one into the other. Here, too, is the great volcanic belt, for everywhere are volcanoes—active and extinct.
Leaving out Borneo and the Philippines, one may start at the New Guinea end and mention first the Aru Islands, which lie south of it, and between Dutch New Guinea and Australia. They are Papuan isles. There is one large island and several small isles round it. They lie 150 miles from the New Guinea coast, and probably once formed part of it, as the seas between are shallow. On one of them, the small island of Wamma, is situated Dobbo, a famous native trading station, on a spit of sand just wide enough for some rows of houses, which are large thatched sheds. Every house is a trading store full of all sorts of goods beloved of natives, and often there are five hundred traders there. They come from Macassar, Goram, and elsewhere, and many of them are Chinese, for these latter have for many centuries been at home in these seas. No Europeans live at it, but a Dutch Commissioner comes at long intervals to hear complaints and adjust matters. [Some Australians have now a pearl-shell fishing concession. The pearls I have seen, and one of which was presented to me, are of great purity and value.] Yet these Papuans, Malays, Chinese, and Arabs trade peaceably together. Pearls, pearl-shell, and tortoise-shell are exported to Europe; and to China, trepang and edible birds’-nests. Sometimes, at long intervals, pirate Malay phraus arrive from Sulu and elsewhere, attack and burn the villages, murder the people, and carry away the women. The Aru islanders live in fear of them. The islands are a paradise for the naturalist.
North of these are the beautiful Ké Islands. They were not known till 1886, and are covered with dense jungle and virgin forest. At Ellat, on Great Ké, resides the Dutch controlleur and one or two Germans in the timber trade. There is a Jesuit Mission and a wooden church. Tocal, the chief village, is on Little Ké. The population is about 20,000, of whom 6000 are Mohammedans. There are eighteen rajas, who bear as wands of office the gold-and silver-mounted staffs presented by the Dutch. At Nugu Roa, on the sea cliffs, are ancient inscribed coloured paintings of natives and their phraus, of which nothing is known, but they are believed to be of great age. The islands are very picturesque, mountainous, and
have bays of dazzling white sand. The most magnificent butterflies and beetles, as well as many species of pigeons and other birds, render the islands more than attractive to naturalists. Wooden bowls and pottery are items of export. The timber is magnificent, and the Ké islanders are noted boatbuilders. They build Papuan canoes to hold sixty men; and their great phraus of 20 or 30 tons burden, which sail on any sea and trade to Singapore, are made without a nail or piece of iron. The harbour is always full of phraus. 
ON THE ROAD TO TELEGA BODAS, JAVA.
the nearest to Australia.
“Fair are Timora’s dales, with groves array’d,
Each riv’let murmurs in the fragrant shade,
And, in its crystal breath, displays the bowers
Of Sanders, blest with health-restoring powers.”
It is 300 miles long by 50 miles wide, and comprises an area of 11,650 square miles. The highest peak is Mount Alas, 12,250 feet, and others rise from 5000 to 6000 feet, thinly wooded, and on the side towards Australia quite sterile owing to the hot winds blowing from that continent. Germany has great desires towards acquiring Timor. It is: not known when the Portuguese first settled there. In 1859 the boundary between them and the Dutch part was settled. The Dutch capital is Kupang, which has7000 inhabitants: Malays, Chinese, Arabs, and natives. It is a good; well-kept town, with neat Dutch houses. In contrast to this is the Portuguese capital, Delli, or Dilli, a miserable place and most unhealthy, with a population of 3000, There are no roads round it, and the Portuguese do nothing to mend matters. Timor is full of divisions, each with its “king,” and of these there are forty-seven “kings” in the Portuguese part alone! At Delli are Europeans, a garrison, and some officers, but it is noted for crimes and disorder. It is said some officers wanting to get rid of the husbands of women they wished to live with, simply poisoned the husbands and no one minded or took any notice. There are few Europeans in the interior. Wheat and potatoes grow well at a height of 3000 feet, but all round the town are swamps and mud- flats. There are many eucalyptus trees, and it reminds most people of Australia. It is a frequent port of call for ships of different nationalities, and every one has heard of its ponies. At one place in the island are some curious soap springs which make a fine lather.
The islands of Semang, Rotti, and Savu, lying near Timor, have large populations; the Timor Laut group is sparsely inhabited and little known. Mr. H. O. Forbes and his wife spent some time in these latter isles. Kambing belongs to Portugal, and has small mud volcanoes on top of a high peak. Goram has a native raja and a Dutch “postholder.”
Then comes the famous Banda Group.
“Here Banda’s isles their fair embroid’ry spread
Of various fruitage, azure, white, and red;
And birds of every beauteous plume display
Their glitt’ring radiance, as, from spray to spray,
From bower to bower, on busy wings they rove.
To seize the tribute of the spicy grove.”
There is always a group of islands called by several names, whilst the individual islands of the group have also several names, and these groups form part of a larger group,or system—all these, however, mention here belong to the Moluccas. The Banda Islands are considered the most beautiful in the Moluccas, and as all are exceedingly beautiful, that means a great deal. The three principal ones are Banda Nera, on which is the town; Banda Lonta, clothed with forest; and Gunong Api, the famous volcano. They form a land-locked harbour, and are the great nutmeg gardens. Banda Nera is 7½ miles long, with a beautiful town, in the centre of which is Fort Nassau, built by the Dutch in 1609; and there is also a ruined Portuguese fort, whilst on a plateau above the town, backed by a rock 800 feet high, is the massive Fort Belgica, commenced in 1611, and which has survived many earthquakes.
The volcano on Gunong Api, the “Mountain of Fire,” is always active, and there have been many eruptions; its main crater is supposed to be extinct by some, but no doubt it is merely taking a rest. The Chinese are very important here, and the agent of the N.D.L. Co. is, or was, a Chinaman. The Residency and the Club are good, and the whole town is a beautiful garden. There are watch-towers for the police, and when a Malay “runs amok” they beat drums to warn the people, and sally forth to kill him, so it is said. The vegetation is remarkably green, and the water oe the land-locked harbour, from which no outlet is visible, is so clear that the coral and even minute objects are seen at the bottom, at the depth of eight fathoms, and the fish inhabiting these exquisite coral groves are as rainbow hued as the coral. The Dutch houses are roofed with red tiles, which enhances the effect of this famously beautiful spot. The nutmeg tree—which grows to 20 or 30 feet in height—is always in bloom, and fruit ripens all the year round, being in all stages on the tree. It has dark green foliage, and the fruit when yellow and ripe splits open and shows the dark red mace and the nut. The kernel of the nut is the nutmeg we use. The great pigeons are very fond of it.
These are the far-famed Spice Islands—the scented isles of the East—once drawing all the world in search of their riches. Magnificent canary trees overshadow the nutmeg groves, and the perfumes of the Spice Islands are wafted far and wide.
Near to the south of the large island of Ceram is Amboyna, the capital of the Moluccas, on an island of the same name. The town is situated between two precipitous points, white houses and a fort facing the sea and backed with hills. It is very beautiful, and laid out with shady gardens. Here may be seen Malay phraus, Chinese junks, and picturesque craft from the Aru and Ké Islands. The natives are a mixture of Dutch, Portuguese, Malay, Papuan, and Chinese—a queer mixture of blood. They live mostly on sago and fish, both easily procured, and so they are content and lazy. The women dress in black and carry everything on their heads, and on Sundays men and women don attempts at European clothes. Earthquakes are very frequent. Amboyna is one of the oldest European settlements in the East. It is 260 square miles in area, and has a population of 32,000. The highest point is 4oro ft. It has an imposing Government House, and the Fort Victoria was enlarged by the Dutch in 1609. It is a garrison town.
The cultivation of the clove and the quantity of sago grown supply the inhabitants with much they require, and the sea yields fish of various sorts. The white houses of the Dutch mingle with the palm-woven houses of the natives. A favourite but exciting beverage is the sageroe, made from the sugar palm. The coral reefs and the creatures inhabiting them are of great interest, as is the coral itself. Tropical flowers and foliage, beautiful birds—there being over twenty species belonging to Amboyna—shells, coral, fish—there is no end to the interest here, and it is a land of plenty.
Ceram is 216 miles long, with an area of 7000 square miles, and the highest point is 9612 feet. There are no good harbours or navigable rivers, and it is only known to Europeans at one part, where it is only 15 miles across. It is clothed with virgin forests, and the natives are still headhunters and probably pirates. The Dutch have four stations, and at Wahai are European coffee 
PREPARING RICE, TERNATE.
226,000. Buru, near it, is 90 miles long, with a population of 60,000, and the highest peak is Mount Tumahu, 8530 feet, whilst others rise to 7000 feet. A Dutch Resident rules it. North of it is Mysol, or Misol, about 50 miles away. It is mountainous, about 50 miles long by 20 miles wide, and has kangaroo, birds of paradise, and is akin to the Papuan system. It is ruled by a native raja, tributary to the Sultan of Tidore, but is little known or visited.
On the Obi Group, the chief of which is Obi Major, 45 miles long by 20 miles wide, with mountains 5000 feet high, covered with virgin forests, it is said there are no inhabitants at all. There are ruins of an old Dutch fort. According to the natives, Obi Major, or perha the whole group, is haunted—mysterious, beautiful isles they are.
North of all these are the Moluccas proper, the famous Spice Islands which one time caused Spanish, Dutch, and British ships to crowd these seas. The name Moluccas is now applied to all the islands between Celebes and New Guinea, but of the real Moluccas, Gilolo, Ternate, and Tidore are the principal ones. The Resident of Amboyna administers Ceram, Buru, Banda, Ké, Aru, Timor Laut, and others; but these ones are ruled by the sultans of Ternate and Tidore. The Portuguese rule was cruel and brutal. The Spanish came from Manila but did not do much, and in 1613 the Dutch, by a treaty with the sultans, obtained power, and by 1681 had crushed out all opposition. They allow the sultans, who are subsidised, to rule their own subjects, and the jurisdiction of the Sultan of Tidore extends to New Guinea.
Gilolo is as little known as Ceram, but has 125,000 inhabitants. It is very mountainous and rugged, has many volcanoes, and the highest peak is 6500 feet. Only one or two Dutch live in it. Ternate and Tidore, two volcanic isles 6000 feet in height, form a harbour. Tidore rises from a mass of hills, but Ternate is the most mountainous, and the volcano has had many eruptions. The population is 9000, of whom 350 are Europeans, 500 Chinese, and 100 Arabs. There is a Dutch garrison at Fort Oranje. Tidore Peak is 5900 feet high, but it is now extinct; and Tidore has a population of 8000, a few Dutch soldiers, but no other European residents. Makian is thickly populated and grows tobacco; the last eruption was in 1862, when 4000 people perished. At Fort Barnewald, in Batian, erected in 1615, is a small garrison, and coffee and cacao are much grown. Batian, or Batchian, has its own sultan, who travels in a gorgeous cabined barge with gilded roof, fluttering flags, and bravely clad rowers, and the island is said to contain both gold, copper, and coal, as yet waiting research.
“’Mid hundreds yet unnamed Ternate behold!
