Chapter II: Part 2

The hotel, which consists of one main building with a number of small detached pavilions surrounded by roses and other flowers of the temperate zone, is situated on the slopes of the Gedéh, and is 3,300 feet above sea level. At this level one is able to move about long distances during the day without becoming exhausted, and in the evening the air is delightfully cool, falling just below 70 degrees the night we slept there. There is a tennis court, and the manager spoke of laying down another, and with billiards and skittles in the evening and a hot spring swimming bath, near the Governor-General's villa, for healthful recreation in the daytime, one need not feel too much the absence of city life and companionship. The tariff is the moderate one of six guilders a day, but it is reduced to five guilders per day when a stay of a week or more is made.

The Governor-General's summer residence, Tjipanas, is here, a quarter of a mile from the hotel. It is a prettily situated bungalow residence, standing quite close to the main road from Tjiandjoer, and surrounded by a garden which transports one at once to the south of England. Here, as in many other places in Java, the notice appears: "Verbodden Toegang;" but a courteous application to the Steward in charge obtains a hearty welcome to inspect the grounds. These are well stocked with dahlias, roses, hortensias, begonias, cowslips, sweet williams, wall-flower, and other old-fashioned flowers, and the bloom-covered fuschias carried one's thoughts back to pleasant days spent in Devonshire dales. From the lawns sweet-smelling violets perfumed the air. Matchless orchids clung to the trees, and the delicate maiden-hair fern held its own with the hardier varieties. Dusky fir-trees, groups of Australian araucarias, and Japanese oak trees and chestnuts set off the brightness of the flower beds. In the park there is a beautiful pond, from the centre of which a fountain throws a crystal spray to catch the sun's rays and dispense a wealth of glittering diamonds.

Hot water is the literal meaning of Tjipanas, and a hot spring in the vicinity of the villa supplies the bath-rooms, as well as the swimming bath of the Sanatorium.

There is a fine view from the villa, but a better prospect is obtained from Goenoeng Kasoer, some hundreds of feet higher, where a former Governor-General often took his ontbijtberg (or breakfast). It is now known as Breakfast Hill. A silver mine in the neighbourhood was worked for a time by the John Company.

The mountain garden of Tjibodas, mentioned in a previous article, is well worth a visit. A good walker, starting at six o'clock, can go there, breakfast and be back at the hotel by noon. But the excursion to be taken by everyone who stays at Sindanglaya for any length of time is to the falls at Tjibeureum, Kandang Badak and the crater of the Gedéh. Ladies may make the trip in sedan chairs; gentlemen on foot or on horseback. The falls of Tjibeureum consist of three cataracts, falling 400 feet down a perpendicular crag, and the winding road passes through some interesting jungle scenery.

From Tjibeureum, the path winds up a steep ascent, and through a narrow cleft in the rocks, a natural gateway to which the natives have attached some wonderful legends. Hot springs break through the mountain crust and run side by side with crystal-pure cold brooks, as is often the case on the mountains in Japan.

After a two and a half hours' climb from Tjibeureum, Kadang Badak (or Rhinoceros Kraal) is reached. It lies almost half way up the saddle which connects the Gedéh with the Pangerango, and although there are now no traces of pachyderms, it is stated that both this place and the Telega Warna were favourite haunts of the rhinoceros not so very many years ago. It is recommended that the climbers should spend the night in the hut here, and ascend the Pangerango (9,500 ft.) at 4 a.m. to see the sun rise. From the top the view is magnificent.

Along a steep and difficult mountain path, the crater of the Gedéh may be reached in an hour and a half, and the sight of the gigantic crater of this majestic volcano is said to be overwhelming and ample compensation for the toilsome ascent. It is about two miles distant from the Pangerango, and forms the still active part of the twin volcano. Between 1761 and 1832 no eruptions occurred, but seven took place in the twenty years following, the most terrible and severe being the eruption of 1840. There were again terrible eruptions in 1886 and 1899, when the volcano covered the hillsides with huge stones, one over 150 kilogrammes in weight landing three-quarters of a mile away.

There are several places in the Preanger Region where the visitor may elect to stay instead of Sindanglaya, such as Soekaboemi (2,100 ft.) which has the advantage of being on the railway, Bandoeng and Garoet. All have their own attractions for invalids, and the hotel accommodation is spoken of in terms of the highest praise by all who have been there.

When we drove away from Sindanglaya at seven o'clock on the following morning, the white crater wall of the Gedéh stood out like a huge lump of marble in the morning sun.

Our route lay through tea, coffee and cocoa plantations, and richly cultivated country to Tjiandjoer--a thriving little mountain town, with an air of prosperity and progress,--where we joined the train at 9.30 a.m. for Padalarang. Here, at 11.10 a.m., a change was made to the express from Batavia, and Maos was reached at 5.46 p.m. It had been our intention to stay overnight at Bandoeng, strongly recommended by Mr. Gantvoort, the courteous manager of the Hotel des Indes in Batavia, but we pressed on with the intention of devoting more time to the eastern end of the island. It was well we did so, for, shortly after leaving Padalarang, rain began to fall in torrents, and the afternoon and night were passed in a severe thunderstorm which was to cause us delay. Part of the line was washed away near Moentilan, and our train was over three hours late in reaching Djocjakarta on the following day.

At Maos, there is a commodious, well-built, comfortable passagrahan or government rest-house, where four of us ate our meal in solemn silence, until a query by ourselves when the coffee arrived broke the icy reserve of the quartette, and opened the way for an interesting conversation.

