jet ornaments, and most irreproachably got up to represent the
demented Prince of Denmark, came to the few smoky lamps intended as
footlights and made an apologetic speech, conveying to the audience
that owing to disappointments and difficulties he was placed in a
most awkward predicament. In fact, as he said, “he had heard how
very difficult it had proved for former theatrical managers to play
‘Hamlet’ without the Prince of Denmark, but in this instance he could
and would give us the Prince of Denmark, but was unable to produce
any other characters of ‘Hamlet’ except Ophelia; and that if we
would be content with an hour’s ‘scraps’ from ‘Hamlet,’ he and Miss
Beaudet would endeavour to fill the gap by the substitution of a
screaming farce—‘The Happy Pair’—in which only two characters were
needed.” I must confess that after all we had no reason to complain.
The rendering of the two Shakespearian parts were admirably done,
and “The Happy Pair” well worthy of a more appreciative audience,
considering that except in our party, I doubt if one in ten could
follow the dialogue. I need not say that Herr Bandman did not attempt
a second representation. He made a good haul on that night. The
following morning he discovered that the tropical temperature did not
agree with him, and that he had made tracks for some other locality,
better provided with Shakespearian performers.
[Illustration]
IV.
_AN ELEPHANT HUNT._
In order to give his distinguished guests a taste of the sports of
Ceylon, the Governor ordered that preparations be made for an elephant
hunt. When the fact became known the whole district became alive
with excitement. Nothing was talked of except the approaching kraal;
half the town would be there. All arrangements having been made, a
large number of servants, gaily dressed and turbanned, accompanied
by a swarm of coolies bearing provisions, bedding, tents, and other
comforts, were sent ahead the day before; and at daylight on the
following morning we made a start. The whole day we travelled first by
rail, then on horseback, and late at night halted at a native village
near the scene of the sport. When we left the village we needed no
pilot to guide us to the locality, for the narrow road was crowded
with travellers hastening in the one direction—every description
of vehicle, from His Highness’s light tandem to the native bullock
hackery with its ungreased, squeaking wheels.
The scene at the village was singularly strange and exciting. It was
close to the banks of a river, the name of which I cannot now recall
to my mind; it was, however, a stream of some size and rapidity.
Along the palm-shaded shore were moored numberless boats—many of
them large, flat, up-country barges, or padé boats, containing whole
families, who evidently lived in the hut built on the deck of these
barges. The best of the village huts had been taken up, whitewashed,
and made comfortable for the “distinguished visitors”; the doors
were decorated with strips of red and white cloth, flowers, and pale
green leaves of the cocoa palm. When lighted up for the evening they
looked extremely picturesque; and, thanks to the excellent management
of the servants sent ahead, our quarters—and more particularly the
commissariat—were excellent in every respect. Nothing had been
neglected, even to an ample supply of ice.
It took quite another day to complete the preparations for the
“kraal,” which, literally translated, means a trap—the elephants
being caught by partly driving, partly enticing them within a large
enclosure or trap. This is, of course, a much safer sport than
elephant stalking or shooting—a risk which His Excellency did not wish
the two young gentlemen under his charge to run.
Day had barely broken next morning when we were afoot, and having
despatched a hurried “chota hazery,” as the first meal is called in
all parts of India, we started to explore the wonders of the kraal,
followed, of course, by a bevy of servants with guns, ammunition,
baskets, boxes, hampers, and innumerable articles of comfort which
accompany all _white men_, even in the densest jungle, throughout the
East.
The neighbourhood in which the kraal was formed consisted of rugged,
undulating ground, pretty thickly covered with heavy jungle.
Low forest trees studded the stony land, interwoven with thorny
brambles, cacti, bamboos, and a species of gigantic creeping plant,
appropriately called jungle-rope, for it is strong enough to stop the
progress of a buffalo. A number of narrow paths had been cut by the
coolies leading from the village to the kraal.
