arrival of the Portuguese in the Archipelago, Pigafetta writes the name Samatra, but he
mentions it only incidentally, and his information was most probably obtained from
his better informed Bhip-mate, Barbosa. “ On the night of Tuesday and Wednesday,
the 11th of February, 1522,” says he, “ quitting the island of Timur, we entered the
great sea called Laut-chidol (Javanese, Laut-kidul, the south sea), and taking our
course between west and south, we left to the right hand, and in a northern direction,
for fear of the Portuguese, the island Samatra, anciently called Taprobana."—Primo
Viaggio, p. 179. It is remarkable that the name of Sumatra had not reached Marco
Polo, although he was six months wind-bound at the island, and in communication
with the natives. That of Java, the only large territory of the Archipelago, familiarly
called an island by the natives, had done so; and he called Sumatra, knowing it to be
an island, but ignorant of its relative extent, Java Minor. About two centuries and
a quarter, therefore, before the arrival of the Portuguese, the name of Sumatra was
not known to the Chinese of Marco Polo’s fleet, nor even to its Arabian pilots, or it
would hardly have escaped the Yenetian traveller.
As to the first origin of the name Sumatra, or Samatra, as employed by the Moorish
merchants trading to the Archipelago, and borrowed from them by the Portuguese, it
has certainly hitherto baffled etymologists, but is very probably of Hindu or Sanscrit
origin. Sumatra is the nearest part of the Archipelago to the country of the Hindus,
and is, moreover, that part of it which is now, and has at all times been, most
frequented by them for the purposes of trade. That trade was carried on from the
eastern coast of the southern part of Hindustan, being also that part of it from
which the islanders are reasonably believed to have derived the Hindu religion,
and their languages their admixture of Sanscrit. The first syllable of the name
of the island, when written with the vowel it, signifies, in Sanscrit, good, or
excellent, but of the remaining two, no reasonable conjecture can be formed. Is it
not probable, then, that the original word may have been Samudra, the sea, or ocean,
in Sanscrit, and thence, in Javanese 1 The Hindus would add dipa, and hence we
should have “ sea-island, or sea-land,” and traders, dropping the last named word, might
easily have corrupted Samudra into Samatra. This seems at least as probable as any
other conjecture that has been offered on the subject, for it is not unreasonable to
fancy that the Hindus would call the nearest land to them sea-ward, by such a name,
—that land from which, directly or indirectly, they drew their supplies of gold, tin,
spices and incenses, and which they had immemorially supplied with salt and cotton
fabrics.
But there are two other names which have been occasionally given to Sumatra—
Indalus and Pulo-parchah. Both are more mythic than real, and the first can neither
be traced in sense or derivation. The last means, literally, rag, or patch island, but
unluckily for it, the word parchah is neither native nor Sanscrit, but Persian, and
hence, however given, must of necessity be a comparatively recent one, since no
ancient communication between the Archipelago and Persia is traceable.
Sumatra is the most westerly island of the Malay Archipelago, forming its barrier
to the west against the Indian Ocean and Bay of Bengal. Its length is from northwest
to south-east, and it stretches across the equator, which bisects it, leaving about
an equal part in the northern and southern hemisphere, its most northerly point
being, in north latitude 5° 45', and its most southerly, in south latitude, 5° 55'. To the
east it has the Malay Peninsula, and the chain of islands which extend to Banca inclusive.
To the west, the nearest land is the continent of India, about 1000 miles
distant. To the south, there is no land near it, except at its southern extremity,
where it approaches within twelve miles of Java.
Sumatra is about 1000 miles in length, its extreme ends are its narrowest parts, and
its centre its broadest. Its area is reckoned at 128,560 geographical square miles.
Thus it is the largest island of the Malay or Philippine Archipelago, except Borneo.
I t is above three times the size of Java, or of Cuba, and better than half as large again
as Great Britain.
The geological formation of Sumatra consists of sedimentary, plutonic, and volcanic
rocks. “ The circumstance,” says Mr. Logan, in an excellent sketch of the island, “ of
of the mountain belt being partly plutonic and partly volcanic forms its peculiar
character. Its configuration is, in fact, a combination of that of the Malay Peninsula
with that of Java, with this difference, that its middle region is more elevated and
expanded than any part of the Peninsula, several of its masses being about thrice the
height of the summits of the peninsular mountain range. If a number of volcanic
mountains rose, here and there, among the peninsular groups, and in greatest number
where the Peninsula is broadest, it would be identified, in character, with Sumatra.