It is customary to make fun of English reserve, but our observation convinced us that the Dutch are no whit behind us in that respect where fellow-Dutch are concerned. On the other hand, nothing could have exceeded the kindness and courtesy with which we were treated from one end of Java to the other. Speaking no Dutch, we had looked forward to many tedious days, but our fears were needless, for, wherever we went, we met pleasant English-speaking Dutchmen, who proved the most entertaining of companions, and we take this opportunity of acknowledging the courteous assistance we received from time to time. On the score of not speaking Dutch or Malay, no English man or woman need be deterred from visiting Java. English is spoken at all the hotels, and though all the train conductors and stationmasters may not do so, there is sure to be an educated Dutchman or lady in the car to whom one may turn for help, which is always readily given.

On one occasion, we had an interesting conversation with two native officials attached to the staff of the Sultan at Djocjakarta. These men had never left the island of Java, yet one of them read and spoke English with ready fluency and perfect accent.

Next day, in spite of the delay caused by the wash-out on the line, we were able to reach Djocjakarta by tiffin time, and devoted the afternoon to the Hindu ruins at Parambanan.

Hindu Ruins in Central Java.

A visit to Java would be incomplete did it not include a pilgrimage to the marvellous products of religious fervour which Buddhism reared in the plains around Djocjakarta before it went down before the all-conquering onslaught of Moslemism. These ruins testify to an ancient art and civilisation and culture and an instinct of creation few are aware of to-day, and it is hard to resist the temptation to indulge in extravagant language when attempting to describe them as they now stand, partially restored by the Dutch authorities.

Miss Scidmore has lavished the wealth of her luxuriant vocabulary upon them, but neither she, nor any of her predecessors in the work of praise, saw them as they stand to-day--a wonder alike to archaeologist, architect, artist and student of comparative religions. Here in the centre of fertile plains we have the real Java of ancient times.

The Dutch had been in possession of the island for two hundred years without discovering the rich deposits hidden beneath the accumulated mounds of centuries and buried under a mass of tropical vegetation. To the active mind of Sir Stamford Raffles the discovery was due. He went to Java as Lieutenant-Governor in 1811, and during the period it was under his control, he had the mounds explored, the ruined temples un-earthed and their historic import co-related with the romantic legends and poetic records rescued from the archives of the native princes. It was due to the investigations of this great Englishman that the date of the construction of the temples was fixed at the beginning of the seventh century of the Christian era, and subsequent investigators (prominent amongst whom must be placed Dr. I. Groneman, now and for many years resident of Djocjakarta and Honorary President of its Archaeological Society) agree in accepting this period as authentically proved from the ruins themselves.

Sir Stamford was of opinion that the temples, as works of labour and art, dwarf to nothing all wonder and admiration at the great pyramids of Egypt; but since his time, it must not be forgotten, much richer discoveries in ancient art and archæological lore have been made in Egypt and Palestine. Alfred Russell Wallace, Brumund, Fergusson, all join in the chorus of praise, and the latter, in his "History of Indian and Eastern Architecture," expresses the opinion that the Boro Budur is the highest development of Buddhist art, an epitome of all its arts and ritual, and the culmination of the architectural style, which, originating at Barhut a thousand years before--that is more than twenty-one centuries ago--had begun to decay in India at the time the colonists were erecting this masterpiece of the ages in the heart of Java.

To reach the Boro Budur, one takes the steam tram from Djocja to Moentilan. There a dog-cart may be hired for three guilders, and, taking the Temple or Tjandi of Mendoet on the way, the Boro Budur may be reached in an hour and a half from Moentilan. Miss Scidmore was able to write with her customary enthusiasm about this road; but, truth to tell, we found the drive far from pleasant. Until one gets within a quarter of a mile of the ruins, the surface is bad and some of the small bridges so dangerous that we dismounted at the driver's request. The dog-cart, also, is far from an agreeable vehicle in which to travel, and if a better carriage could be found we would advise its being hired. Wherever one goes in Java, the public vehicles are in a state of decay, far more disreputable than the gharry of Singapore, and a large number of the ponies are decrepit and suffering from open sores. If Java is to become a tourist country the vehicles should be better supervised.

Before setting out from Djocjakarta, the visitor should get the hotel proprietor to communicate with the stationmaster at Moentilan, with the object of having a more comfortable carriage than fell to our unhappy lot through leaving the matter to haphazard.

Strictly speaking, the Boro Budur--which means the collection of Buddas--is not a building in the sense that we speak of St. Paul's or St. Peter's. A small hill has been cut down and the earthwork surrounded by masonry, uncemented, unjointed, layer upon layer, and there is no column, pillar, or true arch. It is supposed that it was built by some of the first Buddhist settlers from India as the resting place (dagaba) of one of the urns containing a portion of the ashes of Buddha.