By day, her hills in pitchy clouds inroll’d;
By night, like rolling waves, the sheets of fire
Blaze o’er the seas, and high to Heaven aspire.
For Lusian hands here blooms the fragrant clove,
But Lusian blood shall sprinkle every grove.
The golden birds[1] that ever sail the skies
Here to the sun display their shining dyes,
Each want supplied, on air they ever soar;
The ground they touch not ’till they breathe no more.”
Ternate is only one mile from Gilolo, and has a mixed population of Arabs, Malays, and Chinese, with an admixture of Portuguese and Dutch blood. Ruined European dwellings, the result of volcanic disturbances, stand amidst native thatched dwellings, palms, and spice groves, and amidst the scented scene wander the careless happy people clothed in many colours. Fruits such as the durian, pene, mangostan, etc., do very well. Above the fruit-groves rises virgin forest. The sultans of Ternate and Tidore were once famous for their magnificence and power, and were much courted by strangers. Though now pensioned they retain full control of their own subjects.
Drake in 1579 describes his visit to the Sultan of Ternate: “The king had a very rich canopy with embossings of gold borne over him, and was guarded with twelve lances. From the waist to the ground was all cloth of gold, and that very rich; in the attire of his head were finely wreathed in diverse rings of plaited gold, of an inch or more in breadth, which made a fair and princely show, somewhat resembling a crown in form; about his neck he had a chain of perfect gold, the links very great and one fold double; on his left hand was a diamond, an emerald, a ruby, and a turky; on his right hand in one ring a big and perfect turky, and in another ring many diamonds of a smaller size.”
[Nowadays the Sultan is poor and shorn of his glory. When he drives out in state it is in an ancient carriage, drawn not by horses but by coolies. His soldiers are attired in uniforms of the time of Napoleon. He dresses in white Euro- pean clothes and wears a white turban. As a background to the Kraton, as his palace is called, rises the volcano Gamalama, which is over 5000 feet high.]
They became wealthy through spice. Ternate is the native home of cloves. In former times people gave quantities of jewels and gold for the desired spice. All about Ternate are ruins of massive stone and brick buildings, arches and gates, mostly destroyed by earthquakes. There was a very bad one in 1840. When the slaves here were emancipated they were quite content. to remain under their former masters. The Dutch rule, somewhat paternal and despotic, is a kindly one and suited to the people.
We passed Ceram in the distance, but Buru very near; it is crescent shaped, somewhat neglected, and not as beautiful in appearance as some of the others.
These were formerly the dreaded pirate- haunted seas, and how thrilling were the tales one used to read of the phraus and their evil owners! The countless Malay phraus we saw around us here, though so exceedingly picturesque, were not above suspicion, and it is easy to believe there are many dangerous characters about. It was fascinating to watch all these sails skimming the lovely waters. We passed great shoals of fish, saw many birds sitting on driftwood, and the strange ships and their occupants were of unfailing interest.
“The masts’ tall shadows tremble o’er the deep,
The peaceful winds a holy silence keep;
The watchman’s carol, echo’d from the prows
Alone, at times, awakes the still repose.
BUITENZORG, JAVA.
When we passed Bouton, and were in sight of the mountains of the Celebes, it was a curious scene. All along the coast were low-lying, palm-clothed lands and countless isles and coral islets, and the latter were dotted about everywhere. The waters were full of fish, and the large.and small phraus of the Malay fishermen were everywhere. Some were very large, with huge square sails. Long poles, looking like the masts of sunken ships, are anchored in the sea, and to these the fishing-boats are tied. Platforms are also erected in this manner and each occupied by a Malay, who sees the shoals of fish and signals where they are.
The blue skies, green, blue, and amethyst sea, the purple and pale blue mountains, the green palm-clad coral islets, the brown- and red-sailed phraus, with the touches of colour about their Malay crew, formed a picture which is almost indescribable. The rainy season, of which they have months, has commenced, but so far we have none of it. At Macassar, along the sea-beach, the native houses are on long poles and sometimes over the water, and this has the same curious effect as the platforms out at sea.
We arrived at Macassar, the capital of Celebes, in the morning, and lay beside the wharf, which was crowded with a most picturesque and brilliant group of Bugis, Macassars, Malays, and Chinese in their various costumes of bright colours, and some carrying Chinese umbrellas. Along the shore stretched the “go-downs,” or trading sheds, of the Dutch and German merchants, each with a rickety pier in front of it. Of course we all hurried ashore at once. It being Sunday all the European shops were closed, but there was much to interest and amuse strangers.
As I stood on the wharf an impudent native came up to me and said, “All German man now; Englishman no good now.”
“Try the toe of an English boot,” I answered, “and see how you like that!”
But mark the words. What is happening is all summed up in them. Throughout the East, where once we held sway, where once they knew only of the Great White Queen, in their eyes the greatest ruler on earth, where our name and influence was spread far and wide, there is now but one idea, and that is that our day is past, our power and influence gone, and that Germany has taken our place. How has this idea so quickly spread and been accepted as true? Partly because it is true, and partly because the Germans in the East and on their big liners are carefully, quietly, zealously doing all they can to spread the idea and make people believe it. As they never see a British ship now, nor a British flag, but everywhere the German flag and German people, what can they do but believe it? All honour to Germany for her clever foresight and her successful endeavours to push her fortunes; it is not Germany we are to blame but ourselves. This is no little thing, no matter of slight importance—it is only by our name we hold India and govern such countless varied races. The great British Raj was everything, the name of it carried weight everywhere—now, not only is that name on the wane, but in many places it is gone. “All German man now; Englishman no good now.”
We actually find a Chinese author of to-day, Wang-shu, writing a thoughtful book on The Decline and Fall of the Anglo-Saxon Race! To what is all this really due? Is it not because many of our politicians are uneducated, narrow-minded men who have no knowledge of the needs of the Empire? Have not the people of Great Britain become afraid of risking anything or Opposing any one; blatant in talk of Empire (by which they mean England) yet with no understanding of it; feeble-spirited and short-sighted to a degree? Thelack of spirit and of enterprise is undeniable. In England is no loyalty to the Empire.
[Surely it is but a temporary phase, and that again we may be as of yore? This mighty Empire is the greatest the world has ever seen; its resources are greater than ever, yet nothing almost is made of them, and the huge, unwieldy Empire is drifting—whither? Is it to drift apart, or are its people to wake up and realise that together we stand, sundered we fall, and that each individual part of the Empire, great or small,is as important as any other. “England”—nor even Great Britain—is not the Empire, only part of it. Everything, every climate even, that human beings need, is to be found within this mighty Empire; its splendid harbours, its coaling stations, its mines and minerals, its great lakes and rivers, its food-producing lands, its forests of priceless timber—nothing is lacking save the touch of genius that is to weld it for all time into one mighty whole.
In 1910 the world watched a great political battle being waged in these isles, and during this battle scarcely one understanding word was spoken on either side of Imperial needs; no one could rise above parochial politics and the status of the House of Lords, which, having stood for centuries, could well stand till a more fitting time for the calm revision of its constitution. Half this business was mere County Council business, and it was almost impossible to believe that those men engaged in this miserable spectacle were the “great statesmen” of the British Empire! Indeed, we have come to a pretty pass when the high places of the Homeland are filled by mounte-banks, clamouring and behaving like village pot-house politicians, The world looks on with contempt. Are these responsible thinking beings, these unseeing, spluttering, carpet-bag nonentities? Let them go to Holland, which, as the geography book wickedly says, is “a low-lying country full of dams.” Not one sees the writing on the wall. Please God they may yet all be swept away, and in their stead rise the vigorous youth of the Empire, coming from north and south, from east and west, to save this tottering heritage of ours from final disruption, They must come from somewhere—they are not in the Homeland. And the silly, cowardly cry of, “Oh, the foreigner is coming to take us!” Our ancestors would have laughed with glee, risen as one man, and let the foreigner learn what British strength means. They would have welcomed the chance of putting the enemy in his proper place; they never would have sat down and cried, and moaned, and howled with fear, whilst the amazed world looked on and laughed them to derision. What a spectacle we present! Men bending from platforms, upon which stand Cabinet Ministers, to strike women who differ from them in ideas; men who have a vote and are too lazy and indifferent ever to have used it, booing and hissing and fighting with women who struggle for what they deem their rights; girl-scouts; handsome young women in uniform prancing about on horseback — what they mean, or of what use they are to any one, no one can tell; people of birth and 
THE PIER AND QUAYS, MACASSAR, CELEBES.
be proud of! What have such people to do with the brave and sturdy men and women, boys and girls, who are doing their best to build up a mighty Empire over the seas—the real British? Yes, it must be from over the seas, from north and south and east and west, that come those who are to save our honour and our Flag, and to stir up the slumbering ones here—only slumbering, I hope and believe—nay, I feel sure of it—for most certainly the day is near when the people themselves will demand that every citizen is trained to take his share in the defence of his land. The hooligans, the cricketers, the football players, the hunting men, the “idle rich," all classes in fact, the very loafers and dreamers of the land, are simply waiting for the call, and then Britain is Britain once more. But who is to give the call, who is to give the touch that sets the mighty machine going again, who is to clear away these black and yellow fogs enveloping and choking the land? ere is no sign yet of his coming. Is he to come after war and fire and pestilence have devastated the land? Is he first to drive the doubtful foreigner who sweats upon us from the door, and rid us of those “naturalised” undesirable aliens who are battening and fattening upon us—those rich nobodies who desert their own land to play mean little parts in ours, and call themselves British? What have they to do with the holding together and building of our Empire? Is it already too late? I think not, if only the board were swept of the place-hunting crew now infesting it, and those who have a little of the vim and patriotism of their ancestors come to the fore and take the helm. Perhaps some one will publish The Wit, Wisdom, Humour, and Brilliancy of the House of Commons for Ten Years, and so sing its requiem, ere the new Imperial Parliament rises in its place. It would be too good to be true! “At last! at last!" would cry the new lands over the seas. “At last Britain comes to her own again!” Will it ever be? How sick every one is of this party system, which is so unpatriotic.
That the day of the British is over—that is the idea that is spread now through the Dutch East Indies—purposely spread—and which has extended to our own priceless possessions of Singapore and Hong-Kong, that is spreading throughout the whole East, and is it the East alone? The natives of all sorts believe it. We only hold India, Ceylon, and our Eastern possessions through prestige— that gone, they go too.
That the day of the British is far from being over, is not the point. It is, that the world, and especially the East, must be shown that the idea is a false one, and must learn that the British Empire is as yet in its early days, and that the British race has no intention of abandoning its great destiny.]
Many of the Malays—or Celebians—are good- looking, but often small and thin. The descend- ants of the Arab pirates, whose deeds were once notorious, they betray numerous traces of their origin. The women cover their faces as they pass you, just as the Arab women do. They are dignified and well mannered, great sticklers for etiquette, and abhor practical joking or vulgarity —compared to them a British hooligan is a Brita savage. There are scores of Malay police and Dutch soldiers about Macassar—the latter in Glengarry bonnets. Many of the children are naked, but the general wear is coloured baggy trousers and the sarong of various checks. Some
wear enormous coloured hats. 
