Delicious the climate, enchanting the scenery, of the islands of the Indian Archipelago! crowded as they are, from the water’s edge to their very summit, with luxuriant foliage, and offering to the vision a richness of tint unknown in other regions; nevertheless, to two youngsters longing for activity, and the free and natural use of their legs, a voyage along the coast-line of Java, cribbed, cabined and confined in a comparatively small craft, and manned by natives, who, either from ignorance or obstinacy, insist upon hugging the shore and never losing sight of land, was very monotonous. Thus, when we came in sight of the cliffs Karong-Bolang, in the province of Baglen, and Prabu told us that the nests to be found in the bowels of these stupendous rocks was the end and object of our voyage, we gave three cheers—good, hearty Yankee cheers. As for Martin, he was in an ecstasy of delight, for he was about to become a “nest-hunter;” although, by the way, the full meaning of these words in conjunction neither he nor I then exactly comprehended.

“It is scarcely daybreak; we shall see flocks of swallows,” said Prabu, as about that hour the prahu made towards a creek.

“What! the little nest-makers, the purveyors-general to the pig-tailed mandarins?” asked Martin.

“My young master, yes!” replied Prabu; “for they are night-birds, and leave not the caves till the sun has disappeared.”

Almost as he spoke, the vessel ran into the midst of a tribe of these important little feathered animals. They resembled the common swallow in form and color, but, like Mother Carey’s chickens (the smallest of the petrel tribe), seemed ever restless, ever in motion. Sometimes they appeared to skim the water, as if taking up some substance with the bill from the sea; at others, darting, turning and twisting in the air, as if after fleet-winged insects; but, curiously enough, although my brother and I watched very keenly, neither of us could detect anything in the air, or upon the surface of the sea, upon which they could feed; so, turning to Prabu, I said, “What on earth do they exist upon?”

“Nothing upon earth,” replied Martin, laughing, “but, like chameleons, upon air.”

“Upon insects,” said Prabu, “and little creatures so minute, that, although your eyes cannot detect them, float upon the surface of the sea.”

Then he explained to us that it was by some arrangement of the digestive organs that the bird produces from its bill the glutinous and clear-looking substance of which its nest is constructed; an explanation, to a certain extent, substantiated by the appearance of the nests, which in structure resemble long filaments of very fine vermicelli, coiled one part over the other without much regularity, and glued together by transverse rows of the same material. There was an old notion, that these nests—which, by the way, in form resemble the bowl of a large gravy-spoon, split in half longitudinally—were formed from sea-foam and other marine productions pulled up by the birds; but inasmuch as the edible-nest is found not only at the seaside, but in caves sixty or seventy miles in the interior, Prabu’s hypothesis seemed the most correct; but, then, to prove that, it should be discovered, by a skilful dissection, that the bird has some peculiar organ destined to perform the process of elaborating such a substance from its food. At present, neither naturalists nor natives make any distinction between the variety of swallows which affords the esculent nest, or any other.

As the prahu entered the creek, walled on one side by a perpendicular rock of at least 600 feet in height, Prabu made the blood run cold in our veins; for, pointing to a small dark spot about 200 feet above our heads, he said: “Yon hole is the entrance to one of the caves, and can only be reached from the top. What do my young masters think of nest-hunting now?”

“I sha’n’t think any more about it,” said I, with a shudder. “I wasn’t born a bird, and it’s an occupation only fit for eagles and Mother Carey’s chickens; or, at least, people ought to be invented with wings and strong claws for the express purpose.”

“Queer!” said Martin, thoughtfully, and scanning the rocks. “It’s a deuce of a height, or rather a depth, to be let down, with no ledge or abutment to rest upon, and this sea surging, foaming, and boiling in one’s ear! But then,” he added, his eyes brightening up, “it’s dangerous; it wants pluck, and that’s the thing for me. No danger, no fun. Besides, others do it, and, if so, why not me? I tell you what, Claud, we white fellows mustn’t show a feather the same color as our skin. Besides, we are always boasting about being superior to these darkies; therefore, we must prove now that we are at least their equals. We have begun, and we must go on.”