About an hour brought us to a halt; we were at the kraal. I looked
carefully round, but the only indications of the industry of man I
could trace in that wild spot were sundry covered platforms raised
amongst the leafy branches of trees some twelve or fifteen feet
from the ground. These places were provided with seats, and on some
I noticed visitors had already secured a safe and snug place where
they could patiently wait for the game and, as they felt inclined,
watch the poor brutes fall into the trap, or take a safe shot at
their vulnerable points. Neither of these do I call sport. If it be
necessary to secure this noble, intelligent, useful animal, let him be
trapped; but I certainly fail to see much _fun_ or sport in sitting on
a platform, up a tree, and, in cold blood, riddling an inoffensive,
unsuspecting animal with bullets. In the open jungle, where he has his
chance of escape, or even of revenge, it is a different matter.
However, I am not a sportsman. I hate fire-arms, abhor powder, and
shudder at dynamite. I came to this hunt, and, being in it, had better
bottle up my sentiments and look on.
The novelty of the situation, the wild solitude of the jungle around
us, the picturesque appearance of the many groups of natives within
and about the kraal, and the sundry references to the baskets and
hampers, all helped to make the day pass away quickly and pleasantly.
Evening, however, brought with it a general debate as to what should
be done, for there was still no sign of game being near, and very
few of us desired to spend the night in that open spot, which, with
the setting of the sun, lost a good deal of its attractiveness. The
discussion ended by an adjournment to the village and padé boats,
where we spent another night and slept soundly.
The following day was spent pretty much as had been the first. Some of
our party gave strong signs of impatience. I was getting thoroughly
disgusted. Lord Portland proposed that we should “move on” and, as he
termed it, “shoot the beggars” if we fell in with them. There were
evident and unmistakable signs of a mutiny when, towards evening,
scouts arrived from the driving posts with injunctions to hold
everything in readiness, for the herd were coming on. The torches,
which had been already lit up to dispel the growing gloom, were put
out. The moon was rising; every tongue was hushed, eyes were eagerly
strained towards the opening through which the elephants were expected
to rush; every ear was stretched to catch the most remote sounds in
that direction. One might have fancied, from the death-like silence
that prevailed, that we were awaiting our own fate instead of that of
the elephants.
We did not wait long in suspense. A distant shouting burst suddenly
upon our startled ears; it drew rapidly nearer, and soon we could
discern the violent cracking and snapping of branches of trees and
low jungle; then we heard the quick tramp of many huge and ponderous
feet. There was no doubt but that the poor animals were close upon
us, for torches were now visible in the distance and in the direction
from which they were coming. Indeed, the distant jungle appeared to be
alive with lights.
Every man looked to his arms, such as they were; and I verily believe
that some of our party joined mutually with me in the wish that the
“thing” was over. It was, however, too late for reflection. It was
quite evident that we were getting into the “gravy of it” now. Our
eyes were fixed upon the moving and rapidly-approaching lights.
They appeared to burn up brightly as they came nearer; then some
disappeared, and soon the whole were extinguished—all was in darkness.
Still on came the now furious monsters. Bamboos crashed; the thick
jungle flew about in splinters; a heavy tramping and tearing and
snapping of branches, and they were safely within the kraal. Then
arose from the natives a shout as if heaven and earth were about to
meet. I leant forward from my perch to catch a peep at the enemy;
torches were again lighted to enable us to witness the proceedings,
when a volley of loud imprecations and some hard knocks, freely
distributed amongst the hapless and half-dead coolies, added to a
renewal of the heavy tramping, growing fainter every moment, showed
us that the elephants had proved too cunning or too strong for their
captors. They had burst through the enclosure, and were now making
their way back to their haunts in the jungle.
I had quite enough of elephant catching. My noble companions, being
bent on sport, left me to enjoy a days’ _dolce far niente_ in the
village, whilst they, under proper escort, followed on the trail.
They afterwards related to me that on the evening of the following
day they picked up the herd in an open prairie, where, no doubt, they
were enjoying a rest after the hard drive of the previous days. A
freshly-cut elephant’s tail, to be carried home as a trophy, seemed to
satisfy his lordship for the days’ hard travelling. The victim of this
cruel sport, unfortunately for “the conquering hero,” had no tusks to
bequeath to his slayer.
