Tanjong Priok—?Sadoes—?Batavia—?Business quarter—?Telephoning—?Chinese Campong—?Weltevreden—? Waterloo Plain—?Peter Elberfeld's house—?Raffles and Singapore.

When the prosperity of the Dutch East India Company was at its height, the city of Batavia[9] was justly entitled the "Queen of the East." Apart from the fact that this place was the centre and head-quarters of the company, it was the emporium through which the whole commerce of the East passed to and from Europe. The Dutch possessions of Ceylon, the Cape of Good Hope, and the Moluccas depended for their supplies on Java. Not only were the European imports, iron, broadcloth, glass-ware, velvets, wines, gold lace, furniture, and saddlery destined for these settlements received here in the first instance, but similar imports intended for China, Cochin, Japan, and the Malay islands were also reshipped from this port into the native boats which conveyed them to those several countries. Similarly, the wealth of China and the East was first collected upon the wharfs of Batavia before it was finally despatched to the various ports of Europe and America.

Since the foundation of the town, the seashore has silted up to such an extent that the original harbour of Batavia, in which the Dutch East Indiamen of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries lay at anchor, has been abandoned, and a new port has been constructed at a point six miles to the eastward. The harbour works at Tanjong Priok, as the present port of Batavia is called, and the railway which connects the port and town of Batavia, are one among many improvements set on foot in the island since the inauguration of a public-works policy by the Colonial Government in 1875. Ocean steamships of 4000 and 5000 tons burden can now be berthed at these wharfs, and there is a constant and convenient service of trains between the port and the town. Even to-day the presence of superannuated Dutch warships and quaint craft from China and the Malay islands relieves the monotony of the vast hulls of the steamships of the British India, the Messageries Maritimes, and the Netherlands India Companies.

I was agreeably surprised at the size and convenience of the station at Tanjong Priok. The booking clerk, who was, I think, a Chinaman, seemed to know the ways of strangers, and I and my fellow-passengers had no difficulty in taking tickets for Batavia. The line passed through groves of cocoa-nut palms, intersected with canals. Everything was quaint and interesting, the canal boats, the buffalo ploughs, the gaily-feathered birds,—all revealed a new and delightful phase of life and nature. We were immensely struck with the appearance of a native cutting grass. He had a hooked blade of steel fastened to a long handle, forming an instrument not unlike a cleek or other golf-stick. This he slowly swung round his head, and each time it touched the ground cleared about three inches of grass. The thing looked too absurd. We all wanted to get out and ask him how long he expected to be mowing that strip of grass by the canal-side.

While I was on board ship I had been fortunate enough to borrow a Malay phrase-book from a man who had visited the Archipelago before, and during the voyage to Batavia I had amused myself with copying out some of the phrases and committing them to memory. On landing I found these few phrases extremely useful, and I mention the fact by way of encouragement, and in case any other traveller should be inclined similarly to beguile the tedium of the voyage. He will have his reward.When Mr. Wallace visited Java in 1861, he tells us he found no conveyances in Batavia except "handsome two-horse carriages," costing something under a sovereign a day. He justly complains of the expensiveness of these vehicles, and also of the cost of the post-carriages which then formed the sole means of locomotion in the interior of the island. To-day things are greatly improved. To say nothing of the railway system which connects the large towns in the east and west, Batavia is provided with an excellent tramway, and with a capital supply of small vehicles called sadoes.

The sadoe is the hansom of Java. It is a small two-wheeled carriage, in which the seats are placed back to back (hence the name, which is a corruption of dos-À-dos), and which is furnished with a square top to keep off the sun. It is drawn by one (or two) of the sturdy little horses bred in the island. At a pinch these vehicles will hold four, but two is enough. Ordinarily the driver sits in front, and the "fare" in the more luxurious seat behind. Thus weighted the country-breds go at a very smart pace; nor is there any complaint to be made in respect of the drivers. They are generally very civil, and their charges are very moderate.

I was told a story which illustrates the docility of the sadoe drivers, and the cleverness with which they can trace and identify their "fares."

An English officer from Singapore, whom we will call Brown, was visiting Batavia, and had occasion, in the course of his visit, to drive in a sadoe from the old town to a friend's house in Weltevreden. For some reason or other he became annoyed with the driver, and, having ejected him, proceeded to drive himself. As it was night, he soon became entangled in the maze of streets. At last he reached the large open space called the King's Plain. He was now close to his destination. The only difficulty was to get rid of the sadoe. In order to do this he drove into the middle of the plain. He waited until the horse began to graze quietly, and then "made tracks" as quickly as might be for his friend's compound. Ultimately he returned to his hotel. The first thing Brown saw, when he got up the next morning, was sadoe, driver, and horse waiting outside his verandah in the courtyard. He grew pale with thoughts of the police; but no, the driver only wanted his fare, which was two florins. Having received this, he retired smiling and contented.

