# Life in Java/Volume 1/Chapter 1

CHAPTER I.
VOYAGE TO BATAVIA—DESCRIPTION OF HARBOUR—LANDING AT THE JETTY—EXAMINATION OF LUGGAGE—OUR WELCOME TO JAVA—DRIVE TO PARAPATTAN—DUTCH LIFE IN THE EAST—FONDNESS FOR THE WEED—POLICE ARRANGEMENTS—GUARDOS, WEAPONS USED—TOK-TOKS—WYKEMESTER—PUBLIC HOSPITAL—TOPENGS—MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS—JACATRA—THE HEAD ON THE WALL—PETER ELBERFELD—CONSPIRACY—A LOVE TALE—DISCOVERY OF THE PLOT—PUNISHMENT OF THE OFFENDERS.
CHAPTER I.
Four days' steaming from Singapore, in the Dutch mail-steamer Padang, brought us safely into the sea-port of Batavia. It is a large bay, studded with a number of islands, some of which are fortified, while others, being found eligible for that purpose, have been converted into docks, partly by Government, and partly by private individuals.
These islets are not large enough to protect the harbour from the violent winds blowing during the east monsoon, but they are sufficiently numerous to make the passage into it intricate and dangerous, requiring great caution on the part of the mariner. The harbour is not so imposing as that of Singapore.
The coast-line is marshy, and covered with ​bushy marine plants; beyond it the country, as far as the eye can reach, is quite flat, and but for the diversity of tropical foliage seen everywhere, would present the appearance of "a weary waste expanding to the skies."
Leaving the Padang, we entered a small boat, with an enormous mat sail, which, notwithstanding its dimensions, the crew were not long in raising, apparently with ease, before the favourable breeze.
Half an hour's sail brought us to the mouth of the canal, from which the town of Batavia is about two miles distant. This canal is from thirty to forty feet in width, with low walls about five feet high on each side, to protect the channel from being choked up with sand and mud.
After some time the men lowered our sail, and commenced pulling, for we were now threading our way through numbers of fishing and trading boats, and consequently could not maintain the speed with which we had started. Beyond the ​walls which enclosed the canal, the ground was very muddy, and partially filled up with concrete and other debris, on which some small attap huts have been erected, probably inhabited by fishermen, if we may judge from the number of nets which are exposed to dry.
In the swampy regions alligators are frequently seen, and afford some sport to Europeans.
Presently we passed the old light-house, an ugly wooden structure, which formerly marked the limits of the canal; but as, in consequence of the encroachments and accumulation of alluvium, it has been found necessary to deepen and extend the latter, a new light-house is in course of erection, about a mile further down. A little beyond this we passed a battery, or small fort, in the appearance of which there was nothing remarkable to excite our curiosity.
A few more vigorous strokes of the oar, and we reached the "boom or jetty" of the Custom-house, the ​façade of which rests upon round pillars. Although extremely simple in its architectural character, our attention was attracted to it by the dense flotilla of clumsy-looking boats moored before it. On landing, our luggage was immediately put under the surveillance of a Custom-house officer, who, after receiving our replies in answer to his questions, made a cursory examination, and then very civilly told us we might retire.
Entering the carriage of a friend who had come to welcome us on Javanese soil, we proceeded rapidly along, passing numbers of Government godowns to the right, with a grass plot immediately in front of each; and, going through a gateway, we left what may be termed the city, or business quarter of Batavia, the houses of which, as we particularly observed on a subsequent visit, are remarkable for their size. They are built of red brick, and are decorated with florid ornaments above and on the sides of the windows. They are ​very ancient, and were formerly occupied by Portuguese and Dutch families, who, finding the quarter very insalubrious in consequence of the miasma arising from the river and neighbouring marshes—which obtained for Batavia the name of the unhealthiest of Eastern cities—deserted these commodious-looking buildings for the more salubrious localities of Weltervalden, Parapattan, Cornelius, &c., four miles farther in the interior. Now, with the exception of a few inhabited by mestizos, with prolific families, they are chiefly converted into warehouses.
The Kali Basar, or Great River, passes through the town, having some fine offices on one side, and on the other inferior native buildings; then flowing through the walled canal I have before mentioned, it disembogues itself into the harbour. Beyond the gates, situated to the left of the inner canal, we had a peep of the Chinese campong, ​easily distinguished by the regularity of the rather low-built brick houses, with the corners of the roofs turning upwards. To the right we passed a range of shops facing this campang, and several attap houses shaded by trees.
We next came to the quarter at present inhabited by Europeans, and were surprised to see not only a number of fine, spacious-looking shops, occupied by European tailors, chemists, milliners, &c., but also elegant mansions, situated in the midst of carefully-tended gardens, large Government buildings, and a fine club-house, which goes by the name of the Harmonie.