Later on I shall have to relate Indian sports, but I cannot refrain
from again saying that I think it is almost unwarrantable to destroy
useful, inoffensive animal life for mere sport; and whilst I
thoroughly enjoyed the trip, the wholesale picnic, of this elephant
hunt, I would have been much more pleased had it ended at the bursting
of the kraal; but I suppose it would not have satisfied my companions’
_chacun à son gôut_. The noble lord carried home his _tail_—I carried
back mine, which I give you for what it is worth. Spell it as you like.
I am dwelling a long while on my reminiscences of Ceylon. But I told
you before, Ceylon is my pet country, and this was my first long stay
there.
Through the very great hospitality and kindness of my friend Mr.
Ferguson, and the guidance of his brother (the late Mr. William
Ferguson), I had many opportunities of seeing a good deal of “life
in Ceylon,” and to study the quaint yet homely ways of the people.
Amongst other “home scenes” which Mr. William Ferguson enabled me to
be present at, one is well worthy of a place in these pages. It was
the wedding party of his head cook. This narrative, with two or three
others, have been already published; but I think they should find a
place in this little volume, and I therefore throw them in amongst my
“Shavings,” as they form part and parcel of my recollections of bygone
days.
[Illustration]
V.
_A MATRIMONIAL “SCRAPE.”_
In some parts of the East, and especially in the island of Ceylon,
there are many old customs which the progress of civilisation has
not as yet effaced; and happily so, for they serve to keep up a
kind of friendly feeling between the different classes and races of
the country. One of these time-honoured customs is the presence of
European or burgher employers at the weddings or family festivals of
their native servants, who seldom omit inviting their masters and
families on such occasions. Being the guest of an old resident of
Colombo, I received an invitation to be present at the nuptials of
his head cook, a Singalese of good ancestry, who, it appeared, was to
be united to the ayah or waiting-maid of a neighbour. They were both
Catholics, and, as such, were to be married at one of the churches
with which the native section of the town abounds. From some cause,
my host could not attend on the eventful day. I was, therefore, left
to make my way alone to the happy scene, which I learnt lay at some
distance from his bungalow, at the further end of the long, straggling
outskirts.
Noon was the appointed time, the Church of Saint Nicholas the place;
and in order that I might examine the locality I was about to visit,
and which was entirely new to me, I left my quarters soon after
our breakfast of rice and curry. It was a truly tropical day; the
sea-breeze had not commenced to blow, and the cool land-wind had been
fairly done up an hour since. In mercy to the horse and the runner
by his side, I ordered the man to drive slowly. The sky seemed hot
and coppery—too warm to look blue; and the great orb of light and
heat had a sort of lacquered hue that was oppressive in the extreme.
Round the great lake, past the dry, stagnant, putrid fort-ditch, to
that part of the Black Town known as Sea street. How different from
the quiet, broad Dutch streets, or the cool, shady lanes, and their
fine old burgher mansions! Here all was dust, and dirt, and heat.
A dense crowd of people, of many of the nations of the East, was
passing to and fro, not, as with us, along the pavement—for there
was no foot-way—but horses, bullocks, carriages, donkeys, and human
beings, all hurried along pell-mell: Arabs, Moormen, Chinese, Parawas,
Singalese, Kandyans, Malays, Chitties, Parsees, and Bengalis, were
jostling each other in strange confusion. I shuddered as I beheld a
brace of over-heated bullocks in an empty cart rush madly past me
into the midst of a whole host of men, women, and children; but,
strange to tell, no one seemed any the worse. There was, to be sure,
a little rubbing of shins, and a good deal of Oriental swearing on
the occasion, but no more. A vicious horse broke away from his Arab
leader, dashed across a narrow street, and down a narrow turning,
where women and children seemed to be literally paving the way; the
furious animal bounded over and amongst the living pavement, knocking
down children of tender years, and scattering elderly females right
and left, but still harmlessly. I felt puzzled at this, and concluded
that they were “used to it.”