It is difficult to describe it briefly, but the following extract from Miss Scidmore's book seems to us to convey the best idea of the structure in general terms:--

"The temple stands on a broad platform, and rises first in five
square terraces, inclosing galleries or processional paths
between their walls, which are covered on each side with
bas-relief sculptures. If placed in single line, these
bas-reliefs would extend for three miles. The terrace walls hold
four hundred and thirty-six niches or alcove chapels, where
life-size Buddhas sit serene upon lotus cushions. Staircases
ascend in straight lines from each of the four sides, passing
under stepped or pointed arches, the keystones of which are
elaborately carved masks, and rows of sockets in the jambs show
where wood or metal doors once swung. Above the square terraces
are three circular terraces, where seventy-two latticed dagabas
(reliquaries in the shape of the calyx or bud of the lotus)
inclose each a seated image, seventy-two more Buddhas sitting in
those inner, upper circles, of Nirvana, facing a great dagaba,
or final cupola, the exact function or purpose of which as key
to the whole structure is still the puzzle of archæologists.
This final shrine is fifty feet in diameter, and either covered
a relic of Buddha, or a central well where the ashes of priests
and princes were deposited, or is a form surviving from the
tree-temples of the earliest primitive East when nature-worship
prevailed. The English engineers made an opening in the solid
exterior, and found an unfinished statue of Buddha on a platform
over a deep well-hole."

We read this description among others before we visited the Boro Budur, and must confess that from none of them did we get a correct idea of what we were to see. It must be seen to be realised. Not even photographs give a true conception of the ornate character of the decorative stonework--the hard but freely-worked lava stone having lent itself easily to the chisel. Like Cologne or Milan Cathedrals, it must be examined minutely to grasp the elaborateness of the sculptured work, but, unlike either of these, it does not produce an immediate impression of grandeur and religious elevation. It is unlike any of the temples in Japan, or, indeed, anywhere, though Ceylon and India may suggest comparisons.

What will strike the visitor as he perambulates these miles of sculptured terraces is the complete absence of any offensive or indecent figure. Mere nudity is not, of course, an outrage to the artistic soul; but here there is not even a nude or grotesque figure. Each is draped in the fine flowing robes of the East, not in monotonous regularity but suggestive of prince and peasant, princess and maids, down even to the jewels they wear. Strangely enough, no particularly Javanese type of face or figure is represented--all are Hindu, Hindu-Caucasian and pure Greek.

It is not our purpose to give elaborate details of this work of religious art. The visitor may obtain at Djocjakarta a copy of Dr. Groneman's learned treatise on the subject, a treatise which will teach him something about Buddhism as well as the Boro Budur, of which Dr. Groneman has made an exhaustive study. With his guide, the sculptures become an open book to the visitor.

It is more archæological than descriptive, however, and we must acknowledge our indebtedness again to Miss Scidmore for the following passage to show the scope of the sculptures:--

"The everyday life of the seventh and eighth century is
pictured--temples, palaces, thrones and tombs, ship and houses,
all of man's constructions are portrayed. The life in courts and
palaces, in fields and villages, is all seen there. Royal folk
in wonderful jewels sit enthroned, with minions offering gifts
and burning incense before them warriors kneeling and maidens
dancing. The peasant ploughs the rice-fields with the same
wooden stick and ungainly buffalo, and carries the rice-sheaves
from the harvest field with the same shoulder poles, used in
all the farther East to-day. Women fill their water-vessels at
the tanks and bear them away on their heads as in India now, and
scores of bas-reliefs show the unchanging costumes of the East
that offer sculptors the same models in this century. Half the
wonders of that great three-mile-long gallery of sculptures
cannot be recalled. Each round disclosed some more wonderful
picture, some more eloquent story. Even the humorous fancies of
the sculptors are expressed in stone. In one relievo a
splendidly caparisoned state elephant flings its feet in
imitation of the dancing girl near by. Other sportive elephants
carry fans and state umbrellas in their trunks; and the marine
monsters swimming about the ship that bears the Buddhist
missionaries to the isles have such expression and human
resemblance as to make one wonder if those pillory an enemy with
their chisels, too. In the last gallery, where, in the progress
of the religion, it took on many features of Jainism, or
advancing Brahmanism, Buddha is several times represented as the
ninth avatar, or incarnation, of Vishnu, still seated on the
lotus cushion and holding a lotus with one of his four hands."

In all probability, the masonry was shaken down by an earthquake, the Boro Budur being near three volcanoes. Restorative and preservative work is now being carried on by the Government, and some of the smaller temples in the Djocja district are restored in the original design.

There is a small hotel at the Boro Budur where one is recommended to stay when studying details, and we can well believe that sunrise as seen from the summit is a sight one should never forget. We saw it in the early afternoon when the heat vapours from the noontide sun partially obliterated the landscape, but even so it was impressive. Except on the right, where the mountains close in the horizon, the eye has a range of many miles over fertile alluvial plains, studded with coco and banana and palm trees, and every other patch of ground cultivated "like a tulip bed." Miss Marianne North, whose collection of paintings in Kew Gardens may be familiar to some of our readers, wrote of this view: "The very finest view we ever saw."

The Temples of Parambanan.

There are other Buddhist ruins in the neighbourhood of the Boro Budur; but the other more important collection is scattered over the region between Djocjakarta and Soerakarta. One small temple, the Tjandi Kali Bening, is reputed to be the gem of Hindu art in Java. This we did not see; but, on another day, in a victoria drawn by four small ponies, kept going by the wild gr-r-r-ee gr-r-r-eeing of our native running footman, we drove to the scattered temples on the Plain of Parambanan, where, with the help of another archæological guide by Dr. I. Groneman, we were able to appreciate the beauties of these 1100-year-old centres of ancient religious devotees. These temples are the most interesting in the country, though lacking the extent and grandeur of the Boro Budur. Though they do not contain a single genuine Buddha figure, but many images of Brahmanic gods, Dr. Groneman says there are many reasons to justify the opinion that they were built by Buddhists, probably over the ashes of princes and grandees of a Buddhistic empire.

