# Life in Java/Volume 1/Chapter 4

CHAPTER IV.
TO PASSEROEWAN—POSTAL ARRANGEMENTS—STATIONS—BRIDAL AND BASUNAT PROCESSIONS—FOOT PASSENGERS—PASSEROEWAN—DESCRIPTION OF THE TOWN—JOURNEY TO TOSARI—TEMPORARY VILLAGE—PASSANGRAHAN—WILD BOARS—UNTAHS—MALAY LEGEND—A YAM ALAS—KENG KIN—COOTHOOKAN—PROCEEDING UNDER DIFFICULTIES—ARRIVAL AT TOSARI—" ASPERSHE"—NOVEL MODE OF COOKING—BROMOK—DESCRIPTION OF SAGARA-WADI, OR SANDSEA—VOLCANO—CRATER.
CHAPTER IV.
By the suggestion of some friends our carriage was arranged comfortably for the coming journey. A large flat matting, made of attap and bamboo, which is considered an indispensable addition for protection from the heat, was laid on the top, making the interior as cool as possible for those travelling during the middle of the day, which is frequently unavoidable. When we were told that everything was quite ready, we arranged matters for starting and retired, ordering the four horses to be at the door of the hotel by five next morning.
Unfortunately for us, who were anticipating the morning's drive in the coolest hours of the day, the man who had promised to waken our boy ​forgot to do so, and we were thus thrown one hour behind time.
"Never mind, might be worse," was our reflection, as we took our seats in the vehicle; and, after a hurried good morning to our host, who begged, if we again came to Surabaya, we would honour his hotel, we told the coachman all was ready; and he, as impatient to be en route as his restive steeds, cracked his long whip, which was twelve feet from the handle to the end of the cord, and we were off. Two lopers armed with short whips ran abreast of the horses, crying out in their native language, at the top of their voices, "Make way! make way!" and every now and then lashing the animals with their whips. This game, however, could not last long, especially as we were going at a pace of twenty miles an hour. So when we had cleared the town, these noisy individuals mounted the stand behind our boy, where they stood, clinging to the carriage on each side, and ​uttering wild boots and lives whenever the horses slackened their speed. These lopers are a disagreeable necessity, as they keep up the pace of the horses, like Cairo donkey-boys, by the terror of their voices and whips.
The road from Surabaya to Passeroewan is a good level one, from thirty to thirty-five feet in breadth, with smaller roads on each side for carts and pedestrians. These are separated from the main road by embankments, which, however, continued only for a short distance. As we got farther into the country, one road was made to serve the purpose of all, conveyances, vehicles, equestrians, &c. Tamarind, pepul, and jatty, or teak trees formed a delightfully shady avenue the whole way.
Fields of Neela (Indigo) Paddy, plantations of sugar-cane, and orchards with Bananas, Mangustin, Pulassan, and Rambutan, were seen here and there on all sides, with mountains in the distance, the view of which filled the gaps between the trees. ​There are seven posts between Surabaya and Passeroewan, each calculated to be about ten miles apart from the other. We generally took half an hour to drive from post to post, the horses going at full gallop all the way, and as they were relieved by fresh ones at every station, our ride was, as may be imagined, rapid, agreeable, and exciting.
The coucer seldom exerted his voice with shouts like the "Vous en! allez—diable!—sacr-rre!" of the French diligence driver, or the "Anda! Mariano anda!" of the Spanish cochero, but used his whip freely, not on the poor beasts, but on the air, producing such long and repeated volleys of cracks as none but a Javanese coachman can produce, sending the horses on ventre á terre, and causing the dust to rise and roll behind us in clouds.
As the post-masters of the different stations had been apprised the day before of our coming—for, on ordering his first horses, the traveller is expected to state the intended day's journey, and ​the intimation to this effect travels from post to post—scarcely any delay is experienced, save that necessary for unharnessing the tired steeds and putting fresh ones to. In general, also, the coucer and lopers are new men; but if not, their pay is the same, the charges being so much per post for each man.
