234 Celebes. 



his aflfairs. His business was that of a coffee and opium mer- 

 chant. He had a coffee estate at Bontyne, and a small prau 

 which traded to the Eastern islands, near New Guinea, for 

 mother-of-pearl and tortoise-shell. About one he would re- 

 turn home, have coffee and cake or fried plantain, first chang- 

 ing his dress for a colored cotton shirt and trowsers and bare 

 feet, and then take a siesta with a book. About four, after 

 a cup of tea, he would walk round his premises, and general- 

 ly stroll down to Mamajam to pay me a visit and look after 

 his farm. 



This consisted of a coftiee-plantation and an orchard of fruit- 

 trees, a dozen horses and a score of cattle, with a small village 

 of Timorese slaves and Macassar servants. One family looked 

 after the cattle and supplied the house with milk, bringing 

 me also a large glassful every morning, one of my greatest 

 luxuries. Others had charge of the horses, which were brought 

 in every afternoon and fed with cut grass. Others had to 

 cut grass for their master's horses at Macassar — not a very 

 easy task in the dry season, when all the country looks like 

 baked mud, or in the rainy season, when miles in every direc- 

 tion are flooded. How they managed it was a mystery to 

 me, but they know grass must be had, and they get it. One 

 lame woman had charge of a flock of ducks. Twice a day 

 she took them out to feed in the marshy places, let them wad- 

 dle and gobble for an hour or two, and then drove them back 

 and shut them up in a small dark shed to digest their meal, 

 whence they gave forth occasionally a melancholy quack. 

 Every night a watch was set, principally for the sake of the 

 horses, the people of Goa, only two miles off, being notorious 

 thieves, and horses offering the easiest and most valuable spoil. 

 This enabled me to sleep in security, although many jjcople 

 in Macassar thought I was running a great risk, living alone 

 in such a solitary place and with such bad neighbors. 



My house was surrounded by a kind of straggling hedge 

 of roses, jessamines, and other flowers, and every morning one 

 of the women gathered a basketful of the blossoms for Mr. 

 Mesman's family. I generally took a couple for my own 

 breakfast-table, and the supply never failed during my stay, 

 and I suppose never does. Almost every Sunday Mr. M. made 

 a shooting excursion with his eldest son, a lad of fifteen, and 



