The island of Banda is very hilly, yet fertile, the government among the natives being a kind of commonwealth, administered by the Mahomedan priests, who are very strict and severe. The population of the whole island may be about 12,000 persons of all ages, of whom about 4000 are fighting men. It is so well fortified as to be deemed impregnable, yet there is always a numerous squadron of small vessels on the coast for farther security. The garrison is numerous, but in a worse condition than those of any other garrison, belonging to the company, owing to the scarcity of victuals, as the island is of a barren sandy soil,[1] wherefore the soldiers eat dogs, cats, and any other animal they can find. For six months of the year they have tolerable abundance of turtle or sea-tortoises, and after this they are glad to get a little sorry fish, now and then. Their bread is made from the juice of a tree, which resembles the grounds of beer when first drawn, but grows as hard as a stone when dried: Yet, when put into water, it swells and ferments, and so becomes fit to eat, at least in this country, where nothing else is to be had.[2] Butter, rice, dried fish, and other provisions, are all imported from Batavia, and are much too dear to be purchased by the soldiers, at least in any great plenty. Thus the inhabitants are none of the happiest; but, to do them justice, they live fully as well as they deserve, as there is not an honest man on the island.
[Footnote 1: This is contradictory, having been before described as hilly, yet fertile.—E.]
[Footnote 2: This account of the matter is not easily understood, and seems to want confirmation. Perhaps it is an ignorant or perverted report of sago: Yet there may possibly be some tree or plant affording a considerable quantity of fecula or starch by expression.—E.]