Farther on our eyes were charmed with the refreshing sight of an extensive green called the Koningen's Plain, which is a mile square, faced with fine large houses, and traversed by roads lined with rows of trees on each side. At one corner of this plain there is a race-course, owing its origin mainly to the English residents, whose ​proverbial penchant for the turf is manifested here as in every other region where they are found.
We stayed in Batavia for about a fortnight, and were entertained by our friends with that hospitality which seems so natural to people in the East, and which can never be forgotten, suggested as it is by every recollection of the scenes we have passed through.
Next morning, being supplied with active Javanese ponies, we rode out soon after five o'clock, to make some pleasant suburban explorations, our friends accompanying us, and pointing out each object of interest we came across.
In the afternoon, near sunset, we took a drive in a phaeton, drawn by fast-trotting ponies, whose speed was really marvellous. We thus saw a great part of the town and its environs in a most expeditious and agreeable manner; for as we wished to proceed as soon as possible to the interior of the island, a visit to which was our main object in ​coming to Java, we were anxious to make the most of our time.
The principal features which strike the eye in European Batavia are the numerous canals by which the town is intersected. The streets on either side of these canals are very regular, and the tall Verengen trees with their long spreading branches, covered with foliage, form avenues pleasing to the sight, and afford a delightful shade from the sultry heat of the day.
In our morning rides we used to be interested by the animated scene the canals presented. We were particularly amused by the numerous ponies undergoing their morning bath, a common practice throughout the East, though accompanied by some risk from more than one cause; the first and foremost being the chance of catching the glanders, or some other infectious disease.
Farther on, in a more retired part, we saw, not unfrequently, tiny boats—formed from a plantain ​leaf—laden with flowers, gliding down the stream. These were votive offerings, probably placed on the water by some Javanese maiden, and doubtless watched with no little anxiety until they were lost sight of. This pleasing custom, which I should fancy to be a relic of Buddhism, reminds one of the Hindoo girl who, placing lights in boats of a similar description, allows them to float on the surface of some river, till distance hides them from her view.
We used to meet the Dutch fashionables walking about, quite in a state of deshabillé, apparently bent on taking life easy. No hat covered their heads, which are generally so closely cropped that, at a distance, they look as if they were completely shorn. The white baju, a kind of loose jacket, is generally worn, while the loose pejamas, or night-drawers, flap about their legs like sails courting the breeze, which swells them out. Sometimes, when a long walk is premeditated, a sort of ​shooting-coat is added to this singular attire, which only increases, if possible, its ludicrous effect. The cigar, I need hardly say, is their constant companion. The ladies adopt in-doors a kind of native dress, wearing the sarong and kabaya. The upper garment, however, which is long, is invariably white, and often very daintily trimmed with lace, &c.; but in this costume they are seldom seen beyond the house or grounds, though we have observed a few taking their morning promenade thus attired.
The Dutchman's mode of life in Java is as follows. He rises generally at five a.m., lights his cigar, and then sallies forth to take his stroll, or, as the natives term it, makan angin, signifying, literally, to eat the wind. About seven he returns to partake of a collation of eggs and cold meat, after which he drinks his tea or coffee, and smokes again. He then takes his bath, throwing buckets of water over his head, after the manner adopted ​by all who reside in Eastern climes. After the enjoyment of this necessary luxury, he puts on his day suit, always of light texture on account of the heat, and generally white, and entering his carriage, is driven to his kantor, or house of business. If he is a wealthy citizen, he probably returns home at 12, at which hour the breakfast—as it is termed, though at mid-day—awaits him, consisting of all kinds of Eastern delicacies, rice, curry, and endless sambals, or small piquant side dishes. After this heavy meal, Morpheus waves his wand over Batavia, and all his votaries who can spare the time, retire to digest their food in a siesta of from two to three hours' duration.
Rising from this sleep, the first cry is Spada—a contraction for Sapa ada, "Who is there?"—which is immediately followed by Api—"light"—a demand promptly attended to by some boy, who, prepared for the summons, quickly appears with a cigar-box, ​containing five hundred or more Filippinos, or primeros, in one hand, and a lighted Chinese joss-stick in the other; while another boy brings a tray, on which is a cup of tea and some cakes. Another delicious cold bath generally succeeds the smoke, after which the luxurious European retires to dress for the evening, reappearing with the usual mouth appendage, and a stick in hand—no hat, of course, for the Batavian fashion is for neither gentlemen or ladies to wear anything on their heads, except when they go to church on Sundays. Thus attired, he wends his way quietly to the Koningen's Plain, or to that of Waterloo, to gaze on the élite and fashion walking or driving about, which the ladies do in full dress—décolleté—and wearing ornaments in their hair.
