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_OPINIONS OF THE PRESS_
ON
TWO HAPPY YEARS IN CEYLON.
‘SINCE EMERSON-TENNENT’S MONUMENTAL VOLUMES, NO DESCRIPTION OF THE
COUNTRY SO FULL, ACCURATE, WELL-ILLUSTRATED, OR ENTERTAINING HAS BEEN
PUBLISHED.’
DAILY CHRONICLE.
‘It will certainly become the classical work on Ceylon.’—BLACK AND
WHITE.
‘Miss Gordon Cumming’s is by far the most valuable account of Ceylon
that we have read for many years. She has travelled over most of the
“Isle of Flowers,” and knows every kind of life, animal and vegetable,
that flourishes in that wonderful garden of vivid greenery.... It is
thoroughly interesting.’—ST. JAMES’S GAZETTE.
‘It is always pleasant to meet with a new work by Miss Gordon Cumming.
Her pages are no less valuable for the information they embody than they
are conspicuous for their literary merit. To her keen powers of
observation and description she brings the incomparable advantage of a
cultured mind and a widely extended knowledge, and she is, in addition,
a clever and painstaking artist. A fund of entertainment will be found
in this volume. It is bright and pleasant reading, and is pervaded by a
sense of thorough enjoyment which fully justifies the title of a clever
and very welcome book.’—SPECTATOR.
‘Such a name as the “Ceylonese Encylopædia” would befit it well. Nobody
can read a chapter without feeling that he has been learning something
he is glad to know, and that he would despair of finding in any other
book. The minute peculiarities of the island life, in costume,
monuments, house-building and furnishing, festivals, pilgrimages, have
never been caught by a more far-seeing eye, or set forth in more apt
words. On the whole, this tome will long be a standard work on Ceylon.
These points, and many more, to be appreciated must be read as portrayed
with feminine grace and masculine vigour by the wide-wandering
authoress.’—NATION.
‘These volumes contain all that any traveller can wish to know of its
history, the life of the people, the temples, the worship, the animals,
and the botany of that delightful island. Exhaustive and authoritative,
full and faithful, are the adjectives necessary to describe the methods
in which Miss Gordon Cumming has dealt with the interesting subject of
her book. We have read no better book on Ceylon.’—ACADEMY.
‘Miss Gordon Cumming is at once an artist, a naturalist, a keen
observer, and a writer of rare skill and grace; and wherever she has
wandered she has carried the habits and faculties of a trained
intelligence, full of knowledge and resource.... She visited Ceylon
under the most favourable auspices, and nothing has escaped her
attention.’—DAILY NEWS.
‘Quite one of the most vivid and accurate books of travel which we have
recently encountered.... In no case, so far as we are aware, has so
exact and pleasing a picture been drawn as that which is contained in
these pages.’—STANDARD.
‘In every respect a charming book. Whosoever wishes to know all about
that earthly paradise, Ceylon, should hasten to peruse the delightful
volume written and illustrated by Miss Cumming.’—DAILY TELEGRAPH.
‘Miss Gordon Cumming has written nothing more delightful than this
volume.... Many books have been written to celebrate the beauties of
Ceylon; but, so far as our knowledge goes, no traveller has described
them with the force and eloquence that we find in Miss Cumming’s
volume.’—ANTI-JACOBIN.
‘A series of pleasant and vivid pictures of the beautiful island, and of
the occupations and industries of the people, copiously interspersed
with notices of their history, religion, folk-lore, and the like.’—
ATHENÆUM.
‘Her book is one of the best on the subject, for giving both a good
general idea of what Ceylon is like and a great amount of detailed
information.’—SCOTSMAN.
‘She gives an admirable picture of life on the island, gained from her
journeys throughout the length and breadth of it.’—GRAPHIC.
‘The narrative is as brilliant as any of Miss Cumming’s well-known
volumes, and the illustrations from the author’s pencil are excellent.’—
OBSERVER.