In his report to Sir Stamford Raffles on these Parambanan ruins, Captain George Baker, of the Bengal establishment wrote:--"In the whole course of my life, I have never met with such stupendous and finished specimens of human labour and of the science and taste of ages long since forgot, crowded together in so small a compass, as in this little spot, which, to use a military phrase, I deem to have been the headquarters of Hinduism in Java."

In Volume XIII of the "Asiatick Researches or Transactions of the Society instituted in Bengal for inquiring into the History and Antiquities, the Arts, Sciences and Literature of Asia" (Calcutta, 1820), Mr. John Crawfurd, who, apparently, visited Java in 1816, gives a long and interesting description of the ruins on the Plain of Parambanan. He describes the locale as ten miles from Djocjakarta, a valley lying between Rababu and Marapi to the north and a smaller southern range of high land.

A few of the ruins consist of single isolated temples, but the greater number are in groups, rows of small temples surrounding larger temples.

The shape of the smaller temples is worthy of observation. From the foundation to the lintels of the doors, they are of a square form. They then assume a pyramidal but round shape, and are decorated around by small figures resembling Lingas, while a larger Linga surmounts the whole building, forming the apex of the temple.

Invariably, the sites of the temples are adjacent to abundant supplies of clear water so much desired by the Hindus and so necessary to the performance of the ritual. Beside two rivers of the purest water, there is between the villages of Parambanan and Plaosan a small tank, evidently an appendage to the temples. This little piece of water is a square of about 200 feet to the side. The ground around it is elevated, and there is every appearance of its being an artificial excavation. The whole tank, when visited by Mr. Crawfurd, was covered with blue lotus, the flower of which is so conspicuous an ornament of the sculptures of the temple.

Then, as now, there was no evidence of Hindu descendants of the builders of these religious houses and places of worship, but the Javanese are as tolerant of various religious cults as the Chinese or the Japanese, and the visitor need not be surprised to find native visitors making what appears to be a pilgrimage to some particular shrine.

Mr. Crawfurd found barren women, men unfortunate in trade or at play, persons in debt and sick persons propitiating the Goddess Durgá, "smeared with perfumed unguents or decked with flowers." This worship, too, was not confined to the lower orders. His Highness the Susuhunan when meditating an unusually ambitious or hazardous scheme made offerings to the image.

These temples are built of a hard dark and heavy species of basalt, the chief component of the mountains of Java. The stone is usually hewn in square blocks of various sizes, as is the case with the Boro Budur. The respective surfaces of the stones which lie on each other in the building have grooves and projections which key into each other as in the best masonry work to-day. They are regularly arranged in the walls in such a manner as to give the greatest degree of strength and solidity to the structure, and nowhere is cement or mortar utilised. There are no huge pillars or single blocks such as may be seen in other prehistoric edifices, and neither in boldness of design nor imposing grandeur have the temples presented any difficulties to the builders. There is nothing upon a great scale, nothing attempted outside the reach of the most obvious mechanical contrivance or the most ordinary methods of common ingenuity. The chief characteristic is the minute laboriousness of the execution. Nevertheless, the temples excite the imagination, and send the thoughts back to those primeval days when men sought to express their religious feeling through these elaborate monuments of hewn stone.

The Tjandi Kalasan, one of the most beautiful of the temples, is the only ruin in Central Java of which the exact date of construction has been learned with any degree of accuracy. This was ascertained from a stone found in the neighbourhood, inscribed in nâgari characters. Two versions of the inscription were made--one by the Dutch scholar, Dr. J. Brandes, and the other by the Indian, Dr. R. G. Bhandarkar.

Dr. I. Groneman makes use of both versions to compile the following:--

"Homage to the blessed (or, reverend) and noble Târâ.

"May she,--the only deliverer of the world, who, seeing how men
perish in the sea of life, which is full of incalculable misery,
is sure to save them by the three means--grant you the wished
for essence, the salvation of the world by the Lord of gods and
men.

"The guru (_i.e._ teacher) of the Sailendra prince erected a
magnificent Târâ temple. At the command (or, the instance) of
the guru, the grateful ----(?) made an image of the goddess and
built the temple, together with a dwelling (vihara, monastery)
for the monks (bhikshus) who know the great vehicle of
discipline (Mahâyâna).

"By authorisation of the king, the Târâ temple and the monastery
for the reverend monks have been built by his counsellors, the
pangkur, the tavan, and the tirip (old Javanese civil officers,
perhaps soothsayers or astrologers).

"The deserving guru of the Sailendra king built the temple in
the prosperous reign of the king, the son of the Sailendra
dynasty.

"The great king built the Târâ temple in honour of the guru (to
do homage to the guru) when 700 years of the Saka era were past.

"The territory of the village of Kâlasa was bestowed on the
congregation of priests (monks) in the presence of the pangkur,
the tavan and the tirip, and the village chiefs (as witnesses).

"This great (incomparable) endowment was made by the king for
the monks. It is to be perpetuated by the (later) kings of the
Sailendra dynasty, for the benefit of the successive reverend
congregations of monks, and be respected (maintained) by the
wise pangkur, the good tivan, the wise tirip and others, and by
their virtuous wives (according to Dr. Brandes, but "their
virtuous foot-soldiers" according to Dr. Bhandarkar).

"The king also begs of all following kings that this bridge (or,
dam) of charity, which is (a benefit) for all nations, may be
perpetuated for all time.