The thronged street, along which I was slowly travelling, appeared
to be the only thoroughfare of any length, shape, or breadth. From
it diverged, on all sides, hundreds of dwarf carriage-ways—turnings
that had been lanes in their younger days. They were like the Maze at
Hampton Court—done in mud and masonry. I have often heard of crack
skaters cutting out their names upon the frozen Serpentine; and,
as I peeped up some of these curious, zigzag places, it seemed as
though the builders had been actuated by a similar desire, and had
managed to work their names and pedigrees in huts, and verandahs, and
dwarf-walls. Into these strange quarters few, if any, Europeans ever
care to venture; the sights and the effluvia are such as they prefer
avoiding, with the thermometer standing at boiling-point in the sun.
Curiosity, however, got the better of my caution; and, descending
from my vehicle, I leisurely strolled up one of these densely-packed
neighbourhoods, much to the annoyance of my horsekeeper, who tried
hard in broken English to dissuade me from the excursion. Whether it
be that the native families multiply here more rapidly, in dark and
foul places, I know not; but never had I seen so many thrown together
in so small a space. Boys and girls abounded in every corner. As I
passed up this hot, dusty, crooked lane of huts, the first burst of
the cool sea-breeze came up from the beach, glowing with health and
life. I looked to see how many doors and windows would be gladly
flung open to catch the first of the westerly wind, and chase away the
hot, damp, sickly air within; but I looked in vain. Not a door creaked
on its rusty hinges, not a window relaxed its close hold of the frame;
the glorious light of day was not to be permitted to shine upon the
foul walls and floors of those wretched hovels.
There was business, however, going on here and there. The fisher
and his boy were patching up an old worm-eaten canoe, ready for the
morrow’s toil; another son was hard at work upon the net that lay
piled up in the little dirty verandah. Next door was a very small
shoe-maker, sharing the little front courtyard with a cooper, who did
not appear to be working at anything in particular, but was rather
disposed to soliloquise upon buckets and tubs in general, and to envy
the hearty meal which a couple of crows were making of a dead rat in
the street. Farther on was a larger building, but clearly on its last
legs, for it was held up by numberless crutches. It was not considered
safe to hold merchandise of any description; and, as the owner did not
desire the trouble and expense of pulling it down, he had let it out
to a Malay, who allowed strangers to sleep in it on payment of a small
nightly fee. As I passed by, a crowd of poor Malabars, just arrived
from the opposite coast of India, were haggling for terms for a
night’s lodging for the party, and not without sundry misgivings, for
some looked wistfully at the tottering walls, and pointed with violent
gestures to the many props.
Wending my slow way back towards the main street, I came upon a
busy carpenter’s shop—a perfect model of its kind. In this country
some carpenters are also carriage-builders, and the place I then
stopped to examine was the home of one of these. It was a long, low,
rambling shed, such as we might consider good enough to hold cinders
or firewood. The leaf-thatched roof had been patched in many places
with tattered matting; the crazy posts were undermined by the pigs
in the next yard, where they share the dirt and the sun with a heap
of wretched children, and a score of starving dogs. Every kind of
conveyance that had been invented since the Flood appeared to have a
damaged representative in that strange place. Children’s shattered
donkey-carriages, spavined old breaks, and rickety tricycles of the
Portuguese period; hackeries of the early Malabar dynasty, palanquins
of Singalese descent, Dutch governors’ carriages, English gigs—were
all pent up, with irrecoverable cart-wheels, distorted carriage-poles,
and consumptive springs. Had I possessed any antiquarian experience,
I doubt not I should have discovered amongst the mass an Assyrian
chariot or two, with a few Delhi howdahs. The master-mind of this
coach-factory was a genuine Singalese who, in company with a slender
youth, was seated on his haunches upon the ground, chisel in hand,
contemplating, but not working at, a felloe for some embryo vehicle.
After one or two chips at the round block of wood between his feet,
Jusey Appoo paused, arranged the circular comb in his hair, and took
another mouthful of betel; then another chip at the wood; and then he
rose, sauntered to the door, and looked very hard up the little lane
and down it, as though he momentarily expected some dreadful accident
to happen to somebody’s carriage in the next street.