“My young master,” said Prabu, good-naturedly smiling at the allusion to the “darkies,” “does he know that the men who gather the nests have been trained from their childhood to climb rocks like tiger-cats, and that even of these one out of every five loses his life?”

“Bother! all right; don’t try to frighten a fellow. As you Mahommedans say, ‘What is written is written,’ we have begun, and we must go on; what we want in training, you know, we must find in pluck; and if you come to that,” he added, boastfully, “I sha’n’t fail—no, nor my brother, either, for all his pretending to be afraid of this, that, and the other; for in his quiet way, he is as plucky as any of us.”

“There is no real pluck, Martin,” said I, “in attempting that in which we know we must fail.”

“Ah! old fellow, but we never do know what will be a failure till we try,” he replied; and as he would have continued that line of argument the whole day, I dropped the subject.

Shortly after daybreak we anchored in a small natural harbor or bay, about half-way up the creek. “Now comes the tug of war,” said Martin; adding, “When do we commence, Prabu?”

“To-morrow, at sunrise,” answered Prabu. “To-day I must see the chief who guards the caves; but my young masters can, if they please, come with me, for they will find a welcome for the day and the night in the village.”

Then, having given orders to Kati to send six of the men to join us in the morning, bringing with them all things necessary for the expedition, we followed Prabu up a steep hill.

“Truly, this may be a village,” said Martin, when we reached the top, “but it’s inhabited by the dead.”

My brother was right. It was a cemetery—one of those cities of the dead, for the simplicity yet beauty and taste of which, in laying out, the Javanese are not surpassed by any people. The whole summit and portion of the opposite slope of the hill was clad with a verdant sward, and laid out in groves of samboza trees, a plant which, even when young, from the fantastic growth of its stem, has a solemn aspect. The little mounds of earth, with their head and foot stones strewn with flowers, at the root of each of these trees, bespoke at once the last resting-place of a beloved one, and the pious care of the living. The flowers were in all their freshness, for the previous day the festival annually held in honor of ancestors had taken place. On this occasion, the men, women and children, attired in their best, repair to the cemeteries, and pass the day in devotion; each family strews the tombs of its progenitors with the flowers of the salasi, or Indian tulse, a plant cultivated in great quantities for this express occasion.

With like simplicity and good taste, and without the extravagant superstitions of most Eastern nations, do the Javanese (for the greater part Mahommedans) conduct their funerals. But they are sufficiently curious for description. The corpse is carried to the place of interment on a broad plank, which is kept for the public service, and lasts for many generations. It is constantly rubbed with lime, either to preserve it from decay or to keep it pure. No coffin is made use of, the body being simply wrapped in white cloth. In forming the grave, after digging to a convenient depth, they make a cavity in the side at the bottom, of sufficient dimensions to contain the body, which is there deposited on its right side. By this mode the earth literally lies light upon it; and the cavity, after strewing flowers in it, they stop up by two boards, fastened angularly to each other, so that the one is on the top of the corpse, while the other defends it on the open side, the edge resting on the bottom of the grave. The outer excavation is then filled up with earth, and little white flags, or streamers, are stuck in order around.

They likewise plant a shrub bearing a white flower, and in some places wild marjoram; the women who attend the funeral make a hideous noise, not much unlike the Irish howl. On the third and seventh day, the relations perform a ceremony at the grave; and at the end of twelve months, that of Legga batu, or setting up a few long, elliptical stones at the head and foot, which, being scarce in some parts of the country, bear a considerable price. On this occasion, they kill and feast on a buffalo, and leave the head to decay on the spot, as a token of the honor they have done to the deceased in eating to his memory. The ancient burying-places are called krammat, and are supposed to have been those of the holy men by whom their ancestors were converted to the faith; they are held in extraordinary reverence, and the least disturbance or violation of the ground, though all traces of the grave be obliterated, is regarded as an unpardonable sacrilege.