"May all who adhere to the doctrine of the Jinas, through the
blessings of this monastery, obtain knowledge of the nature of
things, constituted by the concatenation of causes (and
effects), and may they thrive.

"The ---- prince once more requests of (all) future kings that
they may protect the monastery righteously."

This inscription, showing clearly that the temple was consecrated to Târâ, the sakti of the deliverer of the world, the fourth Dhyâni Buddha, Amitâbha, the Târâ of the Buddhists of the Northern Church (Mahâyâna, or the "Great Vehicle"), leads Dr. Groneman to the opinion that this particular temple was completed in the year 701 of the Saka era, or 779 of the Christian era. No trace of the Târâ image was found; but this is not to be wondered at when we note the presence of other images in the gardens of private residences in Djocjakarta, and even farther afield, and remember the destruction wrought by foreign soldiers and foreign and native vandals.

People and Industries of Central Java.

In the plains going eastward through Central Java from the Preanger Regencies to the mountains of the Teng'ger Region, one cannot fail to be struck by the remarkable change in the appearance of the natives. The Soendanese of the West may not have the resource and thoughtfulness of the people of the plains, the Javanese, but they have brightness and vivacity which make them more attractive. Their bent of mind is reflected in the bright colours of their dress. In this and other respects, they resemble the Japanese women. In the plains, sombreness of dress is a characteristic--the browns of Mid-Java changing to an almost universal dark blue in the west, reminding the traveller of the Chinese and the inhabitants of the southern Japanese islands.

Everywhere, the male Javanese carry the kris or native knife in the girdle. There is much variety in the blades, handles and sheaths of those weapons, real native damascene blades costing considerable sums. One taking a superficial trip through the island is at a loss to understand why the natives should be armed. According to all accounts, they are a peaceably inclined people, and give their Dutch rulers very little trouble; and if they were at all quarrelsome amongst themselves, the handy weapon would be a source of grave danger. In course of time, perhaps, the knife will disappear as did the sword of civilised Europe a century or more ago. A traffic in Birmingham manufactured krises and knives is done at Djocjakarta and Soerakarta, as well as at Samarang, Sourabaya and Batavia, and anyone who wishes to make a collection of native weapons should be careful to have the assistance of an expert to detect the sham from the real.

The same remark applies to the purchase of sarongs. The ordinary sarong of commerce is manufactured in Lancashire, whence an excellent imitation of the native manufacture is exported. Tourists are also catered for in a native block-stamped variety, which is at least a colourable imitation of the real article. Wherever we went, however, we could see that the native art had not been lost entirely. Women sit outside their little huts by the roadside tracing the most elaborate designs in brown and blue dye upon the cloth with tiny funnel-shaped implements.

This cloth is styled bátik. According to the ground of white, black or red, it is known as bátik látur púti, bátik látur irang, or bátuk látur bang. To prepare it to receive the design, the cloth is steeped in rice water, dried and calendered. The process of the bátik is performed with hot wax in a liquid state applied by means of the chánting. The chánting is usually made of silver or copper, and holds about an ounce of the liquid. The tube is held in the hand at the end of a small stick, and the pattern is traced on both sides of the tightly drawn suspended cloth. When the outline is finished, such portions of the cloth as are intended to be preserved white, or to receive any other colour than the general field or ground, are carefully covered in like manner with the liquid wax, and then the piece is immersed in whatever coloured dye may be intended for the ground of the pattern. The parts covered with wax resist the operation of the dye, and when the wax is removed, by being steeped in hot water till it melts, are found to remain in their original condition. If other colours are to be applied, the process is gone over again. It will thus be seen that a considerable amount of skill is required. In the ordinary course, the process of the bátik occupies about ten days for common patterns, and from fifteen to seventeen days for the finer and more variegated.

Some of the sarongs worn by the native aristocracy and the European ladies are not only beautiful in pattern and working but most expensive in price.

In our excursions in the neighbourhood of Djocjakarta, we had ample opportunity of seeing the industry of the Javanese. Wherever one went, there were long processions of stunted women bravely carrying enormous burdens on their backs, often with a baby slung in the slandang astride the hip. The cheery, coquettish look of the Soendanese was absent here. All seemed to be borne down by the seriousness of a strenuous physical life. No songs arose from the fields; scarcely a head was raised from the laborious planting of tufts of paddy roots as our kreta rattled past. While mothers toiled in the fields, children played near the roadways, or now and then assisted their parents.

We were surprised to see in these fertile plains how prevalent goitre is amongst the women. In the drive from Moentilan to the Boro Budur, at least one in twenty were so afflicted. We commented on this fact to a native official while waiting for our tram at Moentilan, and he assured us that it is remarkably prevalent amongst the common people, but that the men do not suffer in the same proportion as the women. The disease is named "kondo" by the Javanese. We do not know whether any scientific investigations into the disease have been carried out by the Dutch officials; but it would be interesting to know why it should be so prevalent in this area. Goitre is usually associated with people living in mountainous regions, yet we never noticed it in the Preanger and scarcely at all on the mountains of East Java.

Since the above was written, we have had an opportunity of consulting Sir Stamford Raffles' History of Java. He found goitre prevalent in both Java and Sumatra, but is careful to explain that it was observed in certain mountainous districts. The natives ascribed it to the quality of the water, but, says Sir Stamford, "there seems good ground for concluding that it is rather to be traced to the atmosphere. In proof of this, it may be mentioned that there is a village near the foot of the Teng'ger mountains, in the eastern part of the island, where every family is afflicted by this malady, while in another village, situated at a greater elevation, and through which the stream descends which serves for the use of both, there exists no such deformity. These wens are considered hereditary in some families, and seem thus independent of situation. A branch of the family of the present Adipati of Bandung (1811-15) is subject to them, and it is remarkable that they prevail chiefly among the women of the family. They never produce positive suffering nor occasion early death, and may be considered rather as deformities than diseases. It is never attempted to remove them."