Immediately on the traveller's arrival at a station the cry is for bagnio, and stable-boys run forward with long bamboo cylinders full of water, which they pour over the axle-tree and spokes of the heated wheels. The established rate of payment to the men is twenty-five cents (a quarter rupee) to the coucer, and ten cents to each loper. The horses are paid for at the end of the journey, or before starting.
The postes, or stations, consist generally of simple sheds extending over the road, and supported by four rows of pillars, so arranged as to leave space in the centre for two carriages to stand abreast. ​Before starting anew on your journey a book is handed to you, in which you are desired to write down your name and the hour of your arrival at that particular post. The postal system is managed with regularity and precision, and, with some exceptions in our travels over less frequented ground, we found the arrangements in every way excellent, and worthy of commendation.
From the number of villages we passed en route, I was led to conjecture that the population must be considerable. Happiness, industry, and fertility were everywhere visible, and few, very few wretched mendicants ever solicited our charity; proving in part, we thought, the absence of extreme poverty and Avant.
The provinces of Surabaya and Passeroewan are chiefly sugar manufacturing districts, though coffee also is largely cultivated on the hills and uplands. On returning to Surabaya, we visited a manufactory of considerable importance, regarding ​which I shall make some slight observations in another chapter. Sometimes a marriage procession, or the Basunat, a procession in honour of circumcision, would pass us. The two are by no means unlike, the principal object of attraction in both being generally a youth seated on a pony, who, accompanied by musicians, is conducted with such parade as his circumstances will admit of. The greatest point of distinction consists in the difference of attire, the bridegroom invariably being naked to the waist, his face, neck, body, and arms entirely covered with a bright yellow colour, resembling yellow ochre, and his hair, which is allowed to flow loosely down his back, decked with flowers. His dress from the waist downwards is a baték, or a Bugis silk sarong. The Basunat is generally dressed from head to foot with unusual finely, and sometimes, though not frequently, he likewise is yellow washed.
The bridegroom has his ceremony to go through ​for thirty days, riding through the various campongs, calling at several houses, and, should he be of wealthy parentage, distributing alms when he visits his poorer brethren.
The pony also has a share of the finery, being caparisoned somewhat after an Arabian fashion, with bright brass bridle, a collar of bells, and stirrups with morocco shoes turned up at the toes. On one side of the pony is a bearer, holding a large gaudy payong, or umbrella, on a very long pole, which he holds over the youth's head; while on the other side another man performs the office of fanning away the flies that torment his charge, the fan being nearly always made of peacocks' feathers, and fastened to a pole similar to that to which the payong is attached. These are preceded by musicians, and followed by Hadjees, relations, boys carrying incense, and others with trays of the indispensable syree and betel.
​Such were the joyous scenes which we passed; and other processions nearly as singular, but by no means so merry, are occasionally seen. Sometimes the three bearers of the bunday, kumkum, and toy ah appear in sight, accompanied by unfortunate law-breakers, who are forced to " plod their weary way" to Surabaya under the protection of the law. Happily murder is a crime of rare occurrence, which speaks well for the peaceful disposition of the natives.
We arrived at Passeroewan in the afternoon of a sultry day, and drove to Booth's Hotel, kept by an Englishman and his wife. A gentleman, to whom I had a letter of introduction, called for us in the evening, and we drove out with him in his carriage, taking the road to Malang. We now began sensibly to feel a slight difference in the temperature, which is cooler than that of Surabaya. The height of the banana trees also struck me as singular, the average in the low ​countries being from ten to twelve feet, whereas here few were below twenty. The cocoa-nuts and betel-nuts were likewise much loftier than those seen on the coast.
The European part of Passeroewan is quite rus in urbe. The native population live near the sea and river sides, and the European houses occupy the rest of the ground, some situated in parks, and others with only small gardens facing the streets, which are lined with beautiful Verengen trees.
The European trade is by no means so considerable as that of Surabaya, the principal part of the coffee, cotton, sugar, and rice exported being conveyed in native craft to Surabaya, and there disposed of.