‘Miss Gordon Cumming is an indefatigable and a delightful maker of books
of travel.... This work is as faithful and complete as the writer’s
books always are. It is admirably done, and is extremely interesting.’—
GLASGOW HERALD.
‘It is impossible to read the book without both pleasure and profit.’—
MANCHESTER GUARDIAN.
‘The volume forms a valuable handbook to those who desire to follow Miss
Gordon Cumming’s example, and spend a few months in so beautiful a
climate.’—QUEEN.
‘The work is as delightful as any of the author’s previous works—and
that is saying a good deal.’—NORTH BRITISH DAILY MAIL.
‘It would be difficult to name a more delightful work of travel than
this. The subject is sunny.’—LIVERPOOL MERCURY.
‘The present work has all that grace of style and extent of observation
which characterise every page that comes from Miss Gordon Cumming’s
pen.’—NEWCASTLE CHRONICLE.
‘The book is admirably written, and its value is greatly enhanced by
numerous excellent illustrations.’—FIELD.
‘We welcome Miss Gordon Cumming’s valuable contribution to the
literature of Greater Britain.... An interesting account, charmingly
written.’—COLONIES AND INDIA.
‘The handsome volume is a complete cyclopædia of the island in its every
aspect; and her word-pictures are to the full as correct in execution as
her paintings.... It is at once instinct with beauty of description and
crammed full of information.’—EUROPEAN MAIL.
‘A very pleasant record of travel, adventure, and experience.’—TIMES.
‘Some of the sunshine of the sunny land about which she writes seems to
linger on the pages of Miss Gordon Cumming’s goodly volume. There is a
pervading sense of joy and brightness which irresistibly communicates
itself to the reader.’—BIRMINGHAM MERCURY.
‘A charming book. Miss Gordon Cumming seems to have put forth all her
powers to give an adequate description of one of the most beautiful
places on the face of the earth.... Reading the book is like entering a
tropical forest in all its splendour.’—ABERDEEN JOURNAL.
‘The book is full of interesting narrative.’—MANCHESTER GUARDIAN.
‘It may be doubted whether the present book is not even more interesting
than its predecessors: it is certainly not less interesting; and the
rare faculty possessed by the writer of thoroughly enjoying what she
sees, and of admirably describing what she enjoys, has seldom, if ever,
been exhibited to greater advantage than in the goodly volume before
us.’—JOHN BULL.
‘We have no more fascinating writer than the lady who made so many
friends by her former books. Miss Gordon Cumming has made herself
mistress of the art of descriptive writing. She is an acute observer of
men and things.’—LEEDS MERCURY.
‘Altogether, this is one of Miss Gordon Cumming’s best works, and may
safely be recommended to lovers of travel-literature.’—GLOBE.
‘A book to be read without delay.... Miss Gordon Cumming continues to
keep the reader charmed at every step.’—METHODIST RECORDER.
‘To all who contemplate the journey to Ceylon, we should recommend a
previous study of this work. It will teach them what to see, and how to
see it, much better than any ordinary guidebook.’—CHURCH TIMES.
‘It is not every life that can put on record two consecutive years of
unalloyed happiness like those which appear to have fallen to the lot of
the author of this pleasant volume.... Miss Gordon Cumming has much that
is exceedingly interesting to say, and her statements have unusual
weight from the fact that for a considerable portion of the two years
she was residing with the Bishop of Colombo, and was afterwards the
guest of important Government officials.’—GUARDIAN.
‘Miss Gordon Cumming’s book is full of the cheerful buoyancy of a
pleasure excursion without drawbacks or danger.... It is a book which
ought to make the reader believe himself transported to for a brilliant
hour or two the lovely woods and sunny verdure of Ceylon.’
BLACKWOOD’S MAGAZINE.
TWO HAPPY YEARS IN CEYLON
CEYLON
‘And we came to the Isle of Flowers;
Their breath met us out on the seas,
For the Spring and the Middle Summer
Sat each on the lap of the breeze;
And the red passion-flower to the cliffs,
And the dark-blue clematis, clung;
And, starred with myriad blossoms,
The long convolvulus hung.’
