The horticultural garden adjoins the botanical gardens, and occupies forty acres. As already mentioned, it owes its existence to Dr.
Scheffer, and it is, of course, devoted to strictly practical objects.
Consequently, everything is arranged in such a manner as to make the most of the s.p.a.ce. All the paths are at right angles or parallel to each other, and the garden generally is laid out with monotonous regularity.
Yet no small part of the success of the Government gardens as an inst.i.tution depends upon the produce of this department. It has for many years enabled the Government to distribute gratuitously the seeds and plants required for various colonial enterprises. Within its trim beds are contained tea and coffee plants, sugar-canes, caoutchouc and gutta-percha trees, _Erythroxylon coca_ for cocaine, and trees producing tannin and oils. Various medicinal plants are also to be found here, and such as afford useful nourishment for cattle. The necessary labour for this garden is supplied by a head-gardener and seventy natives.
The botanical gardens occupy ninety acres of the southern corner of the park, which itself forms their northern limit. On the east they are bounded by the river Tjiliwong, and on the west and south by the high-road from Batavia. Through the centre there runs the famous _Allee des Kanaries_ (_Canarium commune_), the boughs of which form an arched roof one hundred feet from the ground. Leading right and left from this central avenue run other smaller avenues, roads, and paths, conducting to the different plots in which the various families of plants are contained, in accordance with the system of arrangement introduced by Teysmann. Some of these paths, especially those leading to the lower level by the river-bank, are paved with pebbles after the manner of the "cobbled" streets of our English villages. To this Mr. Wallace, in his "Malay Archipelago," takes exception on the score of discomfort. I was a.s.sured, however, that they are a necessary evil, and that the heavy rains to which Buitenzorg was liable, made it necessary to have the firmest kind of pathway in such places. At either end of the avenue there are lodges, but no gates, and the gardens are left open day and night without any fear of injury. This fortunate condition of affairs is not unusual in Java, but in this case security is partly ensured by the proximity of a large military force and the frequent presence of the Governor-General.
As Dr. Treub had kindly offered to act as my guide, I found my way one morning to his house at the early hour of half-past seven. The residence provided for the curator is situated on the left side of the southern entrance. The deep verandah is furnished with some brilliant groups of flowers. Opening on to it is a little morning-room hung with some elegant engravings--reproductions of _Salon_ pictures. Here I found Dr.
Treub waiting for me.
After a few moments" conversation we left the house and pa.s.sed down the avenue. Some hundred yards onwards, to the right, there is a stone monument interesting to Englishmen. It consists of a circular roof supported by pillars, protecting a funereal urn placed upon a square pedestal. On the pedestal the following inscription is engraved:--
"_Sacred to the memory of Olivia Mariamne, wife of Thomas Stamford Raffles, Lieutenant-Governor of Java and its dependencies, who died at Buitenzorg on the 26th of November, 1814._"
Although the site of this monument is more humble than that of Sir Thomas Raffles" statue at Singapore, it is scarcely less interesting; and the repair and preservation of the stonework is secured by a special clause in the treaty of cession. I think it was just here that Dr. Treub turned away from the Canary Avenue, and, taking one of the paths to the right, led me forward towards the river.
I had asked him if he would point out any trees specially worthy of being sketched, and he had very readily acceded to my request. After we had walked a few minutes, however, he said--
"I am in a difficulty; I do not know what to show you. We have some most curious plants in the garden, but there is nothing remarkable about them externally. I suppose you want something with a _cachet_ for the public?"
I said he was quite right in his supposition. What I wanted was something of interest from a picturesque point of view to the general public.
"There," he said, pointing to a tall tree with a growth and foliage of no distinct character, "is a strychnine tree; from the berries of that tree we get nux vomica; but if you drew that, they would say, "Why, it is an apple-tree; it is not worth going to the tropics to see that.""
By this time we had almost reached the banks of the Tjiliwong, and again turning to the right, where grew the pandans, "There," he said, "is a tree with aerial roots. It comes from the Nicobar Islands, just north-west of Sumatra. I think it is about twenty-eight feet in height.