On our return from driving, we accompanied our friend to his house, and in the grounds saw an old Verengen tree, with fibres or strings hanging on all sides like an impenetrable veil. Many ​of these had taken root and thickened into trunks almost half the size of the old parent tree, and looked like props or pillars to support the widespreading branches.
A Dutch acquaintance of ours, Mr. B., on being informed of our desire to visit the Tengerr mountains, kindly sent word to the keeper of the Passangrahan at Tosari to prepare for our reception, and engaged the horses and coolies necessary for our journey. He most anxiously sought to press upon us no end of preserved fish, soup, and meats, &c, without which he thought our discomforts would be greatly increased; and his surprise was very great when we declined to encumber ourselves with anything but rice and cold fowl, which had proved our only food on many expeditions, possessing the advantages of being easily carried and generally attainable.
At half-past six next morning we were on our way to Passerpan, where the coolies were to meet ​us with the ponies. As we approached Cobontjandie, the conical-shaped mountain of Panongoenan was seen on our left-, and the Ardjuno separated from it by a fertile-looking valley. Far on the horizon, to the right, lower than the two last named mountains, but clad with forests of dark trees, was the Tengerr range to which we were now bound.
In an hour we reached Passerpan, beyond which the journey had to be accomplished on foot, or on horseback.
The village is a small one, inhabited chiefly by Government labourers, the largest building being a coffee store-house, in and before which a number of men and women were busily employed in sorting, weighing, packing, and storing coffee, brought here by the peasants of the district, who receive twelve florins a picul from Government, for whatever quantity they are willing to dispose of. ​Eighteen Javanese coolies, headed by a mounted mandor, or superintendent, three ponies caparisoned mezzo European and Oriental style, and one tandoe, in case my wife found the fatigues of the journey too great, awaited our orders; and after partaking of some cold repast and taking a few sketches, Drahman, by whom we were to be attended, appeared mounted on horseback, and we prepared to start.
These tandoes are a kind of covered chair, carried on the shoulders of four men. They are the sedans or palanquins of Java, and are greatly used in mountain excursions. Mr. B had sent one, feeling convinced "the lady" would find the heat too great to ride all the way. Thus in marching order, our mandor preceding us, we started, amid repeated " slaniat jalans" (" pleasant journeys") of the natives who had assembled to see our departure, and who gazed at us apparently with mingled feelings of wonder and amusement. The ​coolies who carried the tandoe were relieved by an extra number of men who accompanied them.
The whole road from Passerpan to Pespo is rough and stony. Immense boulders of petrosilex, or rock stone, frequently obstructed our way, making the path impassable to vehicles of any description, and dangerous to persons on horseback, were it not that the ponies are trained to the work and very sure-footed.
The surface of each of these boulders is brown and black, the whole mass being thickly perforated like a honeycomb, and having very much the appearance of having been slowly and gradually burnt.
The impression of the natives is that these huge blocks have been ejected from the Bromok, which is about twenty miles off; but as some are from 3ix to eight feet in diameter, we can only consider this as a most improbable supposition; for if they ​were ejected from a volcano, it must have been nearer than the Bromok.
The route for more than an hour or so was very uninteresting. We observed hedges of bamboo on both sides, varied occasionally by Hibiscus; and, beyond these, tall trees, at the roots of which grew long thin grass of a light straw colour. As we proceeded, we saw horses descending with all the care and agility of mountain goats, their backs heavy laden with bundles of fire-wood, baskets of cabbages, and other vegetables, for the towns and villages on the plain. These are met by others wending their way homewards, carrying bales of prints, calicoes, &c. for clothing; or food for the comfort of the families living in the mountains.
Further on we came in view of the Tengerr chain, somewhat like a saddle in shape, covered, like the lesser hills, with verdure and cultivation. Far in the rear of us, stood the Ardjunoe and ​Panangoenan, bold in aspect, azured by distance and piercing the sky.