[Illustration: SHRINE ON THE SUMMIT OF ADAM’S PEAK, AND THE SHADOW OF
THE PEAK.]
TWO HAPPY YEARS
IN CEYLON
BY
C. F. GORDON CUMMING
AUTHOR OF
‘AT HOME IN FIJI’ ‘A LADY’S CRUISE IN A FRENCH MAN-OF-WAR’
‘IN THE HEBRIDES’ ‘IN THE HIMALAYAS AND ON THE INDIAN PLAINS’
‘VIA CORNWALL TO EGYPT’ ETC.
[Illustration]
A NEW EDITION
WITH 28 ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR, AND A MAP
LONDON
CHATTO & WINDUS
1901
PRINTED BY
SPOTTISWOODE AND CO. LTD., NEW-STREET SQUARE
LONDON
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
PREFACE
What can be the reason that writers on Ceylon seem impelled to describe
their book as a term of years?—
‘Fifty Years in Ceylon.’ An Autobiography by Major Thomas Skinner.
‘Eleven Years in Ceylon.’ By Major Forbes, 78th Highlanders.
‘Eight Years in Ceylon.’ By Sir Samuel Baker.
‘Seven Years in Ceylon.’ By Mary and Margaret Leitch,—
and finally, ‘Two Happy Years in Ceylon,’ by C. F. Gordon Cumming, who
had so named her notes of pleasant days in the fair Isle, before
realising that any of her predecessors had thus described their longer
terms of residence therein?
I can only ascribe it to the fact, so evident in each of these works,
that the several writers have retained such sweet memories of
‘Moonlit seas,
Of dreamy sunsets, and of balmy air,
Of glowing landscapes and of shadowy bowers
Where stately palms low murmur in the breeze,’—
that they have loved to enumerate the months and years that glided by
amid such pleasant influences.
Although, by comparison with that of others, my own term in the Earthly
Paradise was short, I can safely say that, as it was all play and no
work, I had abundant leisure to note many matters of interest seen under
exceptionally favourable circumstances.
I trust, therefore, that these pages may prove of some value to the
ever-increasing army of wanderers in search of winter-quarters.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
INTRODUCTORY 1
I. MY FIRST GLIMPSE OF THE TROPICS 12
II. COLOMBO 25
III. COLOMBO 52
IV. THE CRUISE OF THE CASTLE JERMYN 73
V. THE CRUISE OF THE CASTLE JERMYN 89
VI. TO THE HILLS 108
VII. NUWARA ELIYA 132
VIII. ELEPHANTS 154
IX. KANDY 172
X. THE WORSHIPFUL TOOTH 196
XI. FROM KANDY TO ANURADHAPURA 238
XII. ANURADHAPURA 266
XIII. ANURADHAPURA AND MIHINTALE 295
XIV. RATNAPURA—GEMS 310
XV. BADULLA AND HAPUTALE 325
XVI. SOME PAGES FROM A BROTHER’S DIARY 348
XVII. BATTICALOA 362
XVIII. POLLANARUA 383
XIX. TRINCOMALEE—SAAMI ROCK 406
XX. TRINCOMALEE TO GALLE 422
XXI. SOUTHERN COAST 442
XXII. RETURN TO COLOMBO 466
XXIII. NATIVE POLICE 477
XXIV. IN THE PLANTING DISTRICTS 497
XXV. ASCENT OF ADAM’S PEAK 523
XXVI. THE TUG OF WAR—THE BATTLE OF DIVERSE CREEDS IN CEYLON 548
XXVII. CHRISTIAN WORK IN CEYLON 579
INDEX 609
ILLUSTRATIONS
SHRINE ON THE SUMMIT OF ADAM’S PEAK, AND THE SHADOW OF _Frontispiece_
THE PEAK
MAP OF CEYLON _to face 1
page_
BLOSSOM OF THE COCOA PALM ” 61
OUR HOUSE-BOAT ON THE LUNA-OYA ” 102
VALLEY OF THE MAHA-VELLI GANGA ” 128
Showing the Railway and Satinwood Bridges at
Peradeniya, Allegalla Peak, terraced
rice-fields; foreground, coffee and a Talipot
palm
THE PLAINS OF NUWARA ELIYA ” 134
KANDY, LOOKING TO THE MATELE HILLS ” 173
Shows the Temple of the Tooth, Buddhist Library,
Government House, &c.