No, the roots do not contribute to its nourishment; they are useless but very curious." From the pandans we pa.s.sed to the palms. First we noticed a specimen of comparatively low growth, with its leaves springing from the ground like the leaves of a primrose--_Ladoicea Sech.e.l.larum_. It bore, I was told, the largest fruit and the largest leaves of any known tree, the former being two, and the latter ten, feet in diameter. "Unfortunately, there is no fruit on it," said Dr. Treub, "but you can see _that_ in any museum. You see, the stems of the leaves are as hard as iron." Indeed, they gave quite a metallic ring as he drove the ferrule of his walking stick against them. A few steps further brought us to a tree which Dr. Treub said had no special characteristics, but was a perfect natural specimen of the palm family.
It stood about forty feet in height, and was furnished with foliage which hung gracefully suspended from a straight tapering stem. Then at the next corner, where its beauty showed to advantage, we came upon a group of red-stemmed palms from the little island of Banka. A fortnight later I was anch.o.r.ed off Mentok, the capital of that island, in a Dutch mail boat; but at this time I had no knowledge of the _habitat_ of this fair tree--nor, indeed, had I seen it before, although a few weeks afterwards I found two fine specimens growing on either side of the entrance of a private house at Singapore. It needs an expert to describe so rare a combination of brilliant colours and graceful form. Mr.
Forbes, the naturalist, in his account of his "Wanderings in the Eastern Archipelago," tells how he pa.s.sed down through "plots of amaryllideae, iris, and other water-loving plants" in this quarter of the garden; and how he found the "glory" of "the richest _palmetum_ in the world--the _Cyrtostachys renda_, whose long bright scarlet leaf-sheaths and flower-spathes, and its red fruit and deep yellow inflorescence hanging side by side, at once arrest the eye."
From this point we again ascended to the higher level of the garden by a path paved with pebbles and cut into steps. Then "faring on our way," we reached the division marked _Anonaceae_, and there my eye came upon a sight which rivalled in wonder the golden bough of the sixth aeneid which the doves of Venus showed to aeneas:
"Tollunt se celeres, liquidumque per aera lapsae, Sedibus optatis geminae super arbore sidunt, Discolor unde auri per ramos aura refulsit."
In this case the "contrasting golden beam" shone not from the foliage, but, stranger still, from the black trunk of a tall tree. It was a _stelecho-karpus_, or stem-flowering tree. The trunk from which the deep saffron flowers sprang was about one foot and three inches in diameter, and the flowers themselves were much like bunches of primroses, only darker in colour and divested of their leaves. Unlike aeneas, we pa.s.sed forward without any floral spoils--for, indeed, we had no such awkward personage as Charon to reckon with--among dark, cool, tree-arched avenues of figs and banyans to the northern limit. On our way we paused once to notice a fine "sacred fig" of India (_urostigma_), a tree with remarkably angular boughs; and again when Dr. Treub stopped, and, pointing to the frangipane blossom, said, "That is the flower of religion in India, being sacred to Buddha; the Malays here call it the "flower of the dead."" In this quarter the trees were larger and of more robust growth, and the appearance of the garden more natural to my Northern eyes. A sudden turn brought us to a projecting spur, on which was built a little summer-house commanding a view of the surrounding country. Far away the double mountain Pangerango and Gede rose blue and shadowy, with just a wreath of smoke showing from the volcanic peak. In the middle ground stretched ma.s.ses of tropical forests edging the bright green terraces of the savah land. At our feet the river ran bubbling and fretting over the brown stones.
In returning we skirted the central lake, and, having crossed the avenue, pa.s.sed down a broad roadway lined with rich foliage. This was so arranged as to afford a view of Mount Salak to the southern windows of the Governor-General"s residence. It was one of the many glimpses which appeared of a sheer height of dark azure contrasted with the bright green of palm or bamboo. Leaving this, we pa.s.sed down an avenue of Brazilian palms, running parallel to the Canary Avenue. Each tree was almost too faultlessly perfect in its graceful foliage and smooth rounded stem, and of apparently equal height. Round the surfaces of these stems the green leaves and purple flowers of convolvuli clung. A few yards beyond the termination of this avenue we left the path and entered a wilderness of climbing plants. Carefully advancing (for there were arms stretched out on every side ready to pluck flesh or clothing), we took our stand opposite the coils of a huge climbing palm.
"There are branches," said Dr. Treub, "from this plant six hundred feet in length; it pa.s.ses, as you see, from tree to tree."