The carriages containing gentlemen are distinguished by the lighted joss-stick in the hand of one of the footmen, who stands behind his master, ever ready to present the aromatic torch. The quantity ​of cigars consumed in a day by one individual is really astonishing, and the rapidity with which each is smoked is remarkable. From personal experience, I should say Dutchmen in the East are much greater smokers even than Spaniards.
On reaching home after his promenade, our Dutchman partakes of orange bitters, diluted in Kirsch-wasser—Hollands—or brandy, as a stimulus to the appetite; and then, after the enjoyment of another weed, the Mandoer, head-servant, or butler, announces dinner. When the ladies retire from dessert, cigars are immediately handed round, and cups of excellent Java coffee. And here, I may beg leave to observe, we were told that a great quantity of the coffee which is sold as Mocha in reality comes direct from Java, assuming the name of the famous Arab port on its arrival in Europe. The gentlemen generally sit but a short time after the ladies leave, adjourning after them to the drawing-room, ​where they continue to puff vigorously at their lighted cigars, to the perfume of which the ladies never make any objection. As this room always opens on a verandah, some retire to seek the coolness of the night air, while others while away the time by music and chit-chat, &c., retiring generally about eleven or twelve, to renew the same life next day.
In one of our evening drives we saw the Governor's town palace, now converted into public offices. It stands on one side of Waterloo Plain, a large level green, in the centre of which is a pillar supporting a lion. Two long ranges of low bungalows, with a row of trees in front, filling up two sides of this square, are occupied by military officers. Extensive barracks are situated contiguous to these quarters, and twice or three times a-week the band plays on the plain before a large audience of Europeans and natives.
​Throughout the whole of Java there is no standing police; an assertion which may appear scarcely credible regarding an island the breadth of which varies from fifty-six to one hundred and thirty-six miles, and the length of which is about sixty-six miles greater than that of Great Britain. Such, nevertheless, is the case—there is no regular police force. And yet, curious enough, perfect order and quiet are maintained throughout the island, without the moral restraint which our broad-chested London police might inspire, or the fear with which the presence of the sallow-faced sergent de ville would be regarded. The system adopted is an improvement on that which was once common in Europe, and must be fresh in the memory of men still living.
The police of Java is composed of the townspeople of each respective quarter of the town. The different localities are designated by the national names of the races by which they are ​inhabited; hence there is the Malay Campong, the Chinese, the Arab, and, of course, several Javanese Campongs; and each of these quarters is under the supervision and, to some extent, the jurisdiction of the most influential man in his neighbourhood, who is generally of Royal blood, or very high standing, and distinguished by the titles of Pangeran, Addipatti, Raden Addipatti, Reghent, Tumungong, and the like. Under this official are several officers, known, according to their respective stations, as Paksal, Capalla, Pungooloo, Lora, Woedono, Mantrie, &c.
Some of those occupying the first-named office have hereditary claims to the responsible situation they hold; but if the son, when called to occupy the seat of his father, prove distasteful to his fellow-countrymen, or to the Government, he is obliged to give place to another, named by the Resident, in his stead.
The principal official over the Chinese is known ​as the Capitan Cheena, and the sub-officers are dignified by the name of Lieutenant. Like the Tumungong, the Capitan is held responsible for the good conduct of the Chinese population. The Capalla, or head, in particular, is the machine, as it were, which keeps the working parts in order. It is his duty to see that three men from his Campong are placed on the watch night and day—the male members of every family taking in turn the duty of watchman, which require their presences for about twelve hours at a time. The Capalla also visits the stations occasionally, to see that all goes right, and reports accordingly to his superior. He likewise supplies the night-passes to those who are known to him as honest and trustworthy, without which none can stir out of their campong after eight in the evening. All delinquents are brought first before him, and if their fault be trivial, the juru tulis, or clerk—seated crosslegged on the ground, before a small, low, square box, on ​which his writing materials are spread—notes down the important features of the case, and the Capalla disposes of the matter. But should the offence be one of a serious nature, he shakes off all responsibility by placing the whole affair in the hands of the Tumungong, or Pangeran, who, in turn, if the matter proves too intricate for him, sends it up to the European magistrate, who settles it according to Dutch law.
Simple as the whole machinery seems, it is in our opinion worthy of admiration, and certainly well adapted to native society. Every orang campong, or villager, feels a kind of responsibility for the good conduct, not only of himself and family, but also of his neighbour; for every one who acts in any wise unlawfully, lays himself open to be reported, perhaps by his most intimate friend, who, should he hesitate to give evidence against the delinquent, loses caste at once with his fellow-men, being considered as a conniver at his friend's ​misdoings. Personal ambition also secures fidelity in the discharge of this civic duty. If the sub-official is at all an aspiring man, he feels that he may entertain a hope of some day filling the capallaship; and thus, small as this ambition may seem, it is frequently sufficient to stimulate a man in the performance of his duties.