We reached Djocjakarta in the ordinary way through Maos. It may be that circumstances may take the traveller off the beaten track, and we are indebted to a friend for the following brief description of the trip from Samarang to Djocja over the mountains:--

"The usual journey from Samarang to Djocjakarta is made by way
of Solo (Soerakarta), but the route is devoid of interest, the
railway running through low country under rice cultivation. I
would suggest the far more interesting route via Willem I.
Starting at 5.57 a.m. or 8.17 a.m., Djocja is reached at 2.16
p.m. or 5.10 p.m. The 10.50 a.m. train, I found, went only as
far as Magelang, so I started at 2.9 p.m., and, after a
delightful run, reached Kedoeng Djattie, a fine junction
station, where we changed cars. The next two hours' run is
through foot hills, strips of forest and lovely vegetation,
glimpses being obtained every little while of pleasant valleys,
rice fields and distant hills as the train climbed up to Willem
I. This point we reached about 5 p.m., in time to enjoy the
refreshing cool breezes and to admire the beautiful view and
sunset on a small mountain opposite the hotel.

"Next morning, I caught the train (8.54 a.m.,) which leaves
Samarang at 5.57, and after a short run reached a station where
our engine was changed for one working on the cog-wheel system,
the grade being too heavy for the ordinary locomotive. The train
winds and circles round hills cultivated, for the most part, to
their summits. Upwards we climbed till we were in the clouds and
the air became quite bracing and invigorating. Tiffin should be
ordered through the guard before starting from Willem I., and it
will be handed into the train.

"It was about one o'clock when we reverted to the ordinary
locomotive, and began the descent to Djocja, through Magelang.
To anyone who has to visit Samarang, I would recommend this
trip."

The principal sight of Djocja itself is the Water Castle. This trip need not occupy more than a couple of hours, and its appreciation depends upon the taste of the visitor. Earthquakes have played havoc with the buildings, but sufficient is left in the way of tunnels, grottoes, bathing ponds and dungeon-like rooms. Everywhere are signs of decay and desolation; nevertheless, it is possible, with a little knowledge of comparatively recent Javan history, to reconstruct the scenes enacted here in the days when the native sultans were more powerful in the land than they are to-day. For a small fee, a native pilots one through the carved archways, underground halls and subways and cells. As one stands in the large banqueting hall, it is possible to conjure up the ceremonials of a past age, and, in the mind's eye, to group retainers round the Sultan and the members of his harem, while gaudily dressed courtesans sang and danced for the entertainment of "the quality."

The Health Resort of East Java.

Tosari on the Teng'ger mountains was the goal of our travels. We were anxious to escape from the heat of the plains, for the sun had now crossed the Equator, Java was in its summer season and the rains might come any day. From Djocjakarta, we should have arrived in Sourabaya in time for riz-tafel, but the wash-out at Moentilan still caused a delay of traffic and we were two hours late in reaching our destination.

Sourabaya is the most important port and business centre of Java, but this fact notwithstanding many of the foreign business houses still maintain their headquarters in Batavia. As a place of residence, each has its good points, and those who have lived in both are divided in preference. Possibly we were not in either long enough to form a lasting opinion, but we stayed so long in Sourabaya that we prefer Batavia. It would be sheer ingratitude, however, not to acknowledge the hearty welcome we received from the British colony in Sourabaya, and the personal help of members of that community. Here where the principal business of Java is conducted, as elsewhere throughout the Far East, it was satisfying to one's patriotism to see the respect in which British commercial enterprise and integrity is held by native and European alike, and that the most cordial good feeling exists on all sides.

To reach Tosari, the visitor proceeds first of all by train to Pasoeroean, leaving Sourabaya (Goebeng Station) at 6.42 a.m., and reaching Pasoeroean at 8.23. Here a single-pony carriage is engaged (two and a-half guilders) as far as Pasrepan, where a change is made to a two-pony carriage (three guilders). This conveyance takes one to Poespo, 2,600 feet above sea-level. A halt is made for tiffin in this delightful little hotel, whose pleasant looking proprietress, unfortunately, does not speak English. The remainder of the journey to the Sanatorium (6,000 feet) is made in the saddle or by sedan chair. Of this ride and a subsequent excursion we have painful recollections, but anyone accustomed to the saddle will enjoy this ascent through mountain scenery and vegetation, and even more the morning trip down to Poespo, through the forest, when returning to Sourabaya.

Tosari has been described as the Darjeeling of the Netherland Indies.

Here within four days' journey from Singapore, one may obtain a complete change of climate, and if there were only more frequent direct steamer communication between Singapore and Sourabaya, we predict with confidence that Tosari would become a favourite health resort for those who live on the northern side of the Equator. The rooms are comfortable, the food is good, the facilities for amusements at nightfall are ample, the walks and excursions are inexhaustible and the views are magnificent. The tariff (seven guilders per day--$4.90 in Singapore currency) is higher than that of any other hotel in Java, but those who intend to stay for a fortnight or more could probably arrange more favourable terms.