Once more in my vehicle, I threaded the entire length of Sea street,
with its little dirty shops; the sickly-smelling arrack-taverns; the
quaint old Hindu temple, bedecked with flowers and flags inside, and
with dirt outside; and the whitewashed Catholic churches. Little bells
were tinkling at these churches; huge gongs were booming forth their
brazen thunder from the heathen temples; there was a devil-dance in
one house to charm away some sickness, and a Jesuit in the next hovel
confessing a dying man. There was a chorus of many tiny lungs at a
Tamil school, chanting out their daily lessons in dreary verse; and a
wilder, older chorus at the arrack-shop just over the way, without any
pretence to time or tune. The screams of bullock-drivers; the shouts
of horse-keepers; the vociferations of loaded coolies; the screeching
of rusty cart-wheels begging to be greased; the din of the discordant
checkoo or oil-mill—all blended in one violent storm of sound—made me
glad to hasten on my way, and leave the maddening chorus far behind.
The open beach, with its tall fringe of graceful cocoa-palms, and its
cool breeze, was doubly welcome. I was sorry when we left it, and
drove slowly up a steep hill, on the summit of which stood the Church
of St. Nicholas—my destination.
A busy scene was there. Long strings of curious-looking vehicles
were ranged outside the tall white church—so white and shiny in the
sun that the bullocks in the hackeries dared not look up at it. I
felt quite strange amongst all the motley throng; and when I stared
about and beheld those many carts, and palanquins, and hackeries, I
fancied myself back again in Jusey Appoo’s coach-factory. But then
these were all gaily painted, and some were actually varnished, and
had red staring curtains, and clean white cushions, and radiant
little lamps. Nearer the church were some half-a-dozen carriages with
horses—poor enough of their kind, but still horses with real tails.
I glided in amongst the crowd, unnoticed, as I too fondly believed;
and was about to take up a very humble position just inside one of
the great folding-doors, when I was accosted by a lofty Singalese in
gold buttons and flowing robes, with a gigantic comb in his hair, and
politely led away captive, I knew not whither. Down one side-aisle,
and across a number of seats, and then up another long aisle; and to
my utter discomfiture I found myself installed, on the spot, in the
unenviable position of _the_ “lion” of the day’s proceedings. To a
person of modest temperament this was a most trying ordeal. There was
not another white face there. Cookey had been disappointed, it seemed,
in his other patrons, and knowing of my intended visit, had waited for
my appearance to capture me, and thus add to the brilliancy of the
scene.
I bowed to the bride with as little appearance of uneasiness as I
could manage; but when I turned to the bridegroom, I had nearly
forgotten my mortification in a burst of laughter. The tall, uncouth
fellow had exchanged his wonted not ungraceful drapery for a sort of
long frock-coat of blue cloth, thickly bedecked with gay gilt buttons,
and sham gold-lace; some kind of a broad belt of a gaudy colour hung
across his shoulders; he wore boots, evidently far too short for
him, which made him walk in pain; and, to complete the absurdity of
his attire, huge glittering rings covered half of his hands. The lady
was oppressed with jewellery which, on these occasions, is let out
on hire. She seemed unable to bend or turn for the mass of ornaments
about her. White satin shoes and silk stockings gave a perfect finish
to her bridal attire.
As the party marched up to the priest, I felt as a captive in chains
gracing a Roman triumph. No one of all that crowd looked at the bride:
they had evidently agreed among themselves to stare only at me. I
felt that I was the bride, and the father, and the best man—in fact,
everybody of any importance rolled into one. I looked around once;
and what a strange scene it was in the long white church! There were
hundreds of black faces, all looking one way—at me—but I did not see
their faces; I saw only their white eyes glistening in the bright
noon-day sun, that came streaming through the great open windows, as
though purposely to show me off. I wished it had been midnight. I
hoped fervently that some of the hackery bullocks would break loose,
and rush into the church, and clear me a way out. I know nothing of
how the marriage was performed, or whether it was performed at all; I
was thinking too much of making my escape. But in a very short time
by the clock, though terrifically long to me, I found myself gracing
the Roman triumph on my way out. The fresh air rather recovered me;
and what with the drollery of handing the cook’s wife into the cook’s
carriage, and the excitement of the busy scene, and the scrambling
for hackeries, and the galloping about of unruly bullocks, I felt
determined to finish the day’s proceedings. I knew the worst.