As There
Were But Three Passengers Besides Myself, We Had Abundance Of
Room, And I Was Able To Enjoy A Voyage More Than I Had Ever Done
Before.
The arrangements are somewhat different from those on
board English or Indian steamers.
There are no cabin servants, as
every cabin passenger invariably brings his own, and the ship's
stewards attend only to the saloon and the eating department. At
six A.M. a cup of tea or coffee is provided for those who like
it. At seven to eight there is a light breakfast of tea, eggs,
sardines, etc. At ten, Madeira, Gin and bitters are brought on
deck as a whet for the substantial eleven o'clock breakfast,
which differs from a dinner only in the absence of soup. Cups of
tea and coffee are brought around at three P.M.; bitters, etc.
again at five, a good dinner with beer and claret at half-past
six, concluded by tea and coffee at eight. Between whiles, beer
and sodawater are supplied when called for, so there is no lack
of little gastronomical excitements to while away the tedium of a
sea voyage.
Our first stopping place was Coupang, at the west end of the
large island of Timor. We then coasted along that island for
several hundred miles, having always a view of hilly ranges
covered with scanty vegetation, rising ridge behind ridge to the
height of six or seven thousand feet. Turning off towards Banda
we passed Pulo-Cambing, Wetter, and Roma, all of which are
desolate and barren volcanic islands, almost as uninviting as
Aden, and offering a strange contrast to the usual verdure and
luxuriance of the Archipelago. In two days more we reached the
volcanic group of Banda, covered with an unusually dense and
brilliant green vegetation, indicating that we had passed beyond
the range of the hot dry winds from the plains of Central
Australia. Banda is a lovely little spot, its three islands
enclosing a secure harbour from whence no outlet is visible, and
with water so transparent, that living corals and even the
minutest objects are plainly seen on the volcanic sand at a depth
of seven or eight fathoms. The ever smoking volcano rears its
bare cone on one side, while the two larger islands are clothed
with vegetation to the summit of the hills.
Going on shore, I walked up a pretty path which leads to the
highest point of the island on which the town is situated, where
there is a telegraph station and a magnificent view. Below lies
the little town, with its neat red-tiled white houses and the
thatched cottages of the natives, bounded on one side by the old
Portuguese fort. Beyond, about half a mile distant, lies the
larger island in the shape of a horseshoe, formed of a range of
abrupt hills covered with fine forest and nutmeg gardens; while
close opposite the town is the volcano, forming a nearly perfect
cone, the lower part only covered with a light green bushy
vegetation. On its north side the outline is more uneven, and
there is a slight hollow or chasm about one-fifth of the way
down, from which constantly issue two columns of smoke, as well
as a good deal from the rugged surface around and from some spots
nearer the summit. A white efflorescence, probably sulphur, is
thickly spread over the upper part of the mountain, marked by the
narrow black vertical lines of water gullies. The smoke unites as
it rises, and forms a dense cloud, which in calm, damp weather
spreads out into a wide canopy hiding the top of the mountain. At
night and early morning, it often rises up straight and leaves the
whole outline clear.
It is only when actually gazing on an active volcano that one can
fully realize its awfulness and grandeur. Whence comes that
inexhaustible fire whose dense and sulphurous smoke forever
issues from this bare and desolate peak? Whence the mighty forces
that produced that peak, and still from time to time exhibit
themselves in the earthquakes that always occur in the vicinity
of volcanic vents? The knowledge from childhood of the fact that
volcanoes and earthquakes exist, has taken away somewhat of the
strange and exceptional character that really belongs to them.
The inhabitant of most parts of northern Europe sees in the
earth the emblem of stability and repose. His whole life-
experience, and that of all his age and generation, teaches him
that the earth is solid and firm, that its massive rocks may
contain water in abundance, but never fire; and these essential
characteristics of the earth are manifest in every mountain his
country contains. A volcano is a fact opposed to all this mass of
experience, a fact of so awful a character that, if it were the
rule instead of the exception, it would make the earth
uninhabitable a fact so strange and unaccountable that we may be
sure it would not be believed on any human testimony, if
presented to us now for the first time, as a natural phenomenon
happening in a distant country.
The summit of the small island is composed of a highly
crystalline basalt; lower down I found a hard, stratified slatey
sandstone, while on the beach are huge blocks of lava, and
scattered masses of white coralline limestone. The larger island
has coral rock to a height of three or four hundred feet, while
above is lava and basalt. It seems probable, therefore, that this
little group of four islands is the fragment of a larger district
which was perhaps once connected with Ceram, but which was
separated and broken up by the same forces which formed the
volcanic cone. When I visited the larger island on another
occasion, I saw a considerable tract covered with large forest
trees - dead, but still standing. This was a record of the last
great earthquake only two years ago, when the sea broke in over
this part of the island and so flooded it as to destroy the
vegetation on all the lowlands.
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