On reaching the path, I found that we had completed the circuit of the gardens, and were once more in the neighbourhood of the nurseries and buildings. These latter are numerous and extensive, for the curator of the Buitenzorg gardens aims not only at obtaining a wide range of vegetable products, and thus serving the needs of colonial industries, but also at accomplishing researches in the pathology and physiology of plants. In this way Dr. Treub expects a useful development for the tropical gardens generally, which he considers have only lately become genuine centres of scientific research. At Buitenzorg, in addition to a museum containing an extensive herbarium and a botanical library of over five thousand volumes, there are numerous laboratories and offices accommodating the curator and his three a.s.sistants, and draughtsmen, who are competent to employ the methods of photography and lithography in reproducing the forms of plants. Under the direction of this staff there are employed a number of natives, including three Malays with special botanical knowledge, a head-gardener, and nine under-gardeners, and scarcely less than a hundred coolies. Altogether there are nine thousand distinct species of plants contained in the gardens. On our way to the strangers" laboratory we pa.s.sed a number of trellis-work houses, with creepers trained over their sides and roofs. "You see," said Dr. Treub, with a smile, "we have _cool_ houses here instead of _hot_ houses. They are for forest plants accustomed to coolness and shelter."
I was especially asked to notice the completeness of the arrangements made for scientific visitors. The laboratory is seventy-five feet in length, and opposite each of the ten windows (five on either side) is placed a table fitted with optical instruments and other necessary means of botanical research. It is also provided with a small library and herbarium. In reference to the strangers" laboratory, Dr. Treub remarked that he specially desired to see Englishmen avail themselves of it.
German and French _savants_ had come to Buitenzorg to study, but no Englishmen as yet.
I visited these gardens on several occasions during my short stay at Buitenzorg, and often wandered among the dark tree-arched paths and avenues. On each occasion I found some new beauty. One day it was a lakelet covered with great water-plants; another day a gorgeous plot of orchids, or a fresh piece of landscape. These subsequent visits, however, lacked that which gave so great a charm to my first walk through the gardens--the spontaneous courtesy and graceful learning of the curator.
[Ill.u.s.tration: A HAPPY CELESTIAL.]
CHAPTER VIII.
FROM BUITENZORG TO TJI w.a.n.gI.
View of Mount Salak--Railway travelling in Java-- Soekaboemi--No coolies--A long walk--Making a _pikulan_--Forest path--Tji w.a.n.gi at last.
It is two in the afternoon, and I have just taken the curious Javan meal called _rice-table_. Everyone else in the hotel, visitors and servants alike, are asleep. The doors of my rooms are all open, and there is a through draught from the courtyard to the verandah, where I am seated in a long easy chair with arms extending at will after the manner of the tropics. By my side on a table are placed cigars, a gla.s.s of iced claret and water, and a novel.
The view from the back rooms of the Hotel Belle Vue at Buitenzorg is famous. This afternoon I am looking at it for the last time, and it seems more wonderful than ever. Let me try to describe it.
Immediately in front is the great triangular ma.s.s of Mount Salak. The peak is 7000 feet above sea-level, and, like most of the Javan mountains, it rises to its full height almost clear from its base. The lower levels are luxuriantly covered with tropical forests, a covering which gradually thins and dwindles until the apex of the triangle stands out sharply against the sky. Between the hotel and the mountain there stretches a sea of waving treetops. In the distance it is deep blue; as it approaches it grows more and more green; then separate forms of palms and bamboos can be distinguished, with red-tiled or brown-thatched roofs showing between them. Immediately beneath me is the brown river Tjiliwong, with bamboo cottages on its banks and natives bathing in its waters.
Inside the courtyard no one is stirring. The dreamy silence is only broken by the voices that rise from the river below, by the clacking of the sarong weaver"s shuttle or the dull boom of a far-away tom-tom.
Under such circ.u.mstances the conditions necessary for perfect physical enjoyment are very fully realized. Yet it is at such moments that one is apt to reflect how unimportant are these material considerations compared with the advantages of strenuous and reasoned action. One longs for the stir of life as it is felt in the great centres of European population;
"Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay."
Well, I was going to see some European energy on the morrow. At Batavia an English resident had said, "When you are at Buitenzorg you should go on to Soekaboemi and see a coffee plantation." Subsequently he wrote that his friend H---- would expect me on Tuesday at his coffee plantation with an unp.r.o.nounceable name in the Preanger district. The morrow was Tuesday.