LIFE GUARD OF THE SULTAN OF DJOCJA.
NEW YEAR AT THE COURT OF DJOCJA.
JAVA.
the Sunda Islands, and is separated from Borneo by the Macassar Straits; it is larger than Norway and Sweden combined. Not much of this large island is known. The Dutch commenced trading in 1607, and in 1660 a fleet under Van Dam took it, expelling the Portuguese, who were allies of its sovereign. It is healthy on the whole. There are many lakes and mountains. Bantaeng is a great but quiescent volcano; Bonthian and Koruve both exceed 10,000 feet in height. The Bugis are a mercantile people and have done much for the prosperity of the place. There are Dutch officials in fifteen towns and villages. The territory of the Raja of Goa extends to within two miles of Macassar town. It is not safe to go into the interior unguarded, but doubtless this will soon be changed. At present the Alfours of that part are head-hunters, and drink the blood and eat the flesh of their victims. The people, both Bugis and Macassars, wear little drawers about twelve inches long, which do not come half-way down the thigh, and do not look as much dressed as the Papuans, who wore nothing! They wear the useful sarong in all sorts of ways and colours: orange, purple, crimson, and in variegated checks.
Macassar has about 20,000 inhabitants. Its trade is now almost entirely falling into the hands of the Germans. One street of Chinese and other shops and warehouses extends for about a mile along the shore, and parallel with it are two others —the European quarter. Bales of merchandise are piled up along the busy wharves. The Dutch houses are very quaint, neat, and clean, with white pillared porticoes and somewhat absurd prim gardens full of stone vases. The Dutch have strict regulations about keeping the houses whitewashed, the streets watered, and so on. At the end of these streets is Fort Rotterdam, the church, Government House, and the residences of Dutch officials.
It is quite strange to be thus suddenly in a town again with civilisation round one, and it seems quite grand. The houses nestle amidst fine trees and old cocoanut palms, and have a solid comfortable look as if they had been long there and meant to stay. Near the old Dutch fort is a broad grassy playground with a bandstand and surrounded by straight avenues of old canary and tamarind trees. Beautiful tall palms border the fine broad roads.
The street life is most picturesque and interesting. The long street full of Chinese and native stores was crowded with vendors of all sorts of things going about.
Why should one have tender memories here of London lodging-house landladies? On account of the Macassar hair-oil, of course. Macassar for the hair was once the rage, and greasy heads everywhere reposed on the grimy chair-backs in the lodgings of London Town. The landladies there-fore invented what they called “antimacassars,” dreadful woollen, crocheted, and even “cruel” —or is it crewel?—arrangements they hung over their grimy chair-backs to preserve them from the Macassar hair-oil on your head, and whenever you went out to see your best girl the antimacassar stuck to your buttons and went with you, and so you lost your dignity and your chance with that girl, and you owed it all in reality to this place!
I visited the club-house, the church, and then lunched at the M Hotel, which was very bad. The great, fat, bloated Dutch proprietress, dressed in the usual white dressing-jacket and the sarong
—a coloured checked cloth wrapped round her 
HOUSE NEAR MACASSAR IN CELEBES.
not trouble about her hotel guests in the least.
Then I went for a most charming drive into the country in a small pony-cart with two Malay boys in attendance. It was a beautiful, well-kept road, bordered with trees and countless native houses, most pretty and quaint, all built of bamboo and matting on bamboo poles, and varying in shape and style, gay with flowers and plants, and with groups of their occupants sitting in front. Some of the houses are mere toys. The road was crowded with cyclists, most of whom were Malays or Chinese—the latter are most prosperous here. After the savage cannibals and the wildness of New Guinea it all seems startlingly civilised here, and the life so interesting. Strange-looking bullocks are feeding about, and one hears bulls roaring and can hardly believe they are only bullfrogs!
I did some bargaining for any rubbish that took my fancy. Gems of sorts are sold in the streets. I was to have gone to visit the Sultan of Goa with Captain Niedermayer; but now he cannot go, and there is, it seems, some trouble in Goa at this moment. The Sultan’s palace is about ten miles from Macassar, and is a large ramshackly building with many galleries and annexes.
[In 1909 the Sultan fell into disgrace through intriguing against the Dutch.]
In the evening a number of Germans came on board. We shipped a large cargo of bundles of cane for Singapore for cane furniture making. I visited a funny dilapidated old Japanese teahouse, with two bridges and a houseboat—a reckless, dissipated, willow-pattern-plate look about it. Every house seems crowded with cockatoos and parrots. I had vague ideas of waiting here some time, but the Stettin had become such a home to me that I did not like the thought of leaving her.
We had a tremendous thunderstorm and downpour of rain at night, as here the rainy season sets in early in December.
The most interesting part of Celebes, for various reasons, is at Menado in the Minahasa district. It is a beautiful little town full of gardens, with good roads from it to the country. The people not so long ago were savages and head-hunters. They are short, well-made, and fair, and are said to bear traces of a supposed Japanese origin. They are now very quiet, peaceable, and gentle—most attractive in every way; and are the best clothed, best housed, fed, and educated, most industrious, peaceable, and civilised people in the whole of the islands. And all this was done by the missionaries and the Dutch in a very short time! In 1822 coffee was introduced and roads and plantations made. The system of government by the Dutch is good and suits the people. Each district has a European controlleur. The villages are very neat and clean, with pretty houses, and all the well-kept hedges are entirely of roses. The chiefs—sons of savage head-hunters—are now quite European in their ways, and entertain in proper fashion. All is most interesting and reflects the very greatest credit on the Dutch and on the people themselves. Amocrang is also a pretty place.
At or near Soemalata are gold mines, as also at Kivandang—but Celebes is a land of the future, full of undeveloped wealth of every descrip- tion. On the eastern coast is Todak, with gold mines and ebony plantations, and Gorontalo, near which is the green, weedy Lake Linnbotto, through
the water-channels of which only the native 
THE WATER CASTLE, BRAMBANAN, JAVA.
the home of somewhat restless and troublesome natives; but then, the interior of the country is populated by savages who are cannibals and slave-dealers, and who can only be brought under control by degrees.
In the mountains in Celebes—which are about 7000 feet high—is found the sapi-utan, or wild cow, half antelope and half buffalo, a small animal; and the babirusa, or pig-deer, peculiar to this island, the Sulu Isles, and Bouru. It has upper tusks curling back to its eyes, and is different from all other animals. There are here, in Macassar, all sorts of interesting birds, animals, and things for sale—but one cannot carry a menagerie round with one.
Now I have here acquired a new friend and made what is nothing less than a grand triumph, which has surprised me quite as much as it has the whole ship!
There is a rugged old Malay sailor on board who is a great character, and whom we have often discussed in the most unfavourable terms. He is devoted to the Captain, whom he calls “the old one,” but rude and uncivil to a degree to all the other officers and the passengers. He is such a good sailor, always doing his work unordered, that the officers excuse everything, and are quite content that his devotion to the Captain and his duty makes up for his ignoring of them. Patently he regards the passengers as mere encumbrances. When he comes along the deck he pushes the chairs and their occupants out of his way with surly grunts, and is deaf to the abuse it evokes. We all knew he was as good and honest as possible, and a great character, but objected to his surly, rude ways. I had never spoken to him, but had noticed he never interfered with me or my chair, so that I had no occasion to come down on him. He, in fact, spoke only to the Captain and ignored every one else.
Imagine, then, my surprise when here at Macassar he suddenly walked up to me on deck, and tapping me on the breast began speaking. I am quite unable to reproduce his English or what he said properly, but it was something like this;
“Look here, sir, you English gentleman, I poor old Malay sailor man. I see you here every day. I no speak to you—but I know you. Now I want speak to you. I poor old Malay sailor man, but I know you and I like you. Now here to-day come one man and he say to me, ‘ Here, you old Malay, you take these things under your clothes, and smuggle them for me, and I give you two shillings.” What I do that for? I old sailor man, but I honest man, I proud man. I no do that. I no do what not honest—no, never in my life. Why that man him dare come insult me because I poor old Malay sailor man?” Here another tap on the breast. “I come tell you that; you never do that. I know you, you real gentleman, and I old sailor man not one bit afraid to come and speak to you—I know, I proud man too! I know you proud man; I see you not able to do like that. What you tell me say to that one dam dishonest man?”
You might have knocked me down with the proverbial feather, I was so surprised at this outburst.
“Take absolutely no notice of him,” I said, when I recovered my breath, which this onslaught had utterly deprived me of. “‘ He is not worth it.”
““I know you say just what is right,” he said.
“I old sailor man, but I like you and I know you.” 
CHINAMAN'S HOUSE, SOLO.
STREET IN BATAVIA.
JAVA.
"What," he said, in the most hurt tone, "you think I come speak to you to get a cigar?"
"Oh no!" I exclaimed; "of course not. But any man can smoke a cigar with a friend, can he not? You just light that, and I am going to put these others in your pocket. Now you light up at once."
Just then up came the Captain and stood thunderstruck, then disappeared, to return with someone else to point out this extraordinary sight. There was the old Malay puffing away at a cigar, tapping me on the chest, and discoursing volubly! Such a thing had never been seen before.
After this he seldom took much notice of me, never even saying "Good-morning," but sometimes, as he passed my chair, he would give me a pat on the shoulder, and that meant much. Now and again I waylaid him and insisted on his having a cigar—always as a friend from a friend. The strange old thing grunted, and gave me a nod that spoke volumes. I understood him very well, and knew I had a real friend. My chair was always placed for me in the morning, and no one dared shift it. The little pat on the shoulder he gave me as he passed was a sign of greatest favour, and was so regarded by me and every one else; it betokened a secure friendship. I suppose this is a long tale all about nothing—it is not so to me—a gift from God it seemed to me, and it humbled me. Somehow I felt as if I had been a selfish, unseeing idiot!
Such things are lessons in life. We were a small community shut up together for some time in the ship―now and again I passed along the lower deck and said a careless word here or there. The Indian coolies were always most respectful to me and the other British, as one expects them to be. I made a joking remark to the Chinese, such as “How you likee this place? New Guinea man plenty eat ’em up here, Chinaman makee good dinner.” They would laugh uproariously over such remarks, and answer, “Chinaman welly good, but no good eatee—too muchee smokee,” and so on. I would dig the Malay or Javanese babies in the ribs now and again to make them crow, and their mothers smile, as they are beautiful, irresistible, dark-eyed little things—the babies, I mean, of course, not but what the mothers are very nice too. But I recognise now I never troubled much about any of them, and scarcely thought of the sailors—perhaps one could have done many things in little ways for them—been aware at least they were human beings—want of thought—surely much of the selfishness in the world comes from that? Now I feel I am a selfish pig, but I feel too conscious to be different. What is spontaneous is all right, what we force ourselves to do is a bore.
There is the monkey—ought I to have contributed to its ease and well-being also?—no, really, that would be too much! The deck passengers give it its daily due! “Preety Cockay”—ah! he makes up for everything, and no one can say I neglected him—I never got the chance. This introspective mood annoys me; it is so much better never to think. It is all the old Malay; he made me feel as if somehow I had been so selfish and unthinking.