The system, on the whole, interested me not a little; and knowing, as I do, something of our possessions in the East, I regret that this admirable plan of village government has not been adopted in some of them. It would not only be a means of curtailing local expenditure, but it would also insure the safety of the subject, by bringing criminals to speedy justice.
A building connected with this police is the Guardo, or guard-house, a small shed, with an attap roof, open in front, and its three sides walled in by poles fixed in the ground, and not unfrequently also covered with attap. In some ​parts of large towns, and chiefly in the interior, these guardos are more substantially built; having roofs of tiles instead of attap, and brick walls in lieu of rough hewn poles. Before this building is a stand of arms, peculiarly Javanese, which, though simple, I cannot pass over unnoticed. The three implements which are seemingly indispensable for constabular use are the bunday, the kumkum, and the toyah. The first is a short pole, about four feet in length, upon the top of which are tied two pieces of wood, so placed as to meet in an acute angle, and open towards the ends, like the distended jaws of an alligator; the resemblance being made greater by the addition of dried stems of sharp thorns, tied on the two pieces of wood, and looking somewhat like rows of teeth. These effectually serve the purpose of detaining any runaway around whose neck they are fixed, lacerating the flesh to a terrible extent should he offer the slightest resistance.
​The man into whose keeping the bunday is confided is called upon to act on the escape of a prisoner. In pursuing him he runs at full speed, endeavouring to fix the instrument round the neck, waist, arm, or leg of the pursued, who, as soon as he feels the sharp thorns encircling his body, generally comes to a full stop. Should he prove, however, one of those determined ruffians who are dead to all feelings of pain, another instrument, the kumkum, is brought into play. This heavy-looking weapon, which is of a very formidable aspect, consists of a bar of iron in the shape of a small sword, attached to the top of a stave some five feet long. The third of these singular instruments is the toyah, which is as simple in its construction as the use to which it is put is novel. It is in the shape of a pitchfork, the points of which are purposely made blunt. This is certainly the most humane-looking of the three, and it is to be hoped therefore the one first tried against the ​delinquent. The object for which it is used is that of bringing the pursued down on his knees, and thus effectually stopping his further progress. This is accomplished by thrusting the open space between the prongs against the knee-joint—from the back of course—and so compelling the man by the force and suddenness of the attack, to make a genuflexion; the result of which is, that he becomes an easy prey to the pursuer. In the interior of some guardos there are other weapons, or sunjata, such as the tomba, or long spear, but none of them so ludicrously novel as those I have just described.
A curious object, always to be seen near the Guardo, is the Tong-tong, or Tok-tok, as it is called from the sounds produced when it is struck, though there is another name for it, which I have forgotten. This instrument is formed of a portion of the trunk of a tree, from three and a half to four feet long, and a little more than a foot in diameter, ​which is hollowed out perpendicularly the whole way down the centre, to the depth of three or four inches, commencing about four inches from the top, and leaving about the same space below. When suspended from a wooden stand, and struck, as it is at each guardo, every hour during the night, with a thick piece of wood, it gives out a hollow sound, not only warning the villagers or townspeople of the fleeting hours of time, but also assuring the Capalla—should anxious fears arouse him from his slumber—that his men are on the qui vive. They are also sounded on occasion of a fire, and as those at the different posts are struck one after the other, the news of the disaster is soon communicated to the whole town. Some of the Tok-toks which I saw had been so recently cut from the tree that the sprigs, soon to be hammered and dried out, were still fresh and green on the sides of the condemned trunk.
The day after our arrival, we, in accordance ​with Dutch regulations, sent our passport to the Wykemester, who is what we may term a kind of European Capalla Campong. His duties, however, are neither so heavy nor so multifarious as those of his native counterpart. The office is, I believe, honorary. An old resident in the district, who is regarded with respect and esteem, is generally elected to fill the post; and he is usually supposed to know each European resident within his circuit, and also to be perfectly well acquainted with their several professions and incomes.
Every visitor, on his passport being proved to be en règle, is required to fill up a certain form which is sent to him for the purpose. In this, together with other questions of trifling import, he states his profession, last place of residence, and what length of stay he purposes making in Java. The over-scrupulous and unaccommodating traveller often regards this measure on the part of the Dutch as "an infringement of personal liberty," &c.; but ​there is, in reality, no more inconvenience attendant on the system than at present exists in all Continental hotels; and though I am by no means an admirer of such regulations, I see no reason why we should kick against a rule which cannot injure us individually, when it suits the Government of another nation to adopt it for the better security of its people.