AVENUE OF INDIA-RUBBER TREES, PERADENIYA ” 187
GIGANTIC BAMBOOS, PERADENIYA ” 190
THE MAHA-VELLI GANGA, FROM THE SATINWOOD BRIDGE (BAMBOO ” 216
FOLIAGE)
THE RUANWELI DAGOBA, ANURADHAPURA, B.C. 300 ” 268
To contain right collar-bone of Buddha. To the
right is the Government Agent’s house
THE THUPARAMA DAGOBA, ANURADHAPURA, B.C. 300 ” 271
To the left lies the Delada Maligawa, where the
sacred Tooth rested on its arrival from India,
A.D. 400
PILGRIM’S CAMP AND THE THREE STONE BULLS ” 287
Near the ruins of the Brazen Temple
THE SACRED BO-TREE ” 288
Rising through the upper terrace
THE LOWER FLIGHT OF THE 1,840 ROCK STEPS ” 305
FIVE-HEADED NAGA AT THE BATHING-PLACE, MIHINTALE ” 306
THE WATA-DÁGÉ, OR ROUND TREASURE-HOUSE, POLLANARUA ” 390
Looking to the Sat-mahal-prasada, or seven-storied
building
THE JETAWANARAMA AND THE KIRI VIHARA AT POLLANARUA ” 393
THE GAL VIHARA: ROCK TEMPLE AT POLLANARUA ” 395
Sitting Buddha is 15 feet above pedestal; erect,
23 feet; recumbent, 46 feet
THE SAAMI ROCK AT TRINCOMALEE—WORSHIP AT SUNSET ” 407
THE LILY SHORE, NEAR TRINCOMALEE ” 421
THE NILWALLA RIVER AT MATARA ” 445
COCOA PALMS: SHORE OF COLOMBO LAKE ” 476
COFFEE FIELDS ON THE SLOPES OF ALLEGALLA PEAK ” 500
On the summit there is a _partly_ natural
indentation which duplicates _the_ Footprint
ADAM’S PEAK FROM MASKELIYA ” 533
--------------
THE CASTLE JERMYN 77
THE WORSHIPFUL TOOTH 207
BUDDHA GUARDED BY THE COBRA, ROCK TEMPLE, ELLA PASS 293
A FOREST SANCTUARY 399
Offerings of red pottery to the God of the Tank at
Minery
TALIPOT PALM IN BLOSSOM _On cover_
[Illustration:
CEYLON
Scale 1:1393329, 22 English Miles to 1 Inch.
London: Chatto & Windus.
]
TWO HAPPY YEARS IN CEYLON
INTRODUCTORY
There are perhaps few families in the Mother Country to whom the farther
corners of Great Britain have (from the colonising or sporting instincts
of its various members) become more really familiar to the imagination
of the younger branches than that to which I was welcomed, as its
twelfth addition.
Thus about the time of my first introduction to the immortal Robinson
Crusoe, my eldest brother Penrose returned from Canada, soon to be
followed by my second brother Roualeyn, who had made his mark as the
pioneer of all the Lion-hunters who since then have ravaged the
hunting-grounds of Southern Africa.
Then two more of the home brood started to carve their fortunes in far
countries. Almost simultaneously my fourth and fifth brothers, John and
William, sailed for Ceylon and Bombay, where the latter tamed wild
men[1] and slew wild beasts, while the former settled down to sober
cocoa-nut planting in the neighbourhood of Batticaloa; and then, through
weary years of waiting for the growth of trees which never in his
lifetime repaid his outlay, he obtained work in the forests on the east
coast, and likewise distinguished himself as a cunning and mighty
hunter, beloved by the wild tribes.