The Celebes seemed a strange place to spend Christmas Eve, yet we had our Christmas tree—
an artificial one. We had all subscribed a small 
CRATER OF BROMO, TOSARI.
MOUNT BROMO, BATOK, AND SMEROE, WITH SAND SEA.
JAVA.
we raffled for. The Captain invited the people from the second class, and stood us all champagne. The presents were drawn for, and I got a nail-brush and a musical instrument you play with your mouth—in reality I think it was a dentist’s instrument, for all the ‘‘ music” I ever got out of it gave every one toothache—a horrid thing to have in hot weather. We all tried to be jovial and “merry,’’ which latter is an old-fashioned thing long gone out of date; the present generation knows it not. The whole function fell terribly, awfully flat, and the more cheerful we essayed to be the flatter it became. All the deck passengers came and gazed through the window at the strange religious festival, as they took it to be, and were quite subdued by our solemn faces.
We then migrated to the deck and our chairs, and a Bohle was brought up; we had more drinks, sang the “Watch on the Rhine” and various Volkslieder, and in the end all relapsed into a most sulky silence and got away from each other. I am afraid in every one’s mind were thoughts of the Christmas times in other climes, and we drank to “absent friends” in a dismal silence. I could picture them all in that cháteau in France—all round the fire with the dogs spread out on the rug—and knew how the Princess would speak of me and wonder where I was and recall old times; and they would be off to Mass probably, and be glad when the Christmas time was over. They would have their tree for the children from the village, and the old nuns would ask for “Monsieur I’ Ecossais” and throw up hands and eyes in amazement to learn he had gone amongst cannibal savages in a land they had never heard of. In Germany, in Italy, in many lands they would speak of me and wonder where I was, but they none of them could picture such surroundings as I was really amidst. It is but a sad time, Christmas, when we are no longer children. There seemed no Gluckliche Weihnachten about it somehow.
We discuss on the ship many subjects, ranging from Goethe and Schiller to the politics of to-day.
And Bismarck—he never dies—even in this hot weather he is with us. ‘‘ Bismarck would never do this or would have done that”; but there would have been no German Colonial Empire, no dream of this Weltpolitik, had Bismarck had his way.. He was the man of his time, but his time is not this time. And there is the Boer War! How kind it was of us to present such an interesting spectacle to the world, and how keen and sym- pathetic towards us was the feeling displayed! “‘ All the world may wonder,” they hum here, but they do not wonder at the admirable way in which we do it, but at the long time we take about it, and what hard work we find it.
“Never mind,’ I say amiably, “now you have got colonies and can show us how to manage things properly—just as you are doing now in South Africa and in New Guinea.”
This produces silence, but it does not seem a pleased silence.
“But, you know,” I go on, “you really must make a road or two so that people can get about and see how much you have colonised and all you have done; and how you use all that mag- nificent timber for your public buildings—but it is the Bishop does that—I forgot, of course he is French—how enterprising he is with his sawmill, his electric light, and his brewery, or whatever it is. I wish you would have a big war and show us how it is done; we know so little, you know—of course you have fighting in Africa— but somehow, you know—well, somehow it does not seem to go well—indeed "All the world is wondering"—but you are surely feeling it very hot to-day, you are quite flushed and panting—let us have another cool drink?”
Here there is a yell and a general Donnerwetter—it is “Preety Cockay” who was forgotten for a moment and brings himself to some one’s remembrance—sharply!
[There comes here into my mind a remark I heard a pretty English girl make to her German husband as we entered the harbour of Hong-Kong in the evening and saw all the harbour and the island blazing with lights, and up a thousand feet to the Peak—a magnificent sight that did make one feel proud. “Otto! Otto!” she cried, “do come here. You must say it is beautiful— even if it is English! ’’]
We crossed the Java sea with all its phraus and beauty, the brown sails wafting the rich merchandise to other lands—how great a thing is commerce in this world; it makes or mars a land.
It is a wonderland, that long stretch of mountainous volcanic’ islands reaching from the Asiatic mainland to Timor—Sumatra, Java, Bali, Sumbawa, Flores, and Timor, to say nothing of hundreds of lesser isles and islets. No wonder the Germans, the Japanese, and others look upon them with the lustful, greedy eye—it is not for me to revile them for that, since I am doing the same myself. Let us glance a little at these wonderful possessions of the Hollander.
“Here from the shore by rolling earthquakes hurl'd,
Through waves all foam, Sumatra’s isle was riv’n,
And, ‘mid white whirlpools, down the ocean driv’n.
To this fair isle, the Golden Chersonese,
Some deem the sapient monarch plough’d the seas;
Ophir its Tyrian name. In whirling roars
How fierce the tide boils down these clasping shores!
High from the strait the length’ning coast afar
Its moonlike curve points to the Northern Star,
Opening its bosom to the silver ray
When fair Aurora pours the infant day.”
First comes Sumatra, embracing the neck of the ‘Malay Peninsula, which we have grabbed. It is 1062 miles long, 260 broad, and 162,000 square miles in area. A chain of mountains runs from north to south—many are volcanoes. At the south it is separated from Java by the Straits of Sunda, where was the terrible Krakatau. The centre of the great island is still unexplored. The only well-known parts are Palembang, Benkulen, round Padang and Deli, and the Lampongs. Marco Polo spent five months here in 1291. When the Dutch drove the English out of Java in 1685 the latter built a fort and factory at Benkulen. In 1602 Queen Elizabeth sent a letter to the rich and important King of Acheen by Sir James Lancaster, and made a treaty with him. The British held Benkulen till 1824, when it was exchanged for Malacca. Owing to a reef, landing is somewhat difficult with a sea on, but it is a pretty place with a fort, and white houses shrouded in palms.
Lusé, about 12,100 feet,in Acheen, is the highest mountain. Lake Toba, an old crater, is 45 miles long by 15 broad. On the Equator is Mount Orphir, 9610 feet, a very conspicuous extinct volcano. Merapi is not extinct. Korinchi, 12,000 feet, is active. Krakatau Island lay in the Sunda
Straits; when it disappeared 40,000 people perished. On the 20th of May 1883 explosions 
TDUDJONG PASS, SUMATRA.
At 10 a.m. on the 27th occurred the great wave that overwhelmed all the coasts and rose from 78 to 115 feet. The Dutch man-of-war Berouw was carried inland nearly 2 miles and left 30 feet above the normal level of the sea. Villages and people were swept away. The mountain itself was blown to bits and had vanished. This great wave was felt in South Africa, 5000 miles away, and at Cape Horn, 7300 miles away. The great air wave went over the world and back and forward. At the island of Rodriquez in the Indian Ocean, 2968 miles distant, the noise was heard, as also at Dorey in New Guinea, 2014 miles. Nearer at hand it was less audible. The Chelsea artists tried to perpetuate the splendid blood-red effects it gave us on Father Thames—and in my old notebooks I find to this day my impressionist attempts, and so odd is memory that I can recall a burly carter coming and looking over my shoulder and saying, “I’m blowed, mister, if I can tell which is the right end of your picture, but that’s the—old bridge anyway.”
To-morrow or to-day the same thing may happen again—I mean the earthquake, not the carter’s remark—but who can look at the smiling scenes around and think of it. What remains of Krakatau is less than half of it, with a coned peak about 3000 feet high; 7 of it are now covered with green foliage and plants, there are even orchards at its base, though steam still rises from its riven bulk, and now that the imprisoned forces can find easy outlet there is not likely ever to again occur at this spot so terrific a catastrophe.
In Sumatra there are hugeforests of fourhundred different sorts of trees, and over it roam elephants, rhinoceroses, tigers, and many monkeys. We have a description of the King of Acheen by Queen Elizabeth’s envoy in 1613, as “a proper gallant man of warre, strong by sea and land, his country populous and his elephants many.” The Acheenese cannot be said to be conquered by the Dutch yet after thirty or forty years of warfare, but they are better in hand. Sumatrans are supposed to have a high and ancient descent, and to be now divided into forty tribes or clans, and the women are highly regarded. Though the hereditary chiefs have seats in the Dutch councils, they have no special privileges. There is much mineral and other wealth awaiting development. The Lake of Manindjoe, which has cliffs over tooo feet in height, may be reached from the garrison town of Fort de Kock, which is surrounded by good roads.
It is interesting to recall Marco Polo’s description of Sumatra in the thirteenth century. He tells us there are eight kingdoms in the island, each with a separate king and language. He describes six of them. Some of the inhabitants are followers of Mahomet, and some of them are idolaters and cannibals. He describes how the rhinoceros does not injure people with its horn, but tramples on them and lacerates them with its tongue, which was supposed to be armed with sharp spikes or, anyway, very rough. There were men with tails “a span in length, like those of the dog, but not covered with hair.” He refers to the ourang-utan, which means wild man. We are also told that the natives caught monkeys, shaved off the hair save in such places as it is found on the human body, giving them the appearance of little men. These they dried and preserved with camphor and other drugs, and sent them in little boxes to India and elsewhere as specimens of a dwarf or pigmy race—faking for curio-hunters even then!
Marco Polo had 2000 men with him during his stay in Sumatra, called by him Lesser Java.
Surely there never was such an amazing history as his. In China now you see him enshrined in bronze amongst Buddhas in the temples.
Padang, the chief town of Sumatra, has 20,000 inhabitants—Europeans, Arabs, Chinese, Malays, etc.—and is a beautiful place. At Ache, which has a large garrison, there are 14,000 inhabitants, with 490 miles ofrailway. Benkulen, with 12,000, is now rather desolate, and Palembang, 45 miles up a river and accessible to large ships, has a garrison and 60,000 inhabitants,of whom roo are Europeans. Sumatra boasts of wonderful mountains, lakes, and forests, the most quaint of peaked houses, and a varied race of Javanese, Malays, Klings, Batteks, and so on. There is coal in quantity, as well as most other minerals.
[At the north of Sumatra, about two days’ sail from Singapore, lies Sabang (Pulo Weh), which eleven years ago, in 1900, was but a small place. A depôt for coal was established by the Dutch at Weh, and Sabang possessing an excellent harbour and climate, it has rrade remarkable progress. There is deep water in the harbour, a large extent of wharves and sheds capable of storing 25,000 tons of coal, and there is always a minimum stock of 10,000 tons. Ships are coaled at the rate of 80 tons an hour. There is a dry dock and repairing slips, and coaling goes on during the night, an enormous benefit to many vessels now using it, and as well there is a large oil storage for their benefit. Land is being reclaimed, and additional wharfage and other facilities are in hand, and the island of Weh with its harbour, Sabang, is considered one of the most beautiful, desirable, and valuable places in the beautiful East—yet we gave it back to the Dutch! Unless Singapore looks out for herself, she will have more than a formidable rival here. Its rise to importance shows what may result from the development of the other islands. I believe it was at Sabang that the Russian fleet took refuge and coaled during the war.]