There is a resident doctor who has graduated in the Schools of Tropical Medicine, and when we were in Tosari there were visitors from Burma, Siam, Singapore, Penang, and all parts of Java, recruiting from malaria and other ailments peculiar to Far Eastern residence. But they were not all invalids, and formed a bright, companionable party.

The Teng'gerese who people this mountainous region are a race apart. Their religion is a mixture of paganism and Buddhism, and, though reputed to be kind and honest, they are an ignorant, uncouth, uncultured people. They dwell _en famille_ in large square houses without windows, in isolated kampongs on the projecting ridges of the mountains. The door of each house is on the side nearest the Bromo crater, and as if tradition gave them cause to fear another destructive eruption they worship this volcano. Dirt prevails everywhere, and in consequence of the cool climate and the scarcity of water they seldom bathe, a fact that is very noticeable after one's acquaintance with the people of the plains.

To go to Tosari without seeing the Bromo is tantamount to going to Rome without entering St. Peter's. The journey is made on pony or in a sedan chair, by way of the Moengal Pass and the Dasar or Sand Sea, which is in reality the enormous Teng'ger crater, inside of which there are three more craters, the Bromo being the only one showing signs of activity.

A better view and more impressive is obtained from the Penandjaan Pass, a description of which is given in the next chapter.

Another trip worth making is to the lakes in the saddle-back mountain between the Teng'ger and the Seméroe. From this high plateau, the ascent of the Seméroe or Mahameroe is fairly easy and will prove attractive to those who are fond of mountaineering. It is the highest volcano in Java and has a perfect cone. The crater, from which smoke and ashes are constantly ejected, is not on the summit but is formed on the south-east side.

The visitor who does not wish to retrace his steps to Poespo and Pasrepan may return to the plains by way of Malang or Lawang through beautiful sub-tropical and tropical mountain scenery.

Sunrise at the Penandjaan Pass.

When a sharp rap came to our door at two o'clock in the morning to summon us for a ride to the Penandjaan Pass, we repented the rash promise to carry out this over-night project to see the sun rise. It was no use to curl one's-self up under two heavy blankets and pretend that we had not heard. The "jongus" was insistent. Up we had to get, effect a hasty toilet in ice-cold water by the aid of a flickering lamp, and step into the outer darkness and mount the pony waiting beside our bedroom door.

Unfamiliar constellations shed a cold light on the hillside.

Our thickest clothing was penetrated by a searching though slight breeze, as our little rat of a pony, guided by the syce, clambered bravely up the brae that led through Tosari village.

The road bore away to the left, and we were soon slipping and jolting down a mountain path that sank into a crater-like ravine. It was like a descent into the infernal regions. Disaster seemed inevitable. A mistake by the pony or the slightest lurch would have precipitated us down some hundreds of feet; but the guide knew his way and so did the pony, as, sure-footed and cautious, it picked its way, first on one side of the road and then on the other, descending, descending, lower and lower, where the pale light failed to penetrate. The hill on the other side loomed so high that one could not believe there was a way out. Pit-pat, pit-pat went the pony with steady step, now on hard road now on yielding lava mud, across fragile bamboo bridges covered with bamboo lathing, down, down, down till at last we reach the ford. The seat was not an easy one for the unaccustomed rider, whose hands and feet were chilled almost beyond feeling by the unwonted cold. But it was arm-chair ease compared with the experience on the other side, as the pony pluckily pounded his way up the zigzag path for the summit of the hill. How either guide or pony could see a path will ever remain a puzzle. The over-hanging vegetation blotted out any recognisable landmarks; not even the ribbon of a road was visible to the eye. But the top was reached, and believing we were now on the level road for Penandjaan we tried to open up conversation with our guide.

It is not easy to carry on a connected conversation with a native of the Teng'ger when one's Malay vocabulary consists of about twenty words--and half of these numerals--and the native's knowledge of the English language, as one soon learned, consists entirely of "Yes" and "No." Yet, it is wonderful what one will attempt in the dark--the loneliness was so overpowering that one felt compelled to break the awesome silence.

But the conversation soon flagged, and one was thrown back upon one's own thoughts. And as the road once again shaped for another crater-like ravine, plunged in inkier darkness and shrouded in solemn stillness, thoughts surged rapidly through one's mind. The first thing that had attracted our attention as we mounted our pony was the delicious smell of roses in the grounds of the Tosari Hotel. Since nothing could be learned from the syce, nothing could be seen, nothing could be heard except the occasional bark of a dog from a remote hut on the hillside or the tuneful tingle of a bell on the neck of the uneasy occupant of an unseen cow-shed, one tried to learn something by the sense of smell. At first, the morning air was snell and sharp; there was an earthy aroma which suggested nothing but decaying vegetable matter, but soon it was succeeded by a pungent penetrating odour which made one wonder whence its source. This pungency remained for the remainder of the morning's ride, almost to the top of the mountain pass, some 9000 feet above sea-level, and we ascertained on our return that it proceeded from the enormous cabbages grown by the mountaineers for the markets on the plains of East Java.

As we plunged deeper into the forest, it was impossible to make out more than a dull outline of a white jacket and the white shoulder of our piebald pony. Had we not known that the guide was there, we might have wondered how the wonderful jacket succeeded in floating through space. The pony had no head to our sight; the reins we held in our hand might have been dispensed with so far as they acted as a guide to the pony, who picked his own foothold and followed the white jacket. With painful persistence, he picked the edge of the precipitous declivity which was lost in the bottomless abyss.