At ten, we reached the village of Pespo, a kind of temporary campong, built in the hollow formed by two hills. The huts here are made of bamboo, plaited at the sides, so as to present, when not observed too near, the appearance of fine matting. They are roofed with lalangs, which serve all the purposes of thatch. The poles, on which the houses are supported, are not planted in the ground, but rest upon other thick bamboo poles lying flat on the earth. These structures are raised by families whose homes are in the mountains, where their chief occupation is the culture of coffee, which at certain seasons they descend to the lowlands to dispose of. At such periods they inhabit Pespo and similar villages, from which, after attending to their rice plantations, they return to their mountain homes.
A little beyond Pespo we rested under a large, ​shady Verengen tree, to await the arrival of the coolies and tandoe. These trees abound in the forests here, growing to an altitude of from fifty to sixty feet. The leaves of the Durian, the Mango, and other fruit trees seemed much smaller than those near Passeroewan, a circumstance most probably to be attributed to the elevation of the ground on which they grow, about 1500 feet above the level of the sea. On the approach of the men for whom we were waiting, we continued our march, appreciating the agreeable change of a cooler climate, for the air became more and more refreshing as we ascended.
We stayed at a Passangrahan, or, as the Dutch call it, Phasahangrahan, whilst fresh horses were being saddled to take us on. This is a sort of bungalow, built by the Government for the accommodation of travellers, who have merely to acquaint the Resident, or contruleur of the district, with their wish to pass a few days within it, when ​permission is freely granted, their only expense being for food, which is supplied by the chief native of the nearest village. The Passangrahan is generally built of wood, with an attap roof, and consists of one large room, with bed-rooms to the right and left, and generally one or two verandahs. It is committed to the care of the Mantrie or Wodono of the village, and not unfrequently to that of some pensioned soldier.
We now engaged fresh coolies, paid those that were leaving us, and dispensed with the tandoe, and the eight men by whom it was accompanied; for, as my wife preferred riding, it was quite useless. As the road was now broader and more even, we proceeded at a much more rapid rate, passing through jungles of lofty umbrageous forest trees, their sides and branches covered with lovely parasites and creepers, under which, in some parts, were coffee plantations, with husbandmen tending and trimming them; their white flowers, ​something like those of the jessamine at a distance, impregnating the air with delicious perfume.
Wild boars are as common as rabbits in a warren. Fat, burly-looking monsters sprang out of the jungle before us, and crossed the road, apparently quite unconcerned at the appearance of strangers, though some of the smaller and more frisky ones scampered away grunting, probably with dissatisfaction at their privacy being intruded on. From the depths of the thicket, as it became more dense, issued sounds resembling a series of " ohs!" uttered in a melancholy tone. On inquiry we found that these sounds were made by the ape known as the Untah, some of which, before we reached our journey's end, we saw jumping from branch to branch, and from tree to tree, in a most amle manner.
A native gave me a curious version of his belief as to the origin of these monkeys. " Their ancestor," he said, " was the son of a Malay king, ​who, although possessed of extraordinary power as a sorcerer, had but this one child, of whom he was, therefore, very fond. One day, whilst at their morning meal, the prince vexed his father, who became so enraged that he snatched the ladle from the rice prio, or pot, and struck the young man on the forehead, exclaiming as he did so, in a loud tone, ' May you be known by that mark, and your children after you, until the last day!' Instantly, like Epimetheus, son of Japetus, the prince was transmuted into an ape, with a white mark on his brow. Thus disgraced, he left his home to roam with the beasts of the jungle, until the judgment day, when he will resume his former shape. What makes these creatures cry in that sad way," continued the man whose words I have translated, " is, that they pine to be readmitted to the society of men."
The skin of the Untah is black, as also their coat, except on the breast and stomach, which are ​covered with grey hair. On their forehead they have a white mark, like an arched patch, which is all the more conspicuous as the rest of the face is perfectly black.