The narrowest part of the Straits of Sunda separating Sumatra and Java is 14 miles wide, but we will leave Java for the present, make for its east end, and cross a strait not 2 miles wide to Bali. It and the adjoining Lombok form one Residency, have seven native princes, and the two a total population of 1,042,000. Both are Hindu. The women—said to be beautiful—sometimes sacrifice themselves by thedead bodies of their husbands, being with much ceremony cut to pieces with a Malay kris. Between Bali and Lombok is deep sea, and Lombok presents quite other aspects to the more Malayan islands, approaching more to Australian features. It has no rhinoceroses, elephants, tigers, or tapirs. It was in Lombok in 1893-94 that the Sultan massacred a whole regiment of Dutch. It is said that when they went to capture him and raze his palace to the ground, he threw two million English sovereigns into a lake—I wonder if they are there now, and if one could drain it and get
them? It would be a beautiful find. Perhaps 
WEAVING.
PAINTING SARONGS.
JAVA.
be left high and dry to be picked up on afternoon walks. This Sultan was imprisoned and his son committed suicide.
I am not sure whether it was in Lombok or another isle that, after a revolution, the Sultan, when defeated, agreed to surrender to the Dutch troops. On the appointed day a great procession left the palace with the Sultan, and when the latter arrived before the Dutch General he, the Sultan, gave a signal, and instantly he and every single member of the blood Royal drew his or her Kris and killed themselves!
A deed for the songs of poets—the pity of it!
Lombok is 55 miles long by 45 broad. The Peak of Lombok, or Gunong Ringani, is 12,375 feet high, and nearly extinct. It has never been ascended. A lake of some size lies at the height of gooo feet. Coffee is much cultivated, and there are many cattle and horses. The Rajah has a good palace, and it is all very beautiful. The population is about 540,000. Not many Europeans are resident in it. Landing is difficult as there is always a very heavy surf and swell.
Straits 1o miles wide separate Lombok and Sumbawa, which is larger than Jamaica, but it is not well known. Tambora, go40 feet, is the highest peak; it is said to have been 13,000 feet high before the bad eruption of 1815. The present crater has a diameter of 7 miles. At this eruption great whirlwinds carried away men, cattle, and everything else, but where they were carried to I do not know, and I should have liked to have viewed the scene from a safe distance. The sea was covered with fine ashes to a depth of 2 feet, and ships could scarcely get through it. It rose 12 feet. No one can call: these places dull to live in; you may have excitement at any moment. The town of Tamora sank 18 feet under the sea, and out of 1200 people only 26 were left! This pleasant mountain is quiescent at present, but who can say what it may do? Pirates still sally forth in their phraus from here, and make for the Aru Isles and elsewhere. I wish they had flown black flags with Death’s heads, so that we could have distinguished them, as doubtless we saw some of their pirate craft. There are two Sultans, they of Sumbawa and Bima, and each of these towns has about 5000 inhabitants. These Sultans rule, but there is a Dutch controlleur and a garrison at Bima. The ponies of this island are noted as being very good.
Numerous isles, many uninhabited, lie between Sumbawa and Flores.
[A number of Dutch soldiers were ambushed and massacred in Flores in August 1909.]
People at home, who talk vaguely of the East Indies as well-known civilised islands, little dream how far that is from being the case, or what scope there is for trade and commerce with their large populations, and what folly it is to throw all this trade away to others—we, too, at Singapore at their door! Even Singapore has allowed a great part of her trade to fall to Germans, and their flag is fluttering all over the place.
If the great manufacturing and trading cities of Great Britain, such as Liverpool, Manchester, Leeds, Glasgow, and so on, would wake up out of their obsolete methods, and their great firms would send out well-educated, clever, bright, energetic young men to all these rich and populous places to learn and see on the spot what the people want, and then establish agencies and make for them what they desire and send it out in British ships, how splendid the gain to country and individuals
alike, and what an interesting employment for 
RIVER AT PALEMBANG, SUMATRA.
We arrived at Pandjong Priak, the port of Batavia in Java, about 11 a.m. on December 27th, after passing various small islands. A mole of some size is entered by a narrow passage, and Pandjong Priak consists of wharves with great rows of “godowns,” or goods sheds, and the railway station at the back. How horribly civilised and ordinary! Where have I got to? Letters and a telegram—fancy a telegram—awaited me from Baron Carel van Haeften, who, they tell me, has already been down to see if the Stettin had arrived. I am asked to go to the telephone—a telephone!—and I have just been writing about pirate phraus and Sultans chucking millions of sovereigns into a lake—and as I do so I see a ship with the British flag, the first I have seen since leaving Australia! Think of it—the first British flag! “All German man now; Englishman no good now”’—is it a wonder impudent natives say and think that? These rich, rich islands full of “trade’”’—this splendid route—all this lying between our possessions of Singapore and Australia —and never a ship carrying our flag amidst it all.
There is such a strong smell of bilge water or bad drains—the Dutch must have forgotten to look after sanitary matters, or else it must be this German ship—the Germans again!
From Pandjong Priak I went by train up to Batavia, and taking one of the small pony-carriages plying for hire, drove to the Hotel de Nederlanden. The way from Priak is through low marshy land, thick with tropical vegetation and smelling to heaven, so I wondered if, after all, it could have been the ship or the drains that had so offended me. The heat was intense—a moist,clammy heat. From ‘the station to the hotel is along a wide street with a canal down the middle—I thought it must be that canal that was so odoriferous, as the smell was as bad there as anywhere. It was all most beautiful and a feast of colour, as the Chinese, Malays, and Javanese were so picturesque in their varied attire, and the whole town has its own cachet. We passed through the large Chinese town with its quaint buildings and teeming population, all so busy, with their pigtails flying about in every direction. I have always liked Chinese servants, they are so quiet and glide about, and you need never yell at them, you merely pull the pigtail like a bell-rope as they pass, and it rings inside them without undue tinkling, which is so disturbing to the nerves.
Then the more Dutch town begins. Very hand- some white stone houses—white marble too—with tiled roofs and pillared porticoes, most of them one-storeyed on account of earthquakes. The large, handsome porticoes and the rooms beyond are quite open, even the interiors of the bedrooms visible. Quantities of beautiful flowering plants in ornamental pots are placed about, and the inhabitants are lolling in easy-chairs in scanty attire—a great air of freedom and ease pervades it all. Beautiful grounds surround each house, and there are no walls or fences at all sometimes. As a visitor from honest Europe, one feels they are not taking care of themselves and their possessions, and wonders which house is best to burgle first. The Hotel des Indes, with its dependencies, seems a most imposing establishment.
But what extraordinary costumes! Here are great fat Dutchwomen walking about, bare-headed
and bare-legged, dressed in white dressing-jackets 
PALACE AND GROUNDS OF THE GOVERNOR-GENERAL, BUITENZORG, JAVA.
round their fat legs. They pace along ponderously and indifferently under their parasolsandumbrellas. The costume is bearable on a young and pretty woman—but on a very fat old one!
The men in the morning, and as a sleeping suit, wear hideous, wide, baggy trousers made out of coloured sarongs.
The Hotel de Nederlanden is a huge building with any amount of dependencies, in front of which run long, wide verandahs. My bedroom was in one of these, and my sitting-room in the verandah in front of it.
Carel van Haeften soon joined me, and what a pleasure it was to see an old friend again and to chat over old days in Germany and in Holland, and about the van Lenneps, the van der Ouder- muelens, and all his people at The Hague—his kind old father, his handsome, charming sisters, and his brother, Pankie, so well known in London. I found him looking thin and white, but well; but it must be a trying climate. He lives in one of the dependencies of the hotel, and his sitting-room is merely a large part of the wide verandah in front of his other rooms, separated from the rest of the verandah by screens. Here he has his writing- table, books, photographs, ornaments, easy-chairs —in fact, a furnished room. It is quite open in front and only separated from the garden and road by a little railing. Any one passing has only to stretch a hand over and take what they please. He has a telephone there and a native servant always in attendance. When I expressed my astonishment at such confidence in the natives and every one else, he told me that nothing was ever touched, that no native or any one else would ever dream of stealing anything. Day and night it is open for them to do it if they wish, but they never do. I wonder what dreadfully honest sort of place I have come to, and hope it won’t hurt my character.
“Is it really you, Carel, and is this really Java?” I ask, for it seems so strange to be sitting opposite an old friend out here, smoking and drinking—but good it is to see again a friend, and one whose face and name can only recall such pleasant memories. I ask many questions, and he tells me many interesting things—but all the time, delighted and charmed as I am with the beauty and character of my surroundings, I am only too conscious of that terrible odour. It must be bad drains, is so strong, and has pervaded every inch of Batavia I have seen since I arrived at Pandjong Priak Wharf—the train, the streets, the canal, and now the hotel.
“It is a most interesting and beautiful place,” I say, “but it must be unhealthy with such terrific drainage—or want of drainage.”
“Drainage?” queries Carel.
“Yes, this awful smell that pervades the whole place—how can you endure it?”’
Carel leaned back in his chair and laughed till he was no longer pale, but quite rosy.
“It is not drains,” he said, “it is the durian— our famous fruit!”
Then he explains that this much-prized fruit, a large thing with a hard rind, is perfectly delightful and beloved by every one, only that it has this awful smell. At first you cannot go near it—I can well believe that—and when you do, it is long ere you have the courage to attack it. You generally give it up at first and fly from it, but once you overcome the smell, and taste the fruit, you are content. Perhaps so.
I, of course, asked to be shown the durian at once, but it was so overpowering that I was never brave enough to touch it. The smell is everywhere, and you cannot get away from it. And I thought it was a bilgy ship, a marshy swamp, a stagnant canal, or bad drains!
It ought to be introduced to London as a new delicacy—only, the Sanitary Inspector would be sure to come to dinner!
I walked to the station with Carel to meet Mr. and Mrs. Dunlop and their daughter, who was his affianced bride., They are Dutch, in spite of their Scottish name. Their smart carriage, with liveried servants, was waiting for them.
In the evening we went to Vorsteegs Café, opposite our hotel, and sat at a table in front of it, separated only by a low wall from the street. This is the fashionable meeting-place and evening drive. All the smart world turned out in carriages of various descriptions, drove up and down, halted to speak to friends, or got out and entered the café to greet others. Some of the carriages were very smart, with liveried servants. Some people had huge barouches, called “milords,” with native servants behind, four horses and postilions— quite overpoweringly grand. Some ladies, old and young, had bare heads, which looked odd in their carriages—but then this was night, when they all wake up and come out in the “coolth.” It was, for me, an original scene, and so reminded me of pictures of old colonial days.
Miss Dunlop [now Baroness Carel van Haeften and resident at The Hague] drove up in a smart little English cart with a good pony and quite English-looking dapper groom, and joined us for a time. After naked savages all this was a great change to be suddenly launched into the society of smart ladies. Miss Dunlop knew every one, and I admired then, as I have always done, the smartness of the Dutch girls. We went back to the hotel to dine. There I had put before me a huge bowl of white rice, with here and there mysterious objects poking through the rice. This is the great dish in Java. I set to exploring at once. In your rice you find fish, chicken, and I don’t know what all; you have everything there in the same bowl, not mingled, but nicely buried apart in the great heaps of rice. I liked this very much, and discovered all sorts of delicacies planted there which were to my taste. This was, however, but one dish served at a very good dinner.