For nearly an hour we lingered about that silent city, hallowed by so many loving hearts. To me there is ever a melancholy satisfaction in such places; they recall to my mind the departed, and fix my thoughts upon the future; but then I stood pondering over one particular mound of earth, for it reminded me of my mother’s grave, in that far distant American cemetery. What changes had happened since my father, brother, and I had stood, almost broken-hearted, at its side! We had become aliens in a foreign land; a dearly-loved father dead, perhaps foully slain—who knew? an unknown uncle; a cousin, known long enough to have become endeared to us—all, all passed away! With such ponderings my mind was absorbed; sighing, sobbing, I had no thought but of my own sorrow, when Martin, taking my arm, but with big tears trickling down his own cheeks, said——

“Don’t, Claud, don’t! Be a man now!”

“Have men no tears, Martin, for the memory of those they have loved?”

“Yes, perhaps so,” he answered, wiping his damp eyes. “Don’t! don’t! don’t! Let us think of the future: we must not dwell upon the past—indeed we mus’n’t!”

“You are right, dear brother,” I said, at length, recovering myself. “But, Prabu, where is this village?”

“Yonder, my master,” he replied, pointing to a cluster of houses upon another hill in the distance. “But look!” he added; “beware!” and scarcely had we time, I to clutch my pistol, and Martin and Prabu to draw their creeses, when a huge wild boar, which had just come from the wood at the bottom of the hill, came tearing and grunting up the slope, followed by several hunters.

“It is the chief!” cried Prabu, as an old man, spear in hand, and in advance of his party, pursued the animal.

“Let us show him a bold front,” said Martin. And as we prepared to receive him, the hog stood for a minute, as if greatly astonished at meeting with such an unexpected opposition.

“He is taking our measure,” said I, at the same time aiming at the brute.

“Here, move aside,” cried my brother, brandishing his creese; “this is the weapon to tackle master piggy with; he is only grinning at that whipper-snapper pop-gun of yours.”

“That thrust will save us further trouble, Martin,” said I, as the old chief, who had now come within reach of the hog, sent his spear into its side. But not so; the weapon broke short off at the neck-head, and piggy, giving one loud grunt, turned suddenly round, and rushed into a neighboring thicket.

“After him!” shouted my brother; but the old gentleman, in very angry tones, called to us to remain where we were.

“Who are these,” he cried, “sons of burnt mothers, that they should step between Datoo and his game?”

“Why, uncivil old person, we were going to help you to the pig!” replied Martin; then, seeing the chief stood looking at the thicket, he added: “It is the dog and the manger over again; the old fellow will neither kill the pig himself, nor let us.”

“Son of a dog!” cried the chief, “my spear is broken, and Datoo dares not defile Blaber with the blood of a hog.”

Now this Blaber, about the defilement of which he was so sensitive, was his creese, and Martin, believing it was only an excuse for want of pluck, said, as he offered him his own weapon,—

“Well, I am not so particular; take this, my friend.”

“Allah reward you!” cried the chief, snatching the creese, and, with all the agility of a hunter some half a century younger, he leaped into the thicket. The next minute, there was a grunt, a scream; blood spurted from the bush, and the chief came forth flourishing the red steel in his hand, and, now in a much better temper, went up to Prabu, saying,—

“Datoo is a dog, and a son of a dog, for he did not before recognize his friend.” Then, by way of testifying his joy at the meeting, he fell upon his neck, and, after the manner of his race, smelt him—a mode of salutation in Java equivalent to the touch by the lips of the inhabitants of continental Europe.

“We will trespass upon thy hospitality one night only, good Datoo, for to-morrow, at daybreak, we go to the caves.”

“My house, my village, and all therein are my brother Prabu’s,” was the reply; and then, turning to Martin, he thanked him for saving his creese from defilement.

The Javanese almost idolize this, their favorite weapon, like the knights-errant of old, giving them pet names, and occasionally addressing them as if they were endowed with understanding—yet why, except from custom, is incomprehensible: it is not for its venerable antiquity, for its use was not introduced until nearly the beginning of the fifteenth century. It it not so useful as the sword, for it is short, and most generally crooked. With justice it has been described as more fit for assassination than war. The creese doubtlessly had its origin in a most unromantic cause, the scarcity and dearness of iron; for in those countries where the metal is unknown, and without intercourse with foreigners, it must necessarily be far more valuable than gold itself—a fact sufficiently proved by the histories of Mexico and Peru, wherein, although gold and silver were as common as iron in other countries, the more vulgar metal was never seen until the arrival of the Spaniards. Indeed, had these two brave peoples known its use, it is more than questionable that they would have become, if at all, so easily the prey of their invaders. Such was the origin of that apology for the sword—the creese. Why it is continued in use after the cause has ceased, is easily comprehended by those who are aware of the obstinate adherence of barbarians to ancient habit and custom, particularly in an affair in which national pride and vanity are engaged.