There was a crowd of these sadoes waiting outside the station at Batavia, in one of which I made my way to the HÔtel der Nederlanden.

Batavia may be divided (like all Gaul) into three parts. First, there is the business quarter, the oldest, where the houses are tall and built in the style still prevalent in the warm countries of Europe, with balconies and verandahs and widely projecting eaves, and where the streets are narrow. Then there is the Chinese Campong, which, with the adjacent streets, occupies the central portion of the town, containing the bulk of the population closely packed in their curious dwellings. And, lastly, there is Weltevreden, the Dutch town, where the officials, the military, and the merchants reside. The town is traversed from end to end by the railway, which passes through from Tanjong Priok to Buitenzorg and Bandong; and by the tramway, which runs from the town gate in the north to the statue of Meester Cornelis in the south. It is also divided by the stream called the Kali Bezar, or Great River, and intersected by numerous canals. The pavements are of red brick, and the roads covered with a reddish dust; indeed, the prevailing tone of the whole place is a warm red-brown, varied by salmon-pink and green masonry, and generously interspersed with bright yellow, deep crimson, and olive-green foliage, though not unfrequently a spreading waringin tree or a group of feathery palms overtops the general mass. Additional colour is given by the natives, who are clothed in light cottons and silken stuffs of delicate tones and graceful shapes, carried with an easy carelessness and unfailing novelty of combination. Sometimes they are gathered into dark brown masses round the base of some one of the many bridges which span the river or canals, prepared for the luxury of the tropics—an afternoon bathe.

All three quarters are possessed of a separate beauty. The elaborately carved pediments and ponderous doors, the heavy balconies and eaves of the houses, give an old-world quaintness to the first, which is enhanced by the crowd of many-shaped and variously coloured boats that line the quays that front the offices on either side of the Great River. Nothing could be more delightful than the setting of the red-tiled roofs, with their dragon-decorated ridges and parapets, on the wooden trellis fronts and canvas blinds of the Chinese houses. Weltevreden, too, is not without attractions. The broad porticoes of dazzling white, with their Ionic columns and marble floors, are often set in a fair surrounding of green trees. The compounds and gardens are always verdant, and sometimes radiant with bright-leaved shrubs and flowers. Especially the broad green-covered squares and the wide roads arched with noble trees speak of coolness and repose in a hot and weary land. On the outskirts of the town, along the country roads, where the cocoa palm and banana plantations begin, are the bamboo cottages of the Sundanese natives.

But it is after nightfall that this place becomes a veritable fairyland. The open porticoes of the Dutch houses are seen to be thronged with gaily dressed people, the ladies often still wearing the sarong, and looking like Æneas' mother—

and in harmony with the pillars and pediments about them. Everywhere lights gleam through foliage, and ever and again, through an air instinct with electric movement and heavy with perfumes, strains of music reach the ear from the open doorways, or are wafted in the distance from one of the numerous military bands, which are ever "discoursing sweet music" to the society of the capital. In the centre of the town the native streets look, to the European eye, like a perpetual festival. Outside the doors are gathered in groups the various inhabitants—Chinese, Malay, or Sundanese, some clanging cymbals and other strange instruments of music, others seated round fires, eating baked cakes or fruits and other frugal dainties. Meanwhile the streets are alive with the rush of numerous cahars[10] and sadoes, drawn by the agile native pony, and with itinerant vendors, who, bearing their baskets suspended from their shoulders by the pikulan, or cross-piece, each with a lamp fixed to the rearmost basket, flit to and fro noiselessly on their bare feet.

The business quarter, like the "city" in London, is thronged with merchants and carriages, carts and coolies, and all the machinery of commerce, in the daytime, and entirely deserted at night. The merchants keep their offices open from nine till five, and, in spite of the great heat, work all through the day, with the exception of an hour or so for "tiffin." By this arrangement the early morning and late afternoon, the only time when open-air exercise is possible, is left available for riding or walking. In spite of the romantic exterior of the place, Batavia is not ill-supplied with modern improvements. The tramway system, in which smoke and heat are avoided by the use of a central boiler from which steam is taken for the different locomotives, is especially well suited to the requirements of the climate. The telephone, again, is in constant use both in offices and private houses, although the confusion of languages—Malay, Dutch, and English—makes it a little difficult sometimes to work it. I remember once asking the landlord of the HÔtel der Nederlanden to telephone to a man in the town that I was intending to go to Buitenzorg on the following morning, and the terrible difficulty I had to get him to convey my name to the clerk at the other end. After ringing up the central office (which is worked by Malays) and getting the connection he wanted, he said—

"Mr. X——?"