The greater elevation of the mountains of the latter is, however, accompanied by a
greater expansion of the plains and valleys which lie among them. In crossing it
anvwhere save towards its northern and southern extremities, three, and sometimes
more principal ranges are found, with wide table-lands, plains, or valleys between
them' watered by numerous streams, and in some places containing lakes . . . The
most western ranges form the water-shed, and as the land to the west of it, chiefly
hills is not more than twenty-five miles broad, about one-fifth only of the waters of
the island fall into the Indian Ocean,—the Straits of Malacca and the Java Sea
receiving the remainder, in nearly equal proportions, as regards the drainage of the
mountains, but with a large excess to the latter, from the wide plain traversed by the
rivers which disembogue in it. The western margin of the mountain belt, washed by
the strong waters of the Indian Ocean, has retrograded to the eastward, the sediment
of the rivers and the ddbris of the coast being carried away, instead of being deposited.
The northern part of the coast, exposed to the assault of the Bay of Bengal,
has retained its ancient dimensions, if it has not contracted, but as soon as the open
sea is exchanged for the Straits of Malacca, the mountain belt begins to retire from
the coast, and a great alluvial belt commences.”
The highest mountain in Sumatra appears to be Lusd, in the territory of Achin, and
in north latitude about 4° 20', and this rises to the height of 11,000 feet above the
level of the sea, but there are at least six more which attain the elevation of 10,000,
or better. Of the mountains of Sumatra, five only are active volcanos, while the
volcanos of Java amount to fifteen. In fact, the volcanic portion of Sumatra seems to
be confined to a small part of its central region,—the volcanic band, afterwards continued
in Java and the islands east of it, appearing here to be limited to a zone comprised
within about a degree on each side of the equator. One of these volcanos,
Talang, rises to the height of 10,250 feet, an elevation equal to the average of the
heights of the volcanos of Java, Bali, and Lomboc. Two of them, Barapi, 6000, and
Miirapi, 9500 feet high, indicate their character by their names, which signify volcano.
The plains, table-lands, and valleys of the mountain region, are many of them of
considerable extent, such as those of Korinchi, Menangkabo, Tobah, Pertibi, and Mandating.
Some of these, especially of the volcanic formation, are fertile, while others,
and by far the greater number, are sterile and ungeuiaL Mr. Wilier, a Dutch writer,
has given a very spirited account of the two last-named plains, which are in the
country of the Bataks, but now forming parts of the Netherland dominions. He thus
describes Pertibi, remarkable for its sterility, and presenting an appearance little to
be expected by those accustomed to the luxuriant seaboards of Sumatra: “ I t is
otherwise when we descend Gunung-Tuah (old mountain), and cast our eye downwards
from the top of Sipopol. There we see unrolled a plain without horizon and
without variety. The lalang grass (the rank and worthless Andropogon cancosum)
makes the only diversity. On this plain not a single living creature appears to move;
a tree is a rarity, and has an appearance of stunted dwarfishness. At the distance of
miles we may descry, as an oasis in the desert, an insignificant thicket, or a small strip
of brushwood, along the banks of a marsh, or brook. A fell scorching wind blows,
for months together, and, from the numerous conflagrations, spreads a dull glow,
through which the sun-light scarcely forces itself,—wavering and heavy. In a word,
all nature appears to have gone to an eternal sleep. Such is the appearance of
Padang-luwas (spacious plain), and of the greater part of Pertibi.” “ The naked and
flat terrain of Padang-luwas offers no other diversity than the ravines and morasses
with which it is intersected. The upper soil is of the most meagre and unfruitful
kind, and is seldom more than six inches in depth. Beneath it, we soon come to layers
of white clay, limestone, sandstone, and other formations. The climate, although not
exactly unhealthy, is extremely rough. Frequently, we have in the afternoon a
temperature of from 27° to 29° of Reaumur, and in the night of from 14° to 15°.
The heat is accompanied by great dryness. The violent ganding, which blows over
Probolingo, in Java, can give but a faint idea of the storm which, for the greatest part
of the year, day after day, bellows from the west over Padang-luwas. Like the mistral,
this wind has a strong desiccating power, cracking the ground, and, in a few minutes,
removing all traces of mud and rain.”
The neighbouring district of Mandeling offers a totally different aspect, and is thus
described by the same writer : “ The appearance of Mandeling is as luxuriant and
varied as that of Pertibi is arid and monotonous. True, the southern ulu (interior)
consists of high and naked mountains, over which the lalang grass again spreads its
monotonous mantle. Here hamlets and cultivated tracts appear to be stuck on
frightful steeps, where unfruitfulness and poverty have established their hungry seat.