Then we got into long chairs in Carel’s verandah room, with something to “smokee” and cool drinks, and yarned for hours. The worst was that the lights attracted simply myriads of flying ants, beetles of every shape and size, and all sorts of insects—a cloud of them. You may get used to this—you have to—but it is not agreeable at all.
Batavia was founded by the Dutch General Koen, in 1619, on the ruins of a Javanese town, and has a population (1900) of 115,890. It has suffered much from volcanic eruptions and from the continual malaria. It is said a million people died between 1730-52. Probably the durian did for them—or am I prejudiced? I must be, for I read somewhere that in Sumatra at one season are great durian feasts, in which men, monkeys, and elephants join in amiable peace, and that even the tigers come forth and devour this fragrant fruit! Whoam I to disdain what these interesting others so adore? I am at least generous enough to not even desire to deprive a tiger of its durian.
Buitenzorg has the Governor-General’s Palace and the world-famed Botanical Gardens, the beauty of which seems to astonish all travellers;
and here is the tomb of the wife of Sir Stamford 
GOING TO MARKET.
ON THE WAY TO MARKET.
FORT DE KOCK, SUMATRA.
bound by treaty to keep in order. Many people reside at Buitenzorg, which is 45 miles from the capital. The roads about it are excellent, and both roads and railways in Java are good.
Java is 48,638 square miles in area, two-thirds larger than Ireland, and is estimated to have a population of twenty-nine millions—so that it may well be called a rich garden. It has noless than twenty active volcanoes. The mountains rise to a height of 10,000 feet, and Semeru, over 12,000 feet, is the highest. It is 575 geographical miles long, and from 28 to 105 miles broad. According to some, Java was the Garden of Eden, and here, too, rested the Ark after the Flood, and still rests for ever petrified on the mountain peaks. I looked about in the shops for any relics of Noah, but could find none.
The antiquities of Java are amongst the most remarkable in the world. These ancient Hindu temples and ruins of great size and magnificence are supposed to date from 600 A.D. The Hindu influence was destroyed by the Arabs in 1478. Java is mentioned by Marco Polo in 1290, and was visited by the Italian traveller L. Varthema in 1505. The Dutch, under Houtman, landed in 1595, and in 1610 a fort was built by them at Batavia. In 1677 the Dutch enlarged their possessions, and went on acquiring territory by war up till 1830—they had five great wars. From 1811 to 1815 it was occupied by the British, under Sir Stamford Raffles, who did much in that short time.
North and west shallow seas with islets separate it from Sumatra, Banka, and Blitong. The volcanoes are mostly grouped together in a mass. In 1699 Salak, 7266 feet, caused a great catastrophe; it is now quiescent. By the sudden and short eruption of Papandayang, 8611 feet, in 1772, it is said 4000 people and 40 villages were destroyed. Guntur—the Mountain of Thunder— is always up to mischief and doing damage; it is 7362 feet high. Then in 1822 Galunggung, a quite placid apparently extinct mountain, 7313 feet high, without the slightest warning suddenly gave vent to a thunderous roar and a dense cloud of smoke poured forth, whilst hot water, stones, and mud flowed down, destroying everything, and stones and ashes covered a radius of twenty miles. Not content with this it repeated the performance, half the mountain was blown away, large stones thrown seven miles, the country covered with many feet of greenish-blue mud, 114 villages and 4000 people destroyed. There are also many mud geysers and such things. The rivers, though small, are many. At least a hundred bad thunderstorms take place annually.
No one can call this a dull land, or one without interest, with all this activity around. Apparently you cannot sit down quietly for a moment with everything popping off in this manner without a word of warning.
A great part of this lively island is covered with forest, but much of it is really a garden. There are splendid trees, and the teak is famous. Rice, coffee, chinchona, all sorts of fruit—in fact, everything grows. Two hundred and forty species of birds are known, of which forty are peculiar to Java: there are wild peacock, jungle fowl, pigeon, quail, and tigers, leopards, rhinoceroses, wild dogs, and wild pigs; monkeys, wild oxen, and deer add to its attractions, to say nothing of the durian, which does not allow itself to be overlooked.
The Javanese are noted as being very truthful and straightforward, are very docile, industrious, and sober, and are also attractive in looks. They are excellent workmen, good weavers and agriculturists, and understand irrigation very well. There are over 550,000 Chinese and about 30,000 Arabs; they both intermarry with the Javanese. There are various languages in the island. In 1900 there were 76,000 Europeans, and to-day 800 of these are Germans, 274 Belgians, and 180 British. The people, though professedly Mohammedans, are in reality mostly pagans. This rich, beautiful, populous land is a Garden of Eden, despite the volcanoes, and the people are both contented and happy under Dutch rule, which suits them; and long may they continue under it, despite some present clouds in the sky.
The great buildings and cities of former days seem to have been extraordinary in size and magnificence. How strange, then, it seems that the dwellers in Java of those days had not penetrated south from island to island on to New Guinea and Australia. Who knows but yet, in the unknown interior of New Guinea, ancient Hindu ruins may be found, showing they had been there. [The natives of Macassar, in Celebes, in recent times have been in the habit of going as far as Port Darwin and the Northern Australian coast, and it is thought have done so for a long period of time. I still think that either in Dutch New Guinea, or even in Northern Australia, traces of ancient habitation may yet be found. When one remembers that the huge Hindu ruins in Java lay for centuries forgotten and concealed in tropical jungle, it is quite possible the almost impenetrable jungles of New Guinea may hide interesting secrets.] The ruined city of Majapalut covers miles of ground. The bricks used in construction are of marvellous beauty, and appear to have been welded together with some invisible cement. Some of the brick architecture is very imposing. At Brambanam, in the centre of the island, are great ruins built of stone ornamented with carvings and mouldings. The temple of Borobodoer is 520 feet square and 120 feet high, situated on the summit of a hill, and has six terraces raised one above the other, surmounted by a cupola surrounded by seventy-two smaller temples in triple rows, with 400 figures of Buddha in niches; and there are hundreds of such ruins.
Djokjacarta, which has its sultan’s palace, is famous for the wonderful architectural remains in its vicinity.
Borobodoer, or Boro-boedoer, was erected about twelve centuries ago! For six hundred years it lay unknown and forgotten, buried in a tropical jungle. Under British domination was commenced the clearing of this jungle, which is said to have taken six weeks and to have employed hundreds of labourers.
Sourabaya is, after Batavia, the important port of Java. It contains Chinese houses and temples, Arab mosques and Malay buildings, to say nothing of the spotless white houses of the Dutch; the land is a brilliant garden, and has an additional charm in its own active volcano Bromo, which rejoices in the largest crater in the world, three miles in diameter, a bottomless pit of seething vapours and fiery floods, with volumes of smoke and red-hot stones cast up to fall back again. It seems strange that these wonderful lands do not attract more tourists than they do, and how little realisation there is in Europe of their size. [Australians are at last beginning to frequent them as holiday resorts.] Borneo, for instance, is larger than France and Germany combined. Java is 700 miles long; Sumatra is 1400. - They are generally referred to in Europe as little islands ‘“somewhere out in the
East.” 
BORO BOEDOER TEMPLE, JAVA.
these things, poke about these ruins, drop bits of soap down the volcanoes to see if they will go off as do the geysers in Iceland. This is in truth one of the richest and most interesting countries in the world, and so easily got to, so that I do hope I can one day return for a long stay.
I was up at 5 a.m. in the morning, and at 6 o’clock Carel van Haeften took me for a drive with a pair of fast ponies for miles all round Batavia, or through it, perhaps, as we never appeared to get away from beautiful houses and gardens. We seemed, indeed, to pass countless houses, some of which are really very fine, with huge white marble pillared porticoes and marble floors, and each house set in a lovely garden full of wonderful trees, plants, and flowers. These white-pillared porticoes are gay, too, with flowers in Chinese and Japanese vases. Apparently these fine houses spread out for miles, and many are without walls or fences, It never struck me before how we wall and bar ourselves into our domains at home; but no wonder when one thinks of the coarse, ill- mannered, ungentle, unpleasant, dishonest people we have to keep out of them! For, in truth, when you think it out and compare our “free-born Britons ’’ and other Europeans of the lower classes with the same class of people in the East, it does give one pause! We are so used to it in Europe it never strikes us, and that is the best, or the worst, of travel—you are for ever learning that your own countryfolk are in no way superior to the people of other lands, and often do not equal them. Even among savages now and again a sort of feeling of dismay comes over one as to what our so-called civilisation really is, and if we are not all blind mistaken idiots pursuing wrong ideals. I suppose every one feels this in “uncivilised”’ lands at times. One remembers the hooligans of London, of Paris, of Glasgow. What are they but foul-mouthed, foul-thinking, foul-living savages? No “savage” land contains such beings—but it seldom strikes us to think about them in such a light, we are so accustomed to them.
The roads here are a sight to see, splendid and beautiful roads, crowded with streams of natives pouring in with their produce to the market. There were scores of cyclists, including Chinese and Javanese; many handsome carriages, and also many well-dressed Chinese driving about, and in some roads were trams. All this made an inter- esting, beautiful picture in the cool morning air; it was a charming drive and my companion such good company.
The palace of the Governor-General is a huge, long, white-pillared house.
There is, of course, strong anti-British feeling everywhere—the Boer War so embittered the people against us from the mistaken ideas promulgated among them. You see many remains of old buildings built while we occupied Java— in fact, what the great Sir Stamford Raffles did has left its mark on the place.
But the Dutch speak now quite calmly of “when we come under the flag of Germany,” as if it was an inevitable thing. There is no heir to the House of Orange who is really Dutch, and it seems inevitable to them that great changes are to occur. But it is strange to hear these Dutch—so tenacious a people—calmly speaking as if it were an inevitable thing that one day they must pass under the German flag.
In the Netherlands they have not arrived at this idea by any means; but the Dutch have ever been noted for playing a mere selfish policy which blinds them to outside things. What does it matter to them, they say, what happens to other countries, so long as they are left in peace, they quite forgetting that any war between two Great Powers in Europe must affect them, and seriously. Who can say what is coming? For instance, many Dutch people have said to me that, in the supposition of a war between Germany and Great Britain, the British would defend them. Per- haps so—let us hope the British could. But the Netherlands must wake up and show where her friendship lies if she wishes to secure that friendship in time! There is no use in locking the stable door when the steed is stolen.