If any European resident is anxious to leave the locality in which he resides for another in the town, he must acquaint the Wykemester with his purpose a month before he intends carrying it into effect, in order that that worthy gentleman may have time to inform his brother Wykemester presiding over the other district, of the arrival to be expected.
Through the kindness of a friend, I obtained an order to visit the public hospital, which occupies a large space of ground in one of the European districts. The road before the gate is lined on each ​side by an avenue of flourishing young trees, and the open plot of ground within the inclosure, near the building, is planted thick with bushes and shrubs, giving a pleasant air of cheerfulness to what must ever be a dismal and painful retreat.
On entering, I presented my order, and was desired by a young medical officer, in a most polite manner, to accompany him. It is hardly necessary to dwell long on a subject so well understood in England; nevertheless, it may not be uninteresting to give a slight sketch of this establishment, to show how institutions of this description are managed in these remote parts of the globe.
The hospital consists of several ranges of buildings, distinguished as first, second, third, and fourth classes. The shape of each of these is oblong, and the floors in all are a few feet elevated from the ground. Altogether they resemble the bungalows of India. The ceilings are very lofty, and they appeared to me to be very well ​ventilated. In speaking of Dutch institutions, their cleanliness scarcely requires comment, for we well know none can surpass them in this respect.
One range of buildings is devoted to sailors, soldiers, employés receiving small salaries, and natives. The highest charge, including attendance, food and baths, is four florins per diem, and the lowest one florin — equal to 1s. 8d. of our money. Those who enjoy good salaries are expected to pay additionally for attendance; whilst the very poor are exempted from all expense.
A separate range of buildings is set apart for the medical officers, servants, &c; and several rooms are furnished, and fitted up with all the comforts of an hotel, for such bachelors as prefer the quiet of the hospital, in case of sickness, to the noise and bustle of a Batavian "logement." These pay six florins a day, for which sum they receive the first medical care, as well as every attention and comfort required by an invalid.
​An anatomical museum, in which there are some objects of interest, and a library, are attached to the hospital; connected with which are also two medical schools for native students of both sexes. The doctor pointed out to me about five and twenty of the male students, who rose and bowed very respectfully as we entered, and to several questions which were put to them gave most satisfactory replies. They struck me as having a more intellectual cast of countenance than the generality of Javanese; though this may be owing, as some philosophers say, to a constant habit of study. The whole conversation was carried on in the Malay language, as it is the Dutch policy not to teach any native their own tongue.
The Javanese, like the natives of India, are fond of dancing spectacles, or notches; and when a "company" assembles in the street, or in any compound or yard of a house, it arrests the steps ​of every passer-by. Hearing one day the sound of the drum and other instruments outside the gate, our friends at our request kindly sent a servant to invite the players in. As may be concluded, they lost no time in obeying the summons, and were followed down the walk by quite a small crowd from the opposite village, who, but a moment before, would not have dared to trespass beyond the entrance except on business. The orchestra was composed of the Gamalan, consisting of several gongs varying in size, and placed on a wooden frame standing on four legs. These gongs are struck according to the fancy of the player, each producing a different tone. It is the sweetest native musical instrument I have ever heard, and is capable, I think, of being brought to great perfection in the hands of a European maestro. Beside this was a large gong, suspended, like a gipsy's kettle, from three short poles. There was also a drum, a large ​oblong-shaped instrument, which the player, sitting cross-legged on the ground, placed on his lap, using the palms of his hands for drum-sticks. Lastly, there was a kind of hybrid fiddle, awkwardly made and roughly finished, called by the natives Rabup, the sounds of which were so faint, that though I stood near and watched attentively the fiddler, as he bent his head ever and anon to the motions of the fiddlestick, apparently rapt in enchantment, I must confess I could not catch a single note harmonious or otherwise.
The danseuse was a plain-looking woman, with a face of the ordinary Javanese type, coarse features, high cheeks bones, and very large mouth, disfigured with black teeth, which, however, they consider a mark of beauty. Her feet were small, as is the case with all of this race, both male and female. Her hair was dressed in the usual manner, tightly drawn back from the forehead, and rolled in a large conday, or knot, at the back, through ​which a large solid-looking pin, like a silver skewer, was thrust; whilst a few flowers of the bunga-molor—a sweet-scented white flower—were inserted between the knot and the head. The skirt she wore, called by the natives sarong, was fastened to the waist by a pindeng, or ceinture of silver. A long cabaya, or kind of loose coat, with sleeves to the wrist, formed her upper garment, and reached below the knee, being fastened together in front by two croçangs, or brooches of silver, so as to leave a small portion of the chest exposed. Beneath this, and attached to the sarong by the pindeng, were no fewer than fourteen handkerchiefs of different colours, folded corner-wise and placed one above the other. Her movements had some degree of natural grace. In one hand she held a Chinese fan, which in the dance she coquetted with as well as a Spanish donna might have done; whilst in some stages of the performance she concealed her face beneath a ​frightful mask, removing it occasionally with the unemployed hand.