-----
Footnote 1:
‘Wild Men and Wild Beasts.’ By Colonel Gordon Cumming. Published by
David Douglas, Edinburgh.
-----
During a term of twenty years, scarcely a month passed without bringing
us letters from these two faithful brothers; so that life in the forests
of Ceylon and of Bombay became as familiar to our thoughts as
grouse-shooting or salmon-fishing in Morayshire. Some of the details in
these sporting diaries might well excite the envy of many a less
successful Nimrod. Thus one mail brought me a letter from India, telling
of thirty tigers as the chief item of a two months’ bag; while my Ceylon
letter of the same date told of the rejoicing of the villagers over the
slaughter, by their white friend, of twenty-five leopards!—a highly
satisfactory riddance of dangerous foes.
A journey to India or Ceylon in those days was a very different thing
from the simple pleasure-trip which, thanks to swift steamers and large
competition, it has now become. Though a great advance had been made
since the first quarter of the present century, when the colonists in
Colombo were only gladdened twice a year by the arrival of a
sailing-vessel from England, bringing supplies of European clothing and
stores, nevertheless, so late as 1840, three months occasionally elapsed
without a call from any European sailing-ship, in what was then the open
roadstead of Colombo; so we may well understand that the approach of the
smallest steamer would suffice to throw the population into a fever of
excitement.
In those days the mails from London came _viâ_ Bombay, whence runners
carried them across India and Ceylon, and great was the satisfaction
when letters were delivered in Colombo only forty days after their
despatch from Britain! After a while Ceylon started a steamer to carry
the mails to and from Bombay, thus reducing the transit to London to
thirty days. A few years later, steamers bound for Calcutta or Australia
brought mails and passengers direct in twenty days—a period which has
been gradually lessened till now some swift steamers deliver their
mail-bags in Colombo in fifteen days, and as it occasionally happens
that a return steamer is ready to start immediately, it is now possible
to receive answers to letters within five weeks.[2]
-----
Footnote 2:
Still more rapid and wonderful has been the development of our
Australian cities with their crowded harbours. But for a strange
illustration of the influence of steam-power at our very doors, we may
note Sir Walter Scott’s testimony, that in his day (he was my father’s
friend) one small mail-cart carried the posts between London and
Edinburgh, and he mentions having seen it arrive with only one letter
addressed to the manager of the British Linen Banking Company.
Moreover, is it not strange to mark the development as it affects two
of what we deem our daily necessaries, potatoes and tea, and remember
that the former had never even been heard of till Sir Walter Raleigh
imported the first, and that in 1660 Mr. Pepys described tea as ‘the
new Chinese drink’! And now Britain’s annual consumption of tea is
about 180,000,000 lb., of which about half comes from China and Java,
and the other half from India and Ceylon.
-----
Nor is the reduction on time alone. The cost of travel has also been
minimised, and the colonists of the present day need no longer face the
prospect of such prolonged exile as was deemed a matter of course forty
years ago, when the expense of a ‘run home’ was prohibitive.
Thus, in the case of these two brothers, though often longing for a
sight of home and home faces, fifteen years elapsed ere they were able
to make arrangements for a meeting in the old country. The younger
happily arrived in safety; but alas! the vessel which should have
brought the elder from Ceylon, brought tidings of a HOME-going far
different from that which he had planned. He had died very suddenly,
almost on the eve of the date when he had purposed embarking, and was
laid to rest beside the blue sea-lake at Batticaloa.
Barely two years later I made my first voyage to the East, touching
Ceylon at Point de Galle _en route_ to Calcutta. That one glimpse of the
lovely isle impressed itself on my memory as such a dream of delight,
that when, a few years later, one of my earliest friends was consecrated
Bishop of Colombo,[3] I very gladly accepted his invitation to return to
Ceylon on a leisurely visit, finding headquarters under his hospitable
roof, and thence exploring such parts of the isle as had special
interest for me.