The Ayam Alas, or Jungle Cock, is plentiful in all the thick jungles of Java. We heard their crow very frequently, though, like all birds of a wild nature, they are so shy and difficult of approach that we seldom caught a glimpse of one. It is, however, a curious fact that, wherever huts have been erected in the vicinity of a jungle, and the inhabitants keep fowls, these Ayam Alas mingle readily with them, perhaps attracted by the food. They are about the size of a pheasant, and have beautiful marks on the breast and back, often of a decidedly golden hue. The breed between one of these and a domestic fowl is called Bakissar.
In this way, amused with the novelty of the scene on which we gazed, ascending almost continuously, descending occasionally, we continued ​our journey. Our ears were charmed with the songs of the forest minstrels, and our eyes pleased with their bright, many-tinted plumage. At length we arrived at another small station, called Keng-kin, the few villagers inhabiting which left their various occupations on our arrival, and stared at us most perseveringly while we rested our horses, which, as we were still a considerable distance from our destination, required a little repose to refresh them for the labour still awaiting them.
When we once more proceeded onward, we were surprised at the change we observed in the scenery, which now commenced to be wilder in character, and very romantic. Here were deep ravines, the sides of which were clothed with verdant foliage, mountain torrents rushing impetuously down their rocky channels. Lofty trees, such as the Chantigy, with broad leaves like huge fans waving in the breeze, or the tall bamboo, whose bright emerald leaves glittered in the ​sunlight, met our gaze on every side. The large leafed ferns, called, by the Javanese, pakis, which are mere dwarfs in the lowlands, grow here to the height of thirty and forty feet, stretching out their feathery branches with all the elegance of the datetree.
The next station was Coothookan. Here we engaged new coolies, paid off the old ones, and mounting fresh horses, pursued our hilly course.
"We had not, however, gone far before the clouds began to lower, and the air to grow cold and chilly, presages which were speedily followed by one of those Eastern showers that fall so suddenly in drenching torrents. We were at first on the point of retracing our way to the station, as there was evidently no shelter near, our road now lving; between high banks, beyond which the country seemed wild and barren. As we were anxious, however, to arrive as soon as possible at our journey's end, all thought of going back was ​quickly abandoned, and we urged our horses forward as fast as the steepness of the route Avould permit. The rain poured down upon us in pelting streams, as with no little difficulty we advanced; for the road had become soft and slippery, and it required all our care to keep the poor horses from stumbling almost at every step.
At last, after some trouble, we arrived before the gate leading to the Passangrahan, and the man in whose keeping it was, a broad-chested Dutchman, who had been duly warned of our coming, came forward to help us, followed by his wife, a Javanese woman, of short stature, who assisted my wife from her horse. The pitying expression of their faces showed that they commiserated us in our wretched plight, for we were wet to the skin, the water soaking our shoes, and dripping from our finger ends. As our portmanteau had not yet arrived, we gladly accepted the kind offer of dry garments, and before long my wife was ​attired in the native sarong and kabaya; whilst I appeared in the mixed costume of native and European.
About one o'clock in the afternoon, the table was laid in the large room, at one end of which was a stove, sadly out of repair, at which we strove in vain to warm ourselves. When the dishes appeared, in walked our host, Mr. Van Rhee, whose custom it was to dine at the same table with any visitors to the Passangrahan. Without awaiting any invitation, therefore, he seated himself at the table, expressing his regret that his wife was too bashful to accompany him, but promising us the pleasure of her society at dinner-time.
After breakfast, as the rain by this time had ceased, he took us to his stables, and from thence to the flower and kitchen gardens; after which, notwithstanding the thick heavy atmosphere which had succeeded to the storm, we proceeded to examine the locality in which we temporarily found ​ourselves. At the gate was a very steep declivity, which our horses had galloped up on our arrival, a feat to which they were doubtless accustomed. We now descended this declivity, and strolled on to the village close by, where between one and two hundred families live. Their principal food, as we were informed, is Indian corn, which, when gathered, is left to dry under a roof of attap, supported by four poles, about twelve feet high, with slighter poles placed crosswise, from which the heads of corn are suspended. The inhabitants of this village are employed by Herr Van Rhee in his extensive gardens and fields. They seemed very shy at the appearance of strangers; and this was not to be wondered at, few of them, as I was told, having ever been beyond the outskirts of the native village of Passerpan.