Her partner was more simply dressed, but certainly not with equal modesty, for his body down to the waist was naked. His trousers were short, and faded in colour, and he wore a coloured kerchief on his head, which concealed all his hair—rolled like that of the woman in a knot behind. On rising to dance, he threw a sarong over his right shoulder, which partially concealed his body, giving him a style, as the capote does to the Matador.
I cannot say the combined performance of the company inspired us with the wish to applaud. The music was poor and unmelodious, and the dances very monotonous. It was, however, highly appreciated by their own countrymen and women, who clapped their hands, and made loud and hearty basoras, or cheers.
Jacatra is that part of the residency of Batavia ​to the east of the town, and the spot where the English troops disembarked prior to marching to attack the city in 1811.
It is said that a portion of Batavia itself stands on the site of the old Sundanese capital, once called Jacatra, or Work of Victory. At the present time, the part known as Jacatra is a small village, through which passes a good macadamised road, planted on either side with pepul trees, beyond which are numbers of small cottages or bungalows—at the doors or verandahs of which the traveller will see, as he passes in the cool of the evening, the occupants—most of whom are small salaried clerks—seated in their loose bajus and baggy pejamas, enjoying the fragrant weed—to them indeed the calumet of peace, after the toil and turmoil of a city life. Further on to the left, under the sombre shade of bread-fruit, jack, and cocoa-nut trees, with its base almost concealed by thorny bushes, there is a gate walled up, the two ​pillars on either side denoting that it was once a place of ingress. Immediately above it is an object somewhat resembling at the first glance a cannon-ball, transfixed to the top of the wall by a spear; but on examining it more closely, we discovered that the supposed cannon-ball was in reality a human skull, all now remaining of one Peter Elberfeld, thickly plastered over to protect it from the influence of time and weather. Immediately below the transfixed skull, we observed a tablet, bearing the following long inscription in the Dutch language:
"Uik eene verfoeyelyke gedachtenise tegen den gestraften landverrader, Pieter Elberfeld, zal niemand vermogen ter dezer plaatse to boumen, Simmeren, metselem, planten. nu, of tenccurrige, dage. Batavia, den 22nd April, 1722."
The translation of this is as follows:—
"In consequence of the detested memory of Peter Elberfeld, who was punished for treason, no one shall be permitted to build in wood, or stone, or to plant anything whatsoever in these grounds, from this time forth for evermore!"
​The father of Peter Elberfeld—I subsequently learnt from a friend, who recounted to me all he knew of that individual's history—was a native of Westphalia, "the land of hams," who had come to Java for the purpose of making his fortune, and who, on arriving in the island, had set up in business as a merchant. After some time he formed a connection with a native woman, by whom he had six sons, the five elder of whom followed the manners and European habits of their father; but Peter, the youngest, born in the year 1663, with strange pertinacity, from childhood clung to native ideas and customs, which subsequently led him to become an enthusiastic and daring patriot. Hating the Dutch, and all connected with them, looking upon everything done by them as an injury to those whom he regarded as his own people, he resolved on the extermination of every foreigner from the soil of Java, and directed all his thoughts to the consideration of the time when, and the ​means by which, he might best accomplish this great object. Hearing of the disaffection of some of the princes in the interior, he privately communicated his designs to them, endeavouring to gain their support to his bold and dangerous plans; for courageous though he was, Elberfeld could not have dreamt of success in carrying out the scheme he had formed, without the promise of assistance and co-operation from men of more power and influence than himself; and he ultimately succeeded in gaining over to his side the two sons of Pakoe Boewono, and several minor princes.
The Emperor Pakoe Boewono I., whose empire of Matarram comprised almost a third of the island of Java, died in the year 1719, and was succeeded by his son Mangkoe Nagoro, under the title of Hamangkoe Raht II., who, but for a fortunate circumstance, might have occupied the throne of his fathers only for a very short time. Two of his brothers, the princes alluded to above, growing ​jealous of his ascendancy, and aiming at imperial power, allied themselves with Elberfeld for the express purpose of dethroning him; making this condition, that if their designs succeeded, one of them should assume the title of emperor, and the other that of sultan of some small independent state cut off from Matarram; while Elberfeld should be raised to the dignity of Sheik al Islam, or High Priest of all Java.
The plan they adopted was a very bold one, measures being taken by which the different leaders might carry it out simultaneously. While Elberfeld, with thirty thousand followers, was to attack and blow up the town, and slaughter all the European inhabitants throughout the whole residency of Batavia, the two young princes, with their adherents, were to dethrone Hamangkoe Raht, take possession of Matarram, and proclaim themselves emperor and sultan.