-----
Footnote 3:
The Right Rev. Hugh W. Jermyn, now Bishop of Brechin and Primus of
Scotland.
-----
These interests gradually widened, owing to the unbounded kindness of
numerous friends, and friends’ friends; and so it came to pass that so
many delightful expeditions were organised, and so many pleasant homes
claimed visits, that wellnigh two years slipped away ere I finally bade
adieu to the green Isle of Palms, to which, I think, notwithstanding the
claims of many a lovely South Sea isle, we must concede the right it
claims—to have been, and still to continue, the true Earthly Paradise.
On my return to Scotland, after widely extended travels, a selection of
upwards of three hundred of my water-colour paintings in various parts
of ‘Greater Britain’ were exhibited in their respective courts in the
Indian and Colonial Exhibition at South Kensington, and at subsequent
Colonial Exhibitions in Liverpool and Glasgow. Of these, about sixty of
scenery in Ceylon were selected from several hundreds, which, on the
principle of ‘never a day without at least one careful-coloured sketch,’
had accumulated as I wandered in every direction—north, south, east, and
west—basking on the yellow sands of most fascinating palm-fringed
sea-coast, or gliding over calm rivers—gipsying among ruins of mighty
pre-Christian cities in the depths of lonely forests, or awaiting the
sunrise on lofty mountain-summits—studies of exquisite foliage or of
strange Buddhist and Tamil shrines, and all enlivened to memory by the
recollection of picturesque groups of brown men, women, and children of
divers race and very varied hue, some scantily draped, others gorgeously
apparelled, but all alike harmonious in colour.
Friendly critics, who say that these sketches have helped them to
realise something of the true character and beauty of Ceylonese scenery,
have asked me to supplement the brush with the pen, and tell the readers
who have so kindly received my notes of travel in other lands something
of my own impressions of Ceylon. So now I sit surrounded with diaries
and letters, travel-notes and sketch-books innumerable, and portfolios
in which each page recalls some day of deep interest and many of
delight; while the signatures in the corner of each sketch vividly
recall the many friends whose kindness did so much to gladden all days,
and to smooth all difficulties from the path of a happy guest.
My chief difficulty lies in selecting from such a mass of material only
so much as can be compressed within reasonable limits. Another
difficulty lies in a far too personal knowledge of certain changes
which, to those intimately acquainted with Ceylon, mark a complete
revolution in its social economy, and which gave birth to a very sad
parody of certain well-known lines descriptive of an isle of which for
some years it was too true that—
‘every prospect pleases,
But no man makes a pile!’
To the general reader, however, and to the traveller likely to follow in
my footsteps, the only visible feature of a change which to the
initiated tells of the total ruin of very many industrious and energetic
European planters, and the commencement of an altogether new era,
bringing wealth to a new generation, lies in the fact that the vast
mountain districts, which ten years ago presented one unbroken expanse
of coffee-fields, are now chiefly covered with tea-plantations, varied
with cinchona, cacao, Indian-rubber trees, and other products, more or
less experimental, while only in certain districts is coffee
successfully proving its claim to renewed public confidence. There is
apparently, however, no doubt that Ceylon will henceforth be
emphatically distinguished in the manner so happily described by the
present Governor, Sir Arthur Havelock, as ‘the land for excellent tea.’
That its character in this respect is already well established is
evident from the fact, that whereas in 1873 only 23 lb. of tea were
exported from Ceylon, the export in 1890 was about 40,000,000 lb.; and
there seems every reason to believe that in the current year 1891 it
will be fully 63,000,000; and assuredly, long ere the end of the
century, it will have risen to 100,000,000![4]
-----
Footnote 4:
I cannot resist quoting the following paragraph from the ‘Pall Mall
Budget’ for March 13, 1891:—
‘AN ENORMOUS PRICE FOR CEYLON TEA.