Arriving at the chief’s house, the largest and best-built in the village, the old gentleman gave us a formal welcome, and bade us be seated—that is, squat ourselves upon the bamboo flooring, and the slave would bring us refreshments; but Prabu, having looked around, as if disappointed at not seeing some other persons present, asked, “How is it that my worthy Datoo’s sons are absent when the Pangeran requires their aid?”

Now this Pangeran, or Prince, was the owner or proprietor of the nest-caves; and Datoo and his sons, his born vassals, were keepers and guards of the caves against robbers, and, as such, bound to render Prabu any aid he might require whenever he came upon a nest-gathering expedition. At the question Datoo appeared at first a little surprised, but he answered,—

“The Strong-one and the Weak-one are in the forest, hunting the buffalo, and will return in time to render aid to the noble Prabu. But let my worthy friend delight his heart and please his eye, for the Handsome One[A] is here to welcome her betrothed;” and the frown vanished from our captain’s brow, as a girl, pretty for a Javanese, but yellow as saffron, entered the room, when he arose, and, having addressed to her some very pretty words, saluted by—well, not kissing, but smelling her cheek.

The remainder of the day was spent in preparing for our expedition the next morning. At night we slept together in the same room. As, however, it was the first moment since entering the house we had seen Prabu alone, Martin mischievously said:

“Prabu, you sly dog! you never told us you had a sweetheart.” But our captain was sullen, and replied not. Determined, however, to have his joke, Martin continued: “The Handsome One is a beauty lovely as the houris of Mahomet’s Paradise; but she is very young—almost a child, Prabu.”

“She has had her teeth filed,” replied our captain; but with that answer my brother was compelled to rest content, for he would say no more. But I must explain.

This ugly custom of blackening the teeth is common with the Asiatics, but it is the natives of the Archipelago alone who also file them. The practice as far as regards the men, is equivalent among Americans to throwing aside the boy’s dress and assuming that of the man; and with the women, to that, perhaps, of our young ladies making their first appearance at public places. But it is always a preparation for marriage.

The operation is confined chiefly to the upper canine teeth, the edges of which are filed down and rendered perfectly even, while the body of the tooth is rendered concave.

The person about to be operated upon is thrown upon his or her back, and an old woman—a professor of the art—grinds the teeth into the desired form with a piece of pumice-stone. An indelible black is easily given, after the loss of the enamel, by the application of an oily carbon, procured by burning the shell of the cocoa-nut. The two middle upper canine teeth are left white, and sometimes covered with a plate of gold—the contrast which they form, in either case, with the jet-black of their neighbors being looked upon as highly becoming. A few individuals, more whimsical than the rest, have the teeth filed into the appearance of a saw.

Thus, not only to be in the fashion, but to be regarded as a real beauty, a Javanese must have his teeth properly filed and blackened; for, say they, “men and women ought not to have teeth like dogs and monkeys.” And this saying, perhaps, suggests that the ugly institution had its origin in a rude effort of improvement, on the part of the first savage tribe that began it, to distinguish itself from the beasts of the field and those ruder than themselves, who nearly resembled the former. Crawford gives us the following anecdote, illustrative of Javanese public opinion upon this “mode”:

“After the young Sultan of Java had had his teeth duly filed and blackened, according to custom, one of the chiefs asked me, with perfect earnestness, if I did not think his highness’s looks very much improved, and was surprised that I did not agree with him. When the elder son of the Chief of Samarang—one of the very interesting youths who were educated at Calcutta—visited Bali, the Rajah of Blelleng, one of the sovereigns of that island, was informed of the circumstance, and asked his opinion of him. He approved of his looks, manners and conversation; but added, ‘it was a thousand pities his teeth were white!’”