​Elberfeld's house was situated a short distance from the gate, which opened on the road, and here it was determined to hold the nightly meetings of the disaffected chiefs and people, amongst whom were several women.
Here members were sworn and enrolled, and all the proceedings connected with this terrible plot discussed, such caution being used to avoid detection that the conspirators never raised their voices above a whisper; and, were it not for the fortunate circumstance before alluded to, there is not the slightest doubt that some, if not all of the Dutch inhabitants, and the adherents to the reigning native Emperor, would have fallen by the hands of their midnight foes.
Elberfeld had living with him a niece, a brother's child, whom, at her father's death, he had adopted and brought up as his own, separating her from her brothers and sisters, and educating her as a native. Meeda, for such was her name, whose ​mind and tastes, spite of the love she felt for her uncle, inclined her to the European side, was very beautiful, inheriting the fair skin of her grand-father, with the dark eyes and locks of her grand-mother, and could not help expressing the disgust she felt for every suitor for her hand her uncle approved of. In her walks and drives she had frequently observed a young Dutch officer attentively regarding her, and this circumstance inspiring her with the desire of marrying a European, she ardently hoped that the young soldier would pay his addresses to her, little doubting that she would be able to gain her uncle's consent to such a union.
The Dutch officer had, indeed, frequently attempted to speak to Meeda, but so closely was she watched by her anxious relative, that, really aspiring to be her suitor, he saw that his only chance of obtaining her hand lay in openly demanding it of the wealthy uncle. He accordingly did so, and his surprise exceeded all bounds when he was informed ​that no child or relative of Elberfeld's should marry a white man; and that, fondly as he loved his niece, he would rather see her dead than the wife of a Dutchman.
At once disappointed and exasperated, the officer left the house, determined on defeating the views of the uncle by some plan; for though the lovers had never interchanged words, their eyes had faithfully interpreted those feelings of the heart by which both were inspired.
Affairs connected with the conspiracy in which he had engaged demanding Elberfeld's utmost attention, and the vigilance with which he watched Meeda being in consequence relaxed, it was not long before the officer found opportunities to meet his inamorata, and soon obtained her consent to a private marriage.
Meeda, however, could not thus set herself in opposition to her uncle without some conflicting feelings. The remembrance of his uniform ​kindness to her, the thought of the sorrow her desertion would cause him, often, in the solitude of her room, banished sleep from her eyes, till long after the other inmates of the house—as she thought—had retired to their beds and mats. Still love conquered every other feeling, and one night, when she met her lover, she was induced to give him her faithful promise in three days to become his bride.
The thought of her disobedience to her uncle rendered her that night even more restless than usual, and she was unable to sleep. It was a warm sultry evening, and the air of the room seemed to stifle her. Opening her window, therefore, she stepped lightly into the small verandah which was attached to her apartment, where she remained for some time gazing into darkness, for the air was thick, and the moon obscured, By-and-by she was startled from her reverie by a gleam of light apparently proceeding from a lower window, which shed its rays across ​the path; a circumstance which in itself would have seemed trifling, were it not succeeded by others of a more suspicious nature. Meeda had only just recovered from her momentary alarm, and had settled in her mind that her uncle had business which obliged him to sit up late, when, on looking down again, she was surprised to see the light on the path frequently obscured, as if by some dark body passing over it; and this occurring again and again, she discovered, to her inexpressible surprise, that it arose from the entrance of several men through the window from which the light issued.
Meeda, who was a girl of no ordinary courage and strength of mind, at once determined on the course to pursue. Gaining her own room, she proceeded noiselessly to cross the passage which separated it from Elberfeld's, determined to acquaint him at once with—as she imagined—their danger. To her surprise, however, she found her ​uncle's room empty; and, by the light of the oil lamp, she perceived that the pillow on the mat, which her uncle, true to native taste, would make his sleeping couch, had never been pressed that night.
Quite perplexed as to what step to take next, the bewildered girl regained her own apartment, and probably would have remained there in fear and trembling till daybreak, but for a footstep which she heard cautiously stepping along the passage, and which caused her again to venture forth to watch unseen the movements of the man whom she had dimly perceived entering the room of Elberfeld. In a few minutes her vigilance was repaid; the door re-opened, and her uncle appeared within a few paces of where she stood, shaded by a projecting wall, a paper in his hand, and a dark sinister expression on his face. Meeda's first impulse had been to rush up to him and acquaint him with what she had seen, but second thoughts ​determined her to wait and see what he was about to do; for the expression of his face filled her with an undefined dread. Cautiously he stole along the passage, and down the stairs, followed at some distance by his niece, who carefully selected the most shadowy side for her dangerous midnight adventure, fearful lest a false step, or even a loud breath, might betray her. Having followed Elberfeld to that part of the house near which the dining-room was situated, she found all in complete darkness, all the night lamps having been purposely extinguished—a circumstance which by no means tended to lessen her apprehension that something was seriously wrong. Her uncle, meanwhile, had disappeared, and she stood irresolute what next to do, when, her attention being attracted by the sound of a door opened gently, she perceived, to her astonishment, their large dining-room dimly lighted, and full of people. Perplexed and alarmed by this unexpected ​circumstance, she was deliberating whether she ought to proceed or retire, when the door was again closed, and she was left in total darkness.