I can imagine nothing better for the Dutch East Indies and their people, and for the Nether- lands herself, than that Queen Wilhelmina should come out and visit all her wonderful possessions here. Hers would be the vivifying touch some- what needed now; she would be received with the most unbounded enthusiasm and wildest joy, and how proud, how rightly proud, she would be to see the interesting races she rules over with both wisdom and kindness, and the glorious rich lands which hail her queen. Here she would make a truly Royal triumphal progress, and it is just the thing that is needed. May I be here to see if it ever happens. I have had glimpses of that young Queen when she was a mere child and as she grew up, shouted myself hoarse as I stood amongst her people at the time of her enthronement and the heralds came out on the palace balcony at Amsterdam to proclaim her titles, and saw the young Queen herself in her Royal robes come out and stand alone before her people—the “phlegmatic Dutch”—how they cried, sang, shouted, and went mad with joy! It was a beautiful sight, a stirring moment. Let the Queen come and be honoured and acclaimed all her route till she reaches her own great possessions here—she will do what no one else can do. Were I a Dutchman I would entreat her to do it—as it is, I do entreat. What pleasure she herself would surely derive from it all, and what is it but a few months' change from Holland? She is sovereign out here over millions of people, and nowadays the empires over the seas have claims upon their sovereigns, the day for indifference has gone by.
[Now things have changed. A baby has done it. The coming of the child—the hope of the Netherlands—has given new spirit to the Dutch people, and is wakening them up; there is no longer any talk of coming under other flags. But they must not fall asleep again; they must no longer leave their isles and seas to a lonely solitude. The day has gone by when a nation can claim a land—as the Dutch did their part of New Guinea—and warn all others off, though they do not occupy it themselves. Effective occupation alone can make it theirs, and that gives promise now of taking place. The House of Orange has an heir—that means much. The Princess Juliana is the most important child in Europe. Nevertheless, sovereigns of great empires can no longer remain quietly at home as of yore; the world and its peoples have changed; the over-seas peoples have grown so rich and powerful that their claim upon their monarchs is as great a one as that of the home people. It is no longer a journey of time and danger to get to the other side of the world; it is merely a short pleasure trip. The Germans once called their sovereign “Gondel Willy” on account of his partiality for making journeys; it was fatuous wit, for the journeys of the German Emperor showed his wisdom and advertised his country, and a consequence of them has been that now all Germans want to travel and see things for 
A BABOE, SOLO.
AT BORO BOEDOER.
JAVA.
William can scarcely be expected to visit Tsingtau or Kaiser Wilhelm’s Land—“dots in the ocean” out there—but Queen Wilhelmina rules over great and rich lands and millions of people who need to see their sovereign—and it is not Queen Wilhelmina alone who should go travelling far afield. The sovereign is the one real link between widely scattered lands, and is the symbol of their united nationality, and as so can no longer afford to ignore the claims of far-away subjects. As well it teaches the peoples of the homelands their proper place, and that they are but parts of a whole, and not the whole themselves.]
There are nations beyond the seas now—not, as before, mere scattered communities—and those nations will in time want a head for themselves if they never see their hereditary crowned one. The people at home must begin to realise that. We are not the only nation that must “wake up.” [Now we hear the good tidings that the great British King-Emperor will have himself crowned in his Empire of India—what a splendid and striking fact it will be in history—and we may hope that other parts of his great Empire may sometime also see their sovereigns—it is the most wise of proceedings.]
I wonder if this climate—and the Durian—will exercise as enervating an effect on the German, Japanese, or American activity as it has done on that of others? It certainly is not a climate that permits of much energy. The people rise very early, but by eleven or so retire to their house, get into slipshod attire, repose all day, and only come forth in the evening. They dine about nine or so, and soon retire to bed. It does not sound very lively, and seems a somewhat slovenly life. It may be the only possible one. After this glimpse at Batavia and sniff at the Durian—a very long sniff, though—I rejoined the Stettin and we sailed at eleven in the morning. Amongst new passengers was a young English- man, Mr. Louis Wright, a Ceylon tea-planter, connected also with tea-plantations in Java. He had been in South Africa with the Ceylon contingent, but was invalided home on account of enteric fever.
The second day we had a fine, fresh, and most welcome breeze. We passed through the Banca Channel—which is narrow and full of shoals and sandbanks—between the island of Banca and Sumatra. All the shipping between Borneo and Sumatra goes through the straits. Banca belonged to the Sultan of Palembang. In 1811, when the British got their Sumatra settlements, the Sultan killed all the Dutch to please them, and they, in the most ungrateful manner, dethroned him for his trouble. In 1816 it was restored to the Dutch. There are 375,000 Malays, 30,000 Chinese, and 200 Europeans on it. Muntok, with a population of 6000, is the chief town and is fortified and garrisoned.
We were in crowded seas with many craft around us, and we passed the French sailing ship Sylvia from Havre, in full sail—a most beautiful sight. We discussed Sumatra and the endless war the Dutch wage with the Acheenese, which has gone on for somewhere about forty years. The Acheenese say—or once said—they would be content if the British got Sumatra, an improbable thing now—the Germans are simply dying to possess it, and one of their much-discussed aims is to have a settlement on its shores directly opposite Singapore, so as to render that key to the East useless whilst we hold it. Such a thing is out of the question. Singapore is now too important for us to allow any other Power to interfere with it. [The rise of Sabang has brought a new factor on the scene. Formidable rival though it may be to Singapore, whilst it is in the hands of the Dutch we do not need to regard it with anything but friendly interest.] But if the Netherlands once join the German Empire, or are forced to do so—then good-bye to us in the East and to India. However, there is Japan; she cannot hanker after new rivals in the Germans, especially as she would like all these islands herself. There are countless interesting political questions here. Japan, Great Britain, Germany, the Netherlands, Portugal, and the United States have all parts to play, and there is an awakened China to reckon with at some not far distant date. It is the East that is to become the burning question of the world. Though, indeed, there is the Near East as well!
[Let those who should, remember and ponder over the defeat of the Italians by the Abyssinians, and the defeat of the Russians by the Japanese, and realise what it means to all Asiatic or Eastern peoples, and what thoughts it has raised in them. Is there not to be China for the Chinese and India for the Indians? The Western in their eyes is no longer the infallible dominant race, but, they have learnt, can be made to bow before the Eastern. The coming questions in the East, as in the rest of the world, entail unceasing vigil- ance and thought—are they receiving them?
Korea has become an appanage of the Japanese Empire—what next?
At Pearl Harbour, in the track of every line of connection, the Americans are making an impreg- nable fortified harbour. Why? Could no British statesman—or politician—look far enough ahead to see what was coming, what was inevitable when the Sandwich Islands passed to America? Do they realise what the fortified Panama Canal is going to mean? Do they believe that the Americans will let any temporary checks interfere with their ultimate aim of fortifying that canal and assuming full power? Do they believe that the Republic of Panama—in reality a creation of the Americans—is destined to be anything but a stopgap? Mr. Roosevelt has already openly proclaimed his ideas on the subject. To suppose that it does not concern us is childish, for the ultimate prosperity and fate of the British West Indies is involved with Panama—and there is British South America and British Central America —for they exist—and it therefore lies with the British Government to look far ahead and guard our interests. It would be well, too, for those who look ahead to study the doings and aims of the “International Bureau of American Republics”—that combination of, I think, twenty one Republics, banded together to foster their own interests, but not to foster the interests of Europe. Truly there are mighty problems facing us in many parts of the globe! Are we to sit idle, do nothing, and imagine all the world loves us so dearly that we are safe? Is it only the North Sea that is to see the grey hulls of the British fleet? In the East “things are to happen” at no distant date.
What this land wants is war—war here at our doors—war devastating our homes, destroying our cities and our harbours—only then will she wake up—too late!
In 1900 what was Kiaochou or its city of Tsingtau?—a mere nothing. Here Germany has indeed shown what she can do in this line if supported. In these ten years Tsingtau has risen into
a fine city, with magnificent Government House, 
BORO BOEDOER, JAVA.
for Europeans and Chinese, and handsome private residences. Roads and railways, electricity and many industrial concerns have all been introduced. There are afforested preserves with nurseries and gardens kept up by a vote of £5000 a year. In the harbour is the immense floating dock which can lift a vessel of 16,000 tons. Within the dock- yard enclosure are navy store yards, and there is a staff of somewhere about fifty Europeans, as well as the Chinese. Germans may well point with pride at what has been achieved in a few years—but this is no colonisation—for it must be remembered that no money has been spared, and that the Fatherland has devoted to this purpose well over £6,500,000 sterling, and continues enormous grants, not as loans, but as free grants. But how wisely expended, as a rich return will be eventually received. In striking contrast to this is the British concession of Wei-hai-wei, the value of which is great, but which, through vacillation and neglect of the home Government, has in no way developed or fulfilled its promise. Indeed, indeed, it is time to “‘wake up!”]
What countless beautiful palm-clad islands we steamed amongst—1001 of them, some one said —all valuable, all beautiful, and as yet with a future before them, numbers of Malay phraus and other craft plying these lovely waters.
Blitong, or Billiton, south-east of Banca, is 1800 square miles in area, and its highest point 3117 feet. Then there is Sinkop Isle, Lingga Isle, and, with many others, Bintang, lying directly opposite Singapore. This is called the Rhio- Lingga Archipelago, a mass of reefs, shoals, and islands at the end of the Malay Peninsula. The Dutch have a prosperous port at Rhio Isle, where many boats call, and which is full of Chinese and Malays. At Lingga—a pretty town—there are 8000 inhabitants. This archipelago is from its situation an important one, and more than one Power is casting longing eyes on Bintang, or one of the others, so as to be directly opposite Singapore.
On the evening of 30th December we anchored alongside the wharf at Singapore and I came ashore to Raffles Hotel, a huge, imposing edifice with two wings. With regret I left the Stettin which for so long had been my pleasant home. From Captain Niedermayer and from all connected with her I had received nothing but continuous kindness and attention, and I shall always bear them all in grateful and kindly remembrance. I was even sorry to say “good-bye” to “Preety Cockay,” and missed the daily attack of his terrible beak. May he live long to inflict it on others is, I think, the most suitable wish I can make him.
Quite a fracas occurred as I was leaving, and I found my old Malay sailor-man had taken my bag from the steward, insisted on carrying it and escorting me down the gangway. Then we solemnly shook hands—I actually ‘“‘ choky’’ and almost ‘‘ weepy’’—and so our queer friendship came to an end. I look back on those many weeks on that German boat with unalloyed pleasure and a little touch of sadness. I learnt many things and was taught many things, and am grateful for all.
Singapore ways were new to me, though those who have dwelt in the East will scorn my ignorance. My bedroom opened on the long, wide balcony, and the space in front, partly enclosed and furnished with table and chairs, was my sitting-room. The little swing-door of the bedroom reached neither floor nor ceiling, so that it concealed little of the room. There were two dressing-rooms and one of these was my bathroom. It also had a little swing-door opening into the inner hall. Chinese “boys,” as they are called, passed to and fro, in and out, regardless of me or my state of apparel. They paid no attention to anything I said, nor could f bar them out anyway. When I wanted them I had to go and call them, and it so happened that I wanted many things, for I was discarding all my garments worn on the voyage, so that no New Guinea fever microbes should abide with me, and what did on the ship would not do in smart Singapore. After many appeals to passing servants, a languid Englishman in the next balcony compartment said to me, “‘ Excuse me, but these are my boys you are ordering about.”’ I apologised and asked how I could possibly know that, as they seemed to use my room as a passage. He said they were incorrigible that way, and explained that here one engaged at once one’s own Chinese boys to wait on one—they were not hotel servants at all! He sent for an hotel servant for me for the meanwhile.