‘Unusual excitement prevailed on Tuesday in Mincing Lane, on the
offering by Messrs. Gow, Wilson, and Stanton, tea-brokers, in public
auction, of a small lot of Ceylon tea from the Gartmore estate in
Maskeliya (Mr. T. C. Anderson). This tea possesses extraordinary
quality in liquor, and is composed almost entirely of small “golden
tips,” which are the extreme ends of the small succulent shoots of the
plant, and the preparation of such tea is, of course, most costly.
Competition was of a very keen description. The bidding, which was
pretty general to start with, commenced with an offer of 1_l._ 1_s._
per lb.; as the price advanced to 8_l._ many buyers dropped out, and
at this price about five wholesale dealers were willing to purchase.
Offers were then made up to about 9_l._ 9_s._ by three of the leading
houses, the tea being ultimately knocked down to the “Mazawattee
Ceylon Tea Company” at the most extraordinary and unprecedented price
of 10_l._ 12_s._ 6_d._ per lb.’
Naturally, when this news reached Ceylon the excitement knew no
bounds. This, however, was intensified in the following month, when
another sale of ‘golden tips,’ prepared on the Haviland estate (Mr. W.
A. M. Denison), sold in Mincing Lane for 17_l._ per lb. Even this
surprising price was, however, very soon surpassed, for the next
consignment of ‘golden tips’ from Gartmore fetched 25_l._ 10_s._ per
lb. This was quickly followed by the sale of a small box from the
Kellie estate at 30_l._ per lb.; while, on August 25, another parcel
was actually sold at 35_l._ per lb.
-----
Nor is there any fear of a glut in the market, since America and Russia
have proved appreciative customers. The chief danger lies in the
probability that Brazil and Madras will each be stimulated to enter into
the competition. Patriotic planters are adjured to refrain from selling
tea-seed to Brazil; but as regards Madras, it not only possesses a vast
area of suitable land, but, moreover, commands all the labour, Ceylon
being entirely dependent on that Presidency for her coolies. So that
rivalry is to be feared from that quarter.
Simultaneously with the amazingly rapid development of this new product,
1891 has to record the most successful Pearl-fishery of the present
century, the Government share of the total amount realised being upwards
of 96,370_l._, of which about 10,000_l._ covers all expenses, so that
the revenue profits to an extent far exceeding the most golden
expectations. In 1888 these fisheries realized 80,424_l._ less 8,000_l._
of expenses. Such sums had only been realized four times in the present
century: therefore, that two such fisheries should follow in such rapid
succession, is an unspeakable blessing to Ceylon. From 1882 to 1886 the
return from these fisheries had been almost _nil_; but in the years
1887, 1889, and 1890, a total was realised of 120,720_l._, less
1,489_l._ of expenses. Naturally the colonists look for immediate
railway extension in divers directions, and for other boons which, ten
years ago, seemed altogether visionary.
A notable advance in the last decade has been that of the steadily
increasing prosperity of a multitude of native cultivators, owing to the
restoration of several of the cyclopean tanks and other irrigation
works, created by the autocratic rulers of olden days, but which (partly
since British rule rejected the ancient custom of ‘Rajah-kariya’—_i.e._
compulsory work for the king—by which the rulers of the Isle exacted
from every man so many days’ work annually for the general weal) had
fallen into total decay, so that a scanty and unhealthy population could
barely find subsistence in the arid jungle or malarious swamps which
replaced the verdant rice-fields of olden days.
In the face of many difficulties and strenuous opposition on account of
the great outlay involved, Sir William Gregory and the Honourable Sir
Arthur Hamilton Gordon have accomplished a work earnestly advocated by
previous Governors, Sir Henry Ward and Sir Hercules Robinson—namely, the
restoration of a considerable portion of the ancient system of
irrigation; and already the wisdom of the measure is abundantly proved
by the transformation of great areas of country, where luxuriant crops
now once more support a healthy and well-fed population.
Another great boon to the hitherto poverty-stricken and suffering
villagers has been the establishment in many districts of village
hospitals, where the sick are now wisely and judiciously cared for, to
the immense improvement of the general health.
