BY MOTOR THROUGH THE EAST COAST AND 

 BATAK HIGHLANDS OF SUMATRA 



By Melvin A. Hall 



With Photographs by the Author 



A FEW low islands, eventually to be 

 gathered to the shores of the im- 

 mense mother-island by steadily 

 encroaching alluvial deposit, appeared 

 and dropped from sight in the sultry haze 

 of mid-afternoon as we steamed up the 

 Straits of Malacca. Sumatra itself was 

 never visible, although on the other side 

 of the Straits, to the northeast, the palm- 

 fringed Malayan coast and blue dorsal 

 range of the interior remained all day in 

 view. 



But the Sumatran east coast is so low 

 and flat that its long, dark-green out- 

 line can seldom be distinguished above 

 the black water before the ship actually 

 approaches its harbor. 



It is a swampy, unhealthy coast, formed 

 by the deposits of silt washed down from 

 the mountains in the periodic inundations 

 of an enormous annual rainfall. In this 

 way the whole of the broad plain be- 

 tween mountains and sea, which, behind 

 its mangrove fringe, forms the splendidly 

 rich lands of rubber and tobacco estates, 

 has gradually been built up and is steadily 

 being extended. 



The mangrove plays a considerable 

 part in this extension because of its re- 

 markable powers of reproduction. Grow- 

 ing partly in the shallow water of the 

 littoral, these trees spread out a labyrinth 

 of surface roots that act as a framework 

 for the accumulating mud, which in the 

 course of time rises above the surface 

 and forms land. 



CURIOUS SIGHTS OK THE RIVER 



The ripe seeds of the mangrove do not 

 fall off, but germinate upon the parent 

 tree, growing downward in long, straight 

 shoots. Eventually these drop from their 

 own weight, and, falling upright in the 

 shoal water, sink to the muddy bottom 

 and there take root. Many fall beyond 

 the outer edge of the swamp, and as the 



process continues more land is formed 

 and the coast-line is gradually pushed 

 farther out into the sea. 



The morning after leaving Singapore 

 we sighted the thin, dark line of the 

 shore as the ship steamed in between 

 the closely set bamboo-and-string nets 

 of the Malay coast fishermen. Then the 

 water became the color of pea soup from 

 the river-brought silt of volcanic moun- 

 tains, and shortly after the first glimpse 

 of Sumatra we crept into Kuala Belawan, 

 one of the mouths of the Deli River, the 

 screw churning up the dirty yellow mud 

 into a frothy trail. 



The shallow water and shifting mud- 

 banks of the coast make the location of 

 ports unreliable and frequently necessi- 

 tate their removal or abandonment after 

 they have once been established. 



Although large steamers now dock in 

 the port of Deli, like most other Sumatran 

 ports it is but a broad, mud-colored 

 stream, winding sluggishly through dense 

 equatorial swamps. 



The ship ploughed over the bar into 

 the midst of scenery typical of low rivers 

 near the line. Dripping mangroves, with 

 black, snake-like roots, shut in the river's 

 edge, only here and there grudgingly 

 yielding a little space to tiny coconut 

 groves where palm-thatched huts roosted 

 high on piles above the oily water. 



A few sampans and narrow dug-out 

 canoes idled along the banks, the fierce 

 rays of the sun reflected from the ripples 

 in their wake and glistening on the bare 

 brown backs of their oarsmen. 



Farther up-river a line of high-sterned 

 praus from Borneo, gayly colored and 

 carved, regarded the steamer with mis- 

 trustful, painted eyes. Their cargoes of 

 Bandjermasin matting for tobacco bales, 

 and anak kajoe (poles for tobacco dry- 

 ing), and atap for thatching roofs lay 

 piled high around their curious masts, 



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