Our host was a gardener on a large scale, having under him about fifteen hundred men, to whom he let portions of land, purchasing the ​produce from them, which he disposed of at the market towns. He was formerly a soldier, and had seen some fighting at Ban jarmasing, in Borneo. After serving fourteen years, instead of returning to Holland, he turned his thoughts to vegetable cultivation; rented a considerable district of the Tengerr, where the soil is a rich vegetable mould, and engaged labourers to work under him in the manner already described. From the Passangrahan we had a fine view of a portion of the volcanic Bromok, which is distinguished by its barrenness, compared with the mountains and hills in its vicinity, which are covered thickly with tall trees and shrubs. Volumes of smoke were issuing from it, and flames, which are only discernible at night, or late in the afternoon when it begins to grow dusk. In a direct line it is about three miles from Tosari, or a little less, but by the road the distance is much greater. We were still separated from the volcano by deep ravines intersected by ​irregular ranges of hills and small mountains, one of which particularly struck us by its singular likeness to the vertebræ of some huge animal, crawling among, and mingling, as it were, with the verdure which surrounded it. At dinner our hostess made her appearance, attired in the best native fashion. She was very short, dark, and rather good-looking; and after a little conversation we found that notwithstanding her shyness she was the real major-domo, the internal economy of the house being entirely entrusted to her. She seemed to be quick and industrious, and was evidently well suited to Van Rhée.
We had potatoes and cabbages, which were to us quite delicacies. Their flavour was exactly similar to that of our European vegetables of the same description.
"Here," said mine host, uncovering a dish near him, "is a delicious vegetable—it is quite new out here, this being the first year I have ever grown it. ​Do take some; I think it is what the French call aspershe."
"Oh, asperge" replied I. " Yes, yes, I know well what you mean; but surely this is not asperge" and I pointed to the dish, which more resembled a mess of Indian corn than anything else. However, I helped myself to some, and found the flavour something like that of asparagus, but I sought in vain for the heads of the vegetable, which were certainly not there.
"Well, how do you like it, sir,?" asked Herr Van Rhée, after a short pause.
"Not much, I confess," said I; "I think it is cooked in a peculiar manner."
"To tell you the truth, sir, I don't remember tasting this in Holland, so I left no directions with my wife as to dishing it up."
" She has not boiled the heads," replied I, pointing to the dish, the appearance of which was so questionable. {nop}} ​"Oh, clear no, sir," said me frau, speaking for the first time on the subject, " I cut off all the tops and threw them away, but all the root and stalk I chopped up carefully."
This anecdote brought to my mind that of the German, in bygone ages, who, hearing of the new importation of potatoes, lost no time in planting some in his garden; and after viewing with pleasure for some time their daily growth, ordered them to be cut down when of a good height, that he might have a dish of potatoe tops.
It was our intention to start early next morning for the Bromok if the weather proved propitious. Great therefore was our delight, on awaking, to find the sun shining, and the air clear. We dressed with all possible haste, and strolled into the yard, whilst our morning meal, or first breakfast, was being prepared. The air was cold and fresh, a change which, after the enervating heat of the lowlands, was invigorating and bracing. Our ​delight, however, was doomed to be short-lived, for whilst we were at breakfast a thick vapoury cloud came sweeping from the east, filling the rooms of the house with a damp atmosphere. This was soon followed by a heavy shower of rain, which made us fear our excursion must be postponed till next day—a great disappointment, seeing that the Bromok had been very active over-night, and was now growling like distant thunder.