Soekaboemi was only thirty or forty miles away, but I left Buitenzorg at eight o"clock in order to escape the discomfort of travelling in the middle of the day. It goes without saying that trains in the tropics do not carry you along as quickly as the Flying Dutchman or the Scotch express. But I found the carriages comfortable enough, being built in the American fashion, and furnished with Venetians to keep out the sun and let in the air. Except the station-masters, all the officials were Chinese or Javan natives. The guard who looked at my ticket wore the traditional peaked cap and cloth uniform, but over his European garments he had appended as usual his airy native costume. Of the four cla.s.ses of carriages two are reserved for Europeans, one for Chinese, and one for the natives.
In leaving Buitenzorg I made the mistake of taking a first-cla.s.s ticket.
In the first place, the carriage had not been dusted, and a cooly came in and disturbed me with his brush. He made such a cloud of dust that I had to beat a retreat. On my return I found the carriage clean, but the dust transferred to my baggage. In the next place, all the Dutch officials, and the planters and their wives, were travelling second cla.s.s, and I was left to enjoy (?) my compartment in solitary grandeur.
Had there been any one in the carriage, I should have found out that Soekaboemi was not the right station for H----"s plantation. As it was I could open and shut windows at will, and I was free to make the best of my opportunities for sight-seeing--an object towards which the slow pace of the train and the frequent and lengthy stoppages materially contributed. Indeed, the crowds of natives at the stations were as well worth studying as the mountains and plantations. I never saw elsewhere, even in Java, such rainbow mixtures of colours as they contrived to bring into their cotton jackets and dresses; and as for their plaited hats, there was every possible variety of shape and size, from an umbrella to a funnel.
For the first few miles the line ran southwards between Salak and Gede.
On either side I could see stretches of mountain slopes luxuriously wooded, while the brown stream Tji Sadanie, a tributary of the Kali Besar, or "great river" of Batavia, playing hide-and-seek with the railroad, afforded more than one charming "bit" of river, tree, and mountain.
As we get away from the mountains the view widens. Ma.s.ses of palms, dark green bamboos, and other tropical growths fill up the distance. In the foreground are irrigated rice terraces, with gleaming waters and the freshest of verdure. Here copper-coloured natives are at work. Men are ploughing the wet soil of the sawahs with buffaloes; women--often with their babies slung on their backs with their long scarfs--are hoeing, or weeding, or reaping. As the average monthly temperature does not vary more than two degrees all the year round in Java, the process of preparing the ground, sowing, and reaping go on simultaneously in the ricefields. Every now and then we come across a queer little Noah"s-ark cottage in the midst of bananas and bamboos, with a tall palm or two waving overhead. Salak remains long in sight. At first it towered in its pride of greatness, then it grew soft in the blue distance. At last the railway turns abruptly at Karan Tenjak, and it is gone.
As the train nears Soekaboemi the character of the country changes.
Plantations of sugar in the level country and of tea on the uplands take the place of ricefields. The name Soekaboemi means "pleasant place," and the town is the centre of the planting interest in Java. In its immediate neighbourhood are coffee, cinchona, and tea plantations.
At a quarter to eleven the train drew up in a large and excellently arranged station. I at once made my way outside. Here I looked in vain for the horses and coolies I expected to meet me. After waiting some moments, I confided my troubles to a bystander, addressing him in French, which is spoken by the Europeans in Java almost as much as Dutch. Fortunately Tji w.a.n.gi--the unp.r.o.nounceable name of H----"s plantation--seemed to be well known, and he grasped the situation at once.
"You ought to have gone to Tji Reinga.s.s," he said; "the coolies will be there."
"How far am I from Tji w.a.n.gi? Is it within driving distance?" I inquired.
"Yes."
"Can I take a sadoe?"
"Yes, certainly."
There were several sadoes outside the station at Soekaboemi. As my knowledge of Malay, the recognized language for communication between natives and Europeans, was strictly limited, I asked my new friend to find out if the Malay "boy" knew where Tji w.a.n.gi was. This he readily did, and told me that it was all right; that he would take me to Tji w.a.n.gi. So I got into the sadoe, expecting to be driven promptly to my destination.