But now I am getting into the way of things here. I could not get on without attention, so said to the hotel people I must have boys to wait on me, and to “‘ put them in the bill.” Now I appear to have six. They all look the same and I no longer lack attention or attendance. I live a life of mingled laziness and overpowering energy, half in my chair here and half tearing about oaeeves in “rickshaws.”’ My neighbour next door I do not see unless I advance to the front of the balcony. He then takes his cigar out of his mouth and says “Ah!” He is always in his chair in exactly the same attitude with apparently the same cigar at the same stage. He never smiles and seldom speaks. Once as I was leaving the hotel my conscience pricked me and I thought perhaps he was ill and needed sympathy, so I returned the length of the huge building and along the balcony.
“Are you ill—are you well—are you all right?”’ I asked.
He looked astonished, then said, “All right.”
“That’s all right,” I said, and departed, feeling satisfied and quite unable to prolong this interest- ing conversation. I have since discovered his vocabulary is limited to “Ah!” “Yes and No,” “Pretty well,” “Not bad,’ and “All right.” It simplifies life.
A suspicion has just dawned on me that two of my attendants are his—they seem familiar somehow. But I don’t know where any of them come from—if they are hotel servants, or his, or mine, or whose. I just accept the situation— it suits the climate. Anyway, already they are by way of “taking care of me,” and grinning faces—all the same—and flying pigtails are everywhere.
My programme is, after my morning tub, to go and lie in my pyjamas with bare feet in my long chair. My tea is there, fruit, smoking material, books, and a Singapore newspaper. If I want anything I pull the nearest passing bell- rope—I mean pigtail—and point at something. They are wonderful, though; they know now even without my pointing. I notice, too, they have suddenly coiled their pigtails in an elegant coronet round their heads. I wonder why? I never see any one attending to my neighbour next door, but I can’t help that. All my bag- gage is unpacked, strewn about, and in process of repair and cleaning. They did it all unasked, so I don’t worry.
The first night I got into a rickshaw, and
said I must be driven—or whatever you say in a -
STAIRCASE IN BORO BOEDOER -
THE BORO BOEDOER HINDU TEMPLE
JAVA.
tore along, scattering every one right and left; went first through a crowded street, and I had visions of painted ladies rising in balconies and rows of Japanese girls calling out in chorus, but we tore past unheeding and raced all over the place. “Here—hi!” I cried at last; “not so fast— stop!” whereupon my coolies came to a dead stop and nearly threw me out. I admire much the fat, rich-looking Chinese driving about in grand carriages with liveried Malay servants on the box, and I saw three stout Chinamen packed into one rickshaw, and their coolie nearly fainting with the weight. These Chinese become rich and prosperous under our Government, but if they went to China would lose their wealth and their heads—but it will not be always so.
Captain Niedermayer, Captain Dunbar, and a young German friend of theirs, apparently from some house of business here, came to see me one evening, and we sat on the verandah having whiskies and sodas. At first all was right, but by degrees the young German merged into his own language, forgot me entirely, and commenced railing against the misgovernment of Singapore, and the imbecility of the British authorities. They even, he said with scorn, had a Chinaman on the Town Council. He let out all sorts of things, and I sat taking them all in. Then he described how he had been pulled up to Court for not paying his washing bill, and how even his own Chinese boy was called as a witness against him. “I, a German,” and here he thumped his breast, “actually have my Chinese boy called against me!”
Having had enough of it, I leant forward and said calmly—
“But why did you not pay your washing bill?” There was a dumbfounded silence as they recalled where they were, and that I was their host.
“I am sure we do dreadfully foolish things,” I went on sweetly, “but now you have got a colony of your own, you can show us what to do and how to govern natives—and yet this place seems full of happy, prosperous people of many nations. Even you Germans seem to do nicely.”
There were hasty good-nights and departures. The next day when I met the two captains they apologised for their friend, and put it down to “wheesky-soda.” I said it was of no consequence—and, really, what did that youth’s opinion matter?
I seem to know scores of people—how, I know not. I went to a gala dinner, New Year’s Eve, danced vigorously at a ball, sang “Auld Lang Syne” with every one else, with joined hands, as the old year went out. People are most friendly, kind, and amiable—who they are I have not grasped. I have been at the Cricket Club Pavilion, and watched most interesting and amusing water sports from the balcony of the other club-house, which overhangs the sea. All the élite of Singapore were there: smart ladies, the Governor and suite, Lord Beauchamp, fresh from British New Guinea and his Australian Governorship, and I don’t know who all. Wright and a pleasant man called Harrison looked after me. I never saw a more interesting, amusing, or pretty sight than these sea sports. We lay in long chairs, had cool drinks and cigarettes, and I laughed till I was sore at that item where a long, greased pole projected from the bow of a vessel with a prize at the end of it, and competitors had to walk that greased pole to get it. Of course, after wild endeavours and frantic clutches at the air, they all fell into the sea, amidst a perfect storm of laughter and cheers. There were crowds of gaily dressed Malays and other natives on the pier, and the harbour was a mass of Chinese sampans and other craft, the ships all decorated with flags, and the scene of the most brilliant description, alive with movement and colour. The Malay phraus and Chinese sampans raced, and very beautiful and exciting was the race between Malay kolehs with crews of twenty men. Many of these and the sampans were upset, but no one minded.
Then I was taken through various public buildings, including the Drill Hall, where my cicerone pointed out the maxim guns subscribed for by the Chinese of Singapore. He was enthusiastic about the Volunteers. By some strange fatality I commenced running down an article in a Singapore paper, noticed the blank silence, received a nudge from behind, and heard a whisper that my guide was the editor! So I quickly went on saying worse things about the paper, awful things, and then said I hoped he would not pillory me in his paper for jesting about it—and he was all smiles again, evidently thinking I had known all the time and was only chaffing!
Then in the afternoon were gorgeous and amusing New Year’s Day sports for the natives —really a fine scene, and every one in holiday humour. What an intensely pleasant thing it is to see people happy! The funniest thing was dipping heads in tubs of treacle to find money with their mouths; when they got it they bolted straight for the sea, near by, to clean their heads, scattering the shrieking crowd right and left. Then the tug-of-war was most exciting, all sorts of natives, Chinese, Javanese, Acheenese, Indian coolies, and Indian soldiers, and so on took part; it was eventually won by the Chinese, who pulled every one over. These sports, in which all participate, so please the natives of all sorts, and make them fond of British rule. To keep people happy and good-humoured is everything. The pity is that they are learning that there are other great nations coming forward as rivals.
The Dallas Company is here playing in San Toy and The Belle of New York. As I have travelled with them elsewhere on a mail-boat they receive me like an old friend when I see them about. I have been at all sorts of things, and out in the country, hoping to see a tiger eating four Chinamen, as I am told they do daily. These tigers swim over the Straits from Johore and come quite near the town and lunch on the Chinese— perhaps so, but I have not seen it, and they might have thought of arranging it for my benefit for one day at least.
Wright has gone, and I went out with him to the Japanese mail-boat to see him off. It lay miles out at sea. We went out in a launch, and as every one mounted the ship's gangway, I saw them all speak to a gold-laced-capped individual who stood at the top; when I got up I barely glanced at him, but said, “Steward, what time does this launch go back to the shore?”
“I am not the steward,” he answered; “I am a British naval officer come to see a friend away.” Profuse apologies from me, but I added, “Well, you should not stand at the top of the gangway just as if — were going to show every one their cabin.” He laughed, said I was right, and moved away.
Some important Chinese personage was leaving, and his womenkind were on board to see him off, and were full of curiosity, running about poking
their noses in everywhere. Just as a dainty little 
GRASS TREE.
TERRACE WITH CUPOLAS.
BORO BOEDOER, JAVA.
up came a little Japanese officer, and it was quite amusing to watch the bows and smiles and polite little flirtation between Japan and China. Every one said there was plenty of time, and I went to the saloon to have a glass of champagne with Wright. When I came on deck the launch was gone, so was every boat, and the anchor was coming up—the mail-boat actually starting. Here was a situation, for I had no desire to be carried off to Ceylon! At last, by violent signalling and holding up money, we induced a Chinese sampan to come alongside, and I slid down a rope and arrived in a heap on top of its crew! I was just in time, as the next minute the steamer was off.
Then I looked round at my situation. The little sampan had a wet, slippery deck, half of which was under water, with nothing to keep one from slipping overboard. The crew consisted of a Chinese woman and three tiny children, the youngest being a baby. To the back of the baby was tied a large chunk of wood. I soon saw the use of it. When it fell overboard it floated; the mother took a long pole with a hook, and just hooked it back again! They were all at first frightened of me, but being alarmed about the child (and myself, though I was not going to show it—for I had no log of wood on my back), I took possession of its little wet body, and the mother smiled, and signified it was quite safe. She and the two other little mites managed that boat marvellously, and soon we were all the best of friends. I was sitting (and sitting tight, too) on the wet, sloping deck nursing the wet baby, whilst another little kiddie was hanging over my back with its arms round my neck nearly thrott- ling me—but we were all beaming and joking. All the same, it was a long sail, as we had to tack so much, and I simply marvelled at the cleverness of that little woman. I was relieved when we got to the pier at last, which was crowded with people, who regarded our arrival with astonishment, as they well might, for it is not the custom in Singapore for European men to go out in small sampans with Chinese women! Moreover, I was dripping wet, and took such an affectionate farewell of that boat's crew that it seemed queerer than ever. She was such a nice woman, and the tiny children quite fascinating. I took care they did not bring me ashore for nothing, and left them all waving and smiling " Good-bye." Then I mounted the steps to the top of the pier, shook the wet off me like a dog over the gaping crowd, and walked away without giving them any explanation.
I don't know when I am leaving for Hong-Kong, China, Japan, and America—just when I am tired of Singapore, and that is not yet. People are kind here, it is all very pleasant, I like the gaiety and colour of it all, and feel quite loth to commence travelling again. I have been back to the Stettin for another farewell—but already New Guinea seems like a dream, and as if it were long ago since I was there. My " little ship" that is to bear me on is a big German liner, and I hear that the goodwill of various distinguished German naval and military officers, going sooner or later by one of the boats to join the allied forces at Pekin, has been bespoken for me, and that there is no fear of my not being taken care of—valuable me! Both Captain Niedermayer and Captain Dunbar have been most kind, and the latter intends seeing me off when I go, and introducing his distinguished compatriots.
I hate this continual saying of "Good-bye," and when I like people, wish they would just settle down round me for a time, but it is for ever “Move on, please,” till we make the final move without return tickets. Anyway, one has not been “a ship that passeth in the night,” and gave no one greeting on the way, and that is something. Little memories linger; a little gladness here, a little sympathy there, a helpful word that cheers and encourages, that lightens the stony way—all has been gain. We know what has been in the past, can think of it, dream of it, laugh over it, and maybe weep over it—but the future Where are you going, little ship; little ship, oh, where are you going?