It Was This
Interesting District Which I Was Now About To Visit.
Having decided on my route, I started at 8 A.M. on the 22d of
June.
Mr. Tower drove me the first three miles in his chaise, and
Mr. Neys accompanied me on horseback three miles further to the
village of Lotta. Here we met the Controlleur of the district of
Tondano, who was returning home from one of his monthly tours,
and who had agreed to act as my guide and companion on the
journey. From Lotta we had an almost continual ascent for six
miles, which brought us on to the plateau of Tondano at an
elevation of about 2,400 feet. We passed through three villages
whose neatness and beauty quite astonished me. The main road,
along which all the coffee is brought down from the interior in
carts drawn by buffaloes, is always turned aside at the entrance
of a village, so as to pass behind it, and thus allow the village
street itself to be kept neat and clean. This is bordered by neat
hedges often formed entirely of rose-trees, which are perpetually
in blossom. There is a broad central path and a border of fine
turf, which is kept well swept and neatly cut. The houses are all
of wood, raised about six feet on substantial posts neatly
painted blue, while the walls are whitewashed. They all have a
verandah enclosed with a neat balustrade, and are generally
surrounded by orange-trees and flowering shrubs. The surrounding
scenery is verdant and picturesque. Coffee plantations of extreme
luxuriance, noble palms and tree ferns, wooded hills and volcanic
peaks, everywhere meet the eye. I had heard much of the beauty of
this country, but the reality far surpassed my expectations.
About one o'clock we reached Tomohón, the chief place of a
district, having a native chief now called the "Major," at whose
house we were to dine. Here was a fresh surprise for me. The
house was large, airy and very substantially built of hard native
timber, squared and put together in a most workmanlike manner. It
was furnished in European style, with handsome chandelier lamps,
and the chairs and tables all well made by native workmen. As
soon as we entered, madeira and bitters were offered us. Then two
handsome boys neatly dressed in white, and with smoothly brushed
jet-black hair, handed us each a basin of water and a clean
napkin on a salver. The dinner was excellent. Fowls cooked in
various ways; wild pig roasted, stewed and fried; a fricassee of
bats, potatoes, rice and other vegetables; all served on good
china, with finger glasses and fine napkins, and abundance of
good claret and beer, seemed to me rather curious at the table of
a native chief on the mountains of Celebes. Our host was dressed
in a suit of black with patent-leather shoes, and really looked
comfortable and almost gentlemanly in them. He sat at the head of
the table and did the honours well, though he did not talk much.
Our conversation was entirely in Malay, as that is the official
language here, and in fact the mother-tongue and only language of
the Controlleur, who is a native-born half-breed. The Major's
father who was chief before him, wore, I was informed, a strip of
bark as his sole costume, and lived in a rude but raised home
on lofty poles, and abundantly decorated with human heads. Of course
we were expected, and our dinner was prepared in the best style, but
I was assured that the chiefs all take a pride in adopting
European customs, and in being able to receive their visitors in
a handsome manner.
After dinner and coffee, the Controlleur went on to Tondano, and
I strolled about the village waiting for my baggage, which was
coming in a bullock-cart, and did not arrive until after midnight.
Supper was very similar to dinner, and on retiring I found an
elegant little room with a comfortable bed, gauze curtains with
blue and red hangings, and every convenience. Next morning at
sunrise the thermometer in the verandah stood at 69°, which I was
told is about the usual lowest temperature at this place, 2,500
feet above the sea. I had a good breakfast of coffee, eggs, and
fresh bread and butter, which I took in the spacious verandah
amid the odour of roses, jessamine, and other sweet-scented
flowers, which filled the garden in front; and about eight
o'clock left Tomohón with a dozen men carrying my baggage.
Our road lay over a mountain ridge about 4,000 feet above the
sea, and then descended about 500 feet to the little village of
Rurúkan, the highest in the district of Minahasa, and probably in
all Celebes. Here I had determined to stay for some time to see
whether this elevation would produce any change in the zoology.
The village had only been formed about ten years, and was quite
as neat as those I had passed through, and much more picturesque.
It is placed on a small level spot, from which there is an abrupt
wooded descent down to the beautiful lake of Tondano, with
volcanic mountains beyond. On one side is a ravine, and beyond it
a fine mountainous and wooded country.
Near the village are the coffee plantations. The trees are
planted in rows, and are kept topped to about seven feet high.
This causes the lateral branches to grow very strong, so that
some of the trees become perfect hemispheres, loaded with fruit
from top to bottom, and producing from ten to twenty pounds each
of cleaned coffee annually. These plantations were all formed by
the Government, and are cultivated by the villagers under the
direction of their chief. Certain days are appointed for weeding
or gathering, and the whole working population are summoned by the
sound of a gong. An account is kept of the number of hours' work
done by each family, and at the year's end, the produce of the
sale is divided among them proportionately.
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