We stood some time in the verandah, looking in the direction of the volcano, which was veiled from us by a thick mist. We continued gazing, until our attention was diverted by the remark of one of our servants, who gave it as his opinion that the noise was made by the voice of some departed gnome, which he called Pungooroo Gunong, keeper of the mountains, who thus made known his appetite for human flesh. In talking about earthquakes, to which the subject naturally led, he declared it to be his conviction that the earth, ​which was in the form of a tray, was supported on the horns of a great bull, and that sometimes proving a great annoyance to its bearer, he made occasional attempts to displace it, and the shaking of the world thereby caused he regarded as a sufficient explanation of the phenomena of earthquakes. This is the third version of the kind have heard—the Chinese one being that the I earth rests on the back of a tortoise, whilst the Hindoo's imagination places it on a monstrous serpent.
About eight the sky cleared a little, and we set off on horseback for the Bromok, our party consisting of my wife, Van Rhée, Drahman, a mandor, three coolies, and myself. It was still very misty, only occasional gleams of sunshine, now and then brightening our road, so capriciously does the great orb of day allow the passing clouds to veil him from these mountain tops.
Our road for some distance was very steep and ​slippery from the recent heavy rains. It was not until we had ascended considerably higher that we found the ground sufficiently firm and agreeable for riding. We then entered into a wilder neighbourhood, with here and there a few attap huts, perched on the slopes of the mountains. A little further on, the fields on both sides of the road were covered with European vegetables, such as peas, cabbages, beetroot, beans, artichokes, lettuces, &c.; the ground in which they grew still forming a portion of Van Rhee's plantations. Each field is surrounded by a deep ditch, about six feet in depth, called by the natives Bloombung, which serves as a fence against the predatory nocturnal incursions of wild boars. It seemed very strange to see such extensive fields of cultivated vegetables in the midst of a scene so solitary, where, except the husbandman or his labourers, few visitors are ever seen, though the locality is certainly as beautiful as any I afterwards saw in the island.
​The road continued to wind through a picturesque country, until we reached the flagstaff mountain, where the beauty of the slopes began sensibly to diminish. They were covered with the alang alang, a tall, yellow grass, and studded with tall trees, amongst which w*ere the chum-ara, a species of fir, and a bushy shrub called the kut-i-sang, which has a delicate little flower, with pink stamens, growing like the rhododendron, but more foliaceous. It affords excellent cover for peacocks and wild fowl, some of which started out on hearing the tramp of our small cavalcade.
A ride of an hour and a half brought us to the foot of the Mungal, where we dismounted, and walked to the top, from whence we had a bird's-eye view of the enormous extinct crater, said to be the largest in the world, being about four or five miles in diameter. Beneath us was the Dasar, or floor of the crater, which at first sight seemed only a short leap from where we stood. What was our ​astonishment, then, when Herr Van Rhée told us it would take a quarter of an hour or more to accomplish the descent, as we were now about eight or nine hundred feet above it!
The mountain we were on forms one of a chain, which, rising in irregular bold ridges, surrounds the whole extinct crater.
Straight before us, but at a distance of fully two miles from the foot of the Mungal, is a cluster of mountains, which, rising about the centre of the crater, bisect it from right to left. The foremost of these is the Batok, or Butak, meaning bald; probably so called from its being bare of herbage at the summit, while the lower parts are covered with it. It is conically shaped, with deep grooves, or hollows, running regularly down the sides to the base, the result undoubtedly of a constant and rapid overflow of lava during the period of its activity as a volcano many years ago. To the right, a little ​behind it, runs the sharp-pointed chain of the Dedari and Widadaren, signifying the "dwelling of fairies." On the left of the Batok, partially lost in volumes of its own smoke, groans the Bromok, perfectly nude of vegetation, and, like all its companions in the cluster, presenting a black, charred appearance. The Batok, indeed, contrasts favourably with the other hills, more than three parts of it being apparently covered with grass.
Having seen thus much, we descended by a very steep path excavated out of the mountain, leading to the Dasar. We found the declivity very tiresome and fatiguing to our ponies, and most uncomfortable for ourselves, as, spite of all precaution on our part, the poor animals would slip sometimes, and but for a tight rein they must have fallen, throwing the riders over their heads. The earth on both sides of us was composed of clay and sand, veined with lines of chalk; but by the time we had nearly ​accomplished our descent, it changed apparently to a soil consisting of burnt stones and gravel, which, on a closer examination, we found to bear a resemblance to charcoal and cinders, as it crumbled in our fingers with the slightest pressure, a circumstance which confirmed our belief in what we had been previously told — that the whole Dasar, now called the Sand Sea, was once one enormous volcano.