"No."

"Mr. X—— is not there" (to me).

"All right," I said; "tell the clerk to tell Mr. X——"

But the telephone was now shut off, and the process of connecting had to be gone through again.

"Tell Mr. X—— What is your name?"

"Worsfold," I said.

"Versfolt?"

"Yes."

"Tell Mr. X—— that Mynheer Versfolt——"

"Who?" (from the other end).

"Mynheer Versfolt."

"Who?"

"Versfolt."

"Who?"

"How you spell it?" (to me).

I spelt it.

"Mynheer V-e-a-s-f-o-l-t. Veasfolt, Veasfolt, Veasfolt."

Here he appealed to a Dutch gentleman who could speak English, and wrote down the name, W-o-r-s-f-o-l-d.

"Tell Mr. X—— that Mynheer—— Listen, I will spell it—W-o-r," etc.

"Oh, never mind; tell him that the Englishman is going to Buitenzorg to-morrow.""The English gentleman is going to Buitenzorg to-morrow."

"What Englishman?"

"Mynheer Veasfolt."

"Who?"

"Mynheer Veasfold. I will spell it—W-o-r," etc.

"Yes; what about him?"

"Tell Mr. X—— that Mynheer Veasfolt——"

"Who?"

"Oh, never mind," I said; "Mr. X—— will understand."

But the polite landlord was not satisfied. "It is no trouble; I will tell him."

Then I went away in haste, as the process had already occupied half an hour, and I was telephoning to avoid delay. Five minutes later I passed the bureau. The landlord was still at that wretched instrument. I hurried by without daring to look up, fearing that I should be appealed to again. I dared not even ask whether the message ever reached the office or not.

Beside the town gate—a massive stone arch, with two large iron images on either side, remnants of early victories over the kings of Bantam—there are two buildings of interest in this (business) quarter of the town, the stadthaus, or town hall, and the town church. The former is just such an old Dutch edifice as might be seen in any of the towns of Holland, standing in a tree-planted space. In it are the offices of the Resident and the police authorities. The landraad, or county court, also holds its sittings here; and on the stone terrace in front of the building, the town guard (a native force armed with lances or picks, and therefore called "pickiniers") are generally to be seen drilling. The town church is across the river, on the road to Tanjong Priok. It is given up to a half-caste congregation, but its walls are lined with memorial tablets of former governors, and there are some interesting monuments outside. According to a wooden tablet within, it was built between the years 1693 and 1695 by Pieter Van Hoorn. It contains some handsome silver candelabra and a richly gilt pulpit, and in the vestry there are some handsome old chairs.The native quarter is remarkable for the picturesque medley of its people and their houses. There are also in the Chinese Campong many fine private houses, which are furnished with courtyards, and elaborately finished. In the decorations of the roof the favourite form of the Chinese dragon is constantly repeated, and extraordinary effects are produced by a sort of mosaic work, with which the spaces over the doorways and windows are filled, and which has a shiny surface almost like majolica ware.

Weltevreden has many handsome buildings, and some which are interesting. Most of them are grouped round the two great squares or parks, the King's Plain and the Waterloo Plain. The former is lined by four magnificent avenues of tamarind trees (Poinciana regia), which form a graceful arch of small-leaved foliage, broken here and there by a still wider-spreading waringin tree. On the west side stands the museum, which contains a very perfect collection of the antiquities and industries of the island. There is also a library, and new buildings are in course of erection. It is governed by a directory, which consists in full of eleven members, who have power to fill up any vacancies which may occur. There is a president, a vice-president, a secretary, and a librarian. This latter gentleman is generally to be found at the museum, and a little conversation with him, and a few hours spent in the ethnological and antiquarian sections, form the very best commencement of a tour through the island. Directly opposite the museum is the Weltevreden station and the great black dome of the Dutch church. This latter is noticeable as being the place where the few people who do go to church in Batavia attend, and where marriages are solemnized after the preliminary ceremony at the registrar's.

Page 78.

THE WATERLOO PLAIN, BATAVIA.