Resolved not to be baffled in the desire to penetrate this mystery, she groped her way to the door; and determined to ascertain what was the secret object of this numerous assembly at such an hour, she placed her ear to the key-hole. It was some minutes before she could catch any distinct word; but as her ear became accustomed to the whispers in which the members spoke, it was not long before she became acquainted with the nature of the plot in which they were engaged; and it was with inexpressible horror that she heard her uncle himself, addressing the assembly, name the day and hour when every man, woman, and child of purely Dutch parentage was to fall by the sword or by fire. Putting her eye to the key-hole, she then distinctly saw every man in the room place his hand on his kriss; and after kissing the hand which had ​touched the weapon, again perform the same ceremony with the koran. Horrified at what she had heard and seen, Meeda turned from the door, and in a very few minutes succeeded in finding her way back to the lighted part of the house, and from thence to her room, where, carefully fastening her door, she sat down to consider what step she ought to take on the morrow.
Next morning, she contrived to write a letter secretly to her lover, informing him of the whole affair, only begging of him, if possible, to avoid mentioning her uncle's name as one of the conspirators. The young officer, on reading this communication of his mistress, was equally perplexed and horrified; for he saw no means by which he could avoid naming the principal in a plot so daring, more especially as it was at his house the secret meetings were held. He therefore divulged the whole matter to the authorities, who lost no time in warning the young susuhunan (emperor), ​and their own agents in different towns, of the impending danger; at the same time advising them on no account to allow any indications of the fact, that the plot had been discovered, to become known to the conspirators.
All, therefore, went on as usual till the night preceding the one fixed for the massacre. On that night nearly all the conspirators had met for the last time to concert their final measures, "Be ready an hour before daybreak," were Elberfeld's parting words, as he stood by his door ready to close it when the last of his accomplices had gone forth. But already the troops sent out to secure the conspirators had surrounded the house. Before the last man had left their place of meeting, a clashing of swords, and the loud report of fire-arms, were heard. "We are betrayed!" cried Elberfeld; "escape those who can!" This, however, was now impossible; for even while Elberfeld and his fellow-conspirators were debating in ​fancied security, every place of exit had been carefully guarded by soldiers, and a strong body now entered the house, calling on all to lay down their weapons, and mercilessly cutting down every one who showed the slightest sign of resistance.
It afterwards appeared there were several females among the conspirators, most of whom were smothered with pillows, a few only of both sexes being pardoned, one of whom was a woman of high rank in the court of Hamangkoe Raht, called Karta Drya. Four royal princes, after undergoing the penalty of having the right hand cut off, were publicly beheaded; but the most appalling punishment was reserved for Elberfeld, the ringleader of this infamous plot. Like a second St. Hippolyte, his arms and legs were tied to four horses, which, on a given signal, being vigorously whipped, started in opposite directions, wrenching every limb from his body. His head was afterwards severed from the bleeding trunk, spiked ​with a spear, and planted before the town gate, while the dismembered trunk was drawn and quartered. Not content even with this dire revenge, the Dutch razed the Eastern Rye House to the ground; the gate was walled up, and the inscription I have already given was placed there. The fixing of the ghastly head by a spear to the top of the wall, at the spot where the gate had formerly stood, and where Elberfeld had frequently meditated on his dangerous plot, was the last act of vengeance by which their European masters hoped to transmit to future generations of natives the fearful punishment with which they had visited treason against their authority.
To this day the ignorant natives will tell you, with a very grave face, that on certain nights ominous sounds are heard at this spot, and that apparitions even have been seen by some people, but never, the narrator takes care to add, by himself.
The brothers of Hamangkoe Raht were left to ​himself for punishment, and in return for the service rendered to him by the Dutch, he begged their acceptance, as a proof of his gratitude, of certain lands on the confines of Matarram.
This conspiracy took place in the year 1722, exactly a century after the one in 1622, mentioned by Commodore Roggewein, who, on his arrival in the country a few months after the event, was informed at the same time of the plot, of the means by which it had been discovered, and of the punishment inflicted on all who had taken part in it.