Once only we lost our way. Turn after turn was negotiated safely, first down into the bottom of the ravine and through the mountain torrent, then up the hillside again, mysterious zigzag after zigzag, and one had become reconciled to the jolting motion of the pony, the steady tramp of his tiny hoofs, and his heavy breathing where the path was steepest, and gave one's-self up to reverie. How terrible, we thought, must have been the scene on the mountain slopes when the enormous craters of the Teng'ger range were belching forth their death-dealing streams of lava, their showers of ashes and stones and choking sulphurous fumes! How insignificant was man before the powerful agencies of Nature! How bright were the occasional stars one saw wherever there was a break in the trees that lined our path! How wonderful that each of those stars, those planets, might be peopled by beings puzzling over the disputed facts of the Creation, as we were; who might also be worrying over a future existence and the redemption of a sinful people; who might be endeavouring to solve labour problems and trade disputes and discussing whether free trade or preferential tariffs were best for a nation's welfare! Was there somebody up in one of those other planets on a pony's back, as we were, robbing one's-self of much-needed rest to reach a mountain top to see the sun rise?

These and other thoughts kept recurring to one when, suddenly, as if it had been shot, the pony planted his forefeet and refused to follow the guiding lead of the syce.

We had made a wrong turning and the syce all but slipped over a precipice. Had it not been for the pony's instinct, all three of us would have been plunged into Eternity, and some of the problems of the previous moment might have been solved.

Out came the syce's matches, as he clung to the pony's bridle. Not nearly so bright as the lambent phosphorescence from the fireflies which flickered across our path, the puny light of the match was sufficient for the guide to pick up the ribbon-like path, and once more we were on our way to the top.

Three deep ravines were traversed before we made the final upward movement, and then Nature's lamp lights were being shut out in hundreds at a time as the soft dawn began to diffuse itself. With Dawn's left hand in the sky, we thought of Omar Khayyam's stanza, and felt impelled to cry out to the sleepers in the hollow--

Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of Night
Has flung the stone that puts the Stars to Flight:
And lo! the Hunter of the East has caught
The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light,

The dawn had been preluded by the awakening chirrups of songsters in the wood. A shriller note was struck by some feathered Daphnis piping to his Chloe. Deep down in the valleys and in the villages perched perilously on projecting ledges of the mountain, faint twinkling lights began to appear, and the lowing of the cattle and the answering and re-echoed crowing of rival poultry-yards sent the thoughts back to Homeland scenes some 10,000 miles away.

As we stood on the wall of the enormous crater, overlooking the Sand Sea, and watched the long shafts of golden light shoot up to the zenith from behind the mountain peaks to the East, we felt that our ride had not been in vain.

To be abroad at early dawn in the tropics is to enjoy the most delightful period of the day. An English essayist has well expressed the exhilaration one feels: "There is something beautiful in the unused day, something beautiful in the fact that it is still untouched, unsoiled." Only those who have stood on the hill tops, far removed from the haunts of men, have any true idea of the grandeur of Nature and the insignificance of man.

The sun rose speedily in the full power of his golden radiance to paint the landscape. There was no transition. Out of the darkness there rose a view, enormous, diversified, impressive.

Miles away on the west, the five summits of the Ardjeono had been the first to reflect the rays hidden from us. Penanggoenan's sugar-loaf top soon caught them up and passed them on to Kawi's three lofty peaks. To the south, was the Seméroe, Java's loftiest volcano; to the east, the Yang Plateau; to the north, the sea and the island of Madoera. We could trace the coast-line 9,000 feet below, away westward beyond Sourabaya, where white-crested surf beat silently upon the streak of yellow sand. The vast plains of East Java showed a pattern of variegated colour, which stretched out to the cultivated slopes of the hills. Mountain hamlets and villages on the plains sent out blue vapours from morning fires. The rivers were distinguishable by their leafy fringe as much as by the reflection of the blue sky overhead. Between us and the Yang Plateau, there were rolling billows of white cloud, tipped by the colours from the sun's spectrum.

But it was the panorama spread out like a model beneath our feet which arrested attention and impressed one most. We stood on the edge of an enormous crater--the Teng'ger--with a circumference of fifteen miles. Where, in prehistoric times, flames and ashes and lava had boiled and belched, there was now a sea of yellow sand, out of which stood other three volcano peaks--the Battok, the Bromo, and the Widodarèn--showing purple in the morning light. The Battok is a perfect cone, the lava-covered sides standing out in clearly defined ridges like the buttresses of a Gothic structure. The Bromo is the only one of the three now active. As we gaze down, we are startled by a deep groaning noise, and out of the wide crater mouth there issues a mass of grey smoke and ashes laden and streaked with fire. Simultaneously, a huge mass of cloud, cruciform in shape, is shot up hundreds of feet into the air from the Semeroe. It rests a few seconds above the bare, ash-strewn cone, and then drifts heavily to westward, to make way for the next eruption.

These indications of Nature's activity in the crucible at the earth's centre make one reflect on the possible consequences of the next great convulsion, and the fate that is in store for those intrepid villagers who have perched their primitive huts on the very edge of the Teng'ger crater. With these reflections, we turn away from one of the most solemn and impressive sights it has been our privilege to witness, silently mount our pony and retrace our steps for the snugly-situated Hotel at Tosari, no longer regretting, nay, rather thankful, that we had resolved and achieved our resolution to climb the Penandjaan Pass to see the sun rise.

Hotels and Travelling Facilities