Issuing out of the opening, we perceived, on looking back, that the mountain we had just left, together with the adjoining ones, presented the same charred appearance for about seventy or eighty feet above the level on which we stood. All around us now exhibited a barren deserted aspect. No tree was to be seen, but only occasional patches of dried, unhealthy-looking grass, similar to that seen on the Egyptian desert, growing on a similar sandy surface.
Save ourselves, there was not a soul to be seen ​stirring in the vast expanse around us; nor was there the slightest sign of animal life in this dreary solitude.
We put our ponies to a gallop and soon reached the two huts which have been erected near the foot of the Bromok for the convenience of chance visitors. Here we rested awhile to gaze with wonder and astonishment on the scene around us, one altogether beyond any conception we had previously formed of it. In the most open parts of the Dasar, where the loose sand has been exposed to the wind, the surface is traced with wrinkles or ridges, similar to those seen on the sea-sand at the ebb of the tide—an appearance which has obtained for this locality the name of Sagara wadi, or the Sand Sea.
The form of the Bromok is something like a cone, from the summit of which about a third part, or even more, has been irregularly broken off. Projecting from one of its sides were many ​irregular masses, or mounds of mud and sand, coated with a cake of baked clay like red lava. Some of these mounds have been wasted away by rain, leaving deep broad fissures in the Sand Sea, like the beds of dried-up rivers; while others, still supplied with liquid substance from the volcano, are advancing on the Dasar, covering that part of it in the immediate proximity of the crater. Imbedded in these mounds are large blocks of lime and ironstone, also huge black stones veined like marble and shining like granite. These, with the light stones which, from their burnt appearance, resemble cinder, are seen scattered about in all directions, and are supposed to have been ejected at the last eruption of the Bromok, which Herr Van Rhée informed us took place a few years ago, the ashes coming as far as the gardens at Tosari.
We rode over some of the mounds to the foot of a series of dilapidated-looking steps, once protected by railings, which are now of little use, as, ​in consequence of their exposure to atmospheric influences, they resemble rickety fishing-stakes. A few more visits of the annual tide of pilgrims will probably soon annihilate them altogether.
The ground on which we now stood—for we alighted at the foot of these steps—seemed literally to tremble under us, and the noise of the crater was quite terrific. The smoke, forcing its way through large apertures in the sides, made a hoarse grumbling sound like that of an impatient steam engine; and sulphureous odours impregnated the air, almost choking us with their powerful odour. We ascended the rough steps, and soon gained the ridge, where a new sight struck us with wonder and amazement. The crater, when we looked down into its dreadful abyss, seemed a perfect pandemonium; and one could well fancy, on beholding a spectacle so grand and appalling, what must have been the conjectures suggested to the minds of ignorant, superstitious natives. What more ​probable than that they should regard the sounds issuing from its profound depths as the shrieks, yells, and groans of a multitude of discontented spirits, calling in misery to be delivered from the prison-house in which they were suffering unutterable torments? The crater of the volcano is like a large basin, about three hundred and fifty feet in diameter, sloping gradually to a depth of fully two hundred feet. The ridge is very irregular, which accounts for the broken appearance it presented to our eyes when seen from the plain. The part we stood upon was almost a level surface, about three feet wide. The interior is rugged, and crusted over with deposits of sulphureous matter. The floor is formed of three steps, thickly coated with yellow. From a large aperture in the centre issued dense volumes of smoke, completely hiding everything beyond from view, and so thick as effectually to conceal the opposite side of the crater. Enormous cakes of a red substance, like baked mud, ​were to be seen on and near the ridge, some of which I took up, hoping it would prove to be lava, but it all crumbled away in my fingers, leaving only a handful of powder.