Yet another marked change in the last few years has been the
construction of the mighty breakwater, upwards of 4,000 feet in length,
of huge blocks of concrete, on a foundation of masses of gneiss, thanks
to which Colombo now owns a harbour so excellent and secure as to have
drawn thither almost all the traffic of the Isle, while beautiful but
treacherous Point de Galle is now wellnigh forsaken—a change that was
not effected until many a noble vessel had proved to her cost the
lurking dangers of numerous patches of coral within the harbour, rising
from the ocean-bed almost to the surface.
But for this, the situation of Galle marks it as the natural port of
call for vessels, inasmuch as turning in to Colombo involves a
considerable deviation from their course; so it may be that as the
commerce of the Isle increases, it may yet prove worth while to clear
the seemingly noble harbour of Point de Galle of its submarine dangers,
and so woo back the vanished shipping.
Meanwhile, however, the fact remains that Galle harbour is now
comparatively forsaken. Few vessels enter her port save those engaged in
the coal or coir trade.[5]
-----
Footnote 5:
Coir is the coarse fibre obtained from the outer husk of the
cocoa-nut, which so abounds on the southern coast.
-----
The offices of the great shipping companies, and of the principal
mercantile houses, have been transferred to Colombo (which has long been
the Government headquarters), and pleasant luxurious homes in which, but
a few years ago, kindly hospitality reigned, are now let at almost
nominal prices to tenants who are content to dwell in peace in quiet
habitations apart from the busy tide of commerce. The census, however,
shows an increase in the population in the last ten years from 31,743 to
33,505.
But in the same period the population of Colombo has increased from
112,068 to 127,643, and its harbour is now crowded with ships of all
nations. Sometimes fifteen to twenty steamers are simultaneously busy
coaling and receiving or discharging cargo, Sunday and week-day alike—a
terribly busy scene, and, as regards the Sunday work, very hard on all
concerned,—and almost all, remember, whether sailors or landsmen, are
British subjects. Of course the majority of these vessels are British
merchantmen, but men-of-war of all nations come and go. On May 20, 1890,
there were no fewer than six in harbour, three of which were Spanish,
one French, and two British, and by a curious coincidence one of each
nation was an admiral’s flagship. That of the Spanish admiral, the
Crucero Castilla, was a noble old wooden three-decker, such as Turner
would have loved to paint. Then came the German and Dutch vessels and
two Japanese men-of-war conveying the survivors of a wrecked Turkish
ship, the Ertugroul, back to their own country.
A considerable number of Russian vessels, men-of-war and others, have
also found their way here, some bringing Grand Dukes, and the Tsarevitch
himself, while one was conveying a new governor to Eastern Siberia, and
another, alas! brought 644 luckless convicts _en route_ from Odessa to
their dreary Siberian exile. Amongst others was a Russian whaler on her
way to the North Seas, and furnished with the newest thing in harpoons—
horrible weapons, each carrying with it a glass ball containing an
explosive, which on striking the whale’s body blows it into pieces, a
method one would suppose better adapted for oiling the waves than for
securing a cargo!
To provide additional space for anchorage, and also increased security
for this ever-increasing traffic, a second great breakwater is about to
be constructed to form a protecting northern arm, that the harbour may
be absolutely first-rate.
After recording such a giant stride in Colombo’s standing in the
shipping world, the fact that her import of coal has in the last ten
years risen from 8,336 tons to 250,338 tons follows almost as a matter
of course.
So month by month Colombo progresses and becomes more and more a place
of resort, and her streets are thronged with human beings of every
conceivable nationality and of every shade of colour—white, yellow,
olive, sienna, cinnamon, and dark brown—and clad in divers uniforms, to
say nothing of the wondrous variety of non-official raiment.
To facilitate their locomotion a large number of ‘jinrikishas’ have been
imported—_i.e._ the ‘man-power carriage’ of Japan, which is a lightly
built bath-chair on two modern very large light wheels, very convenient
for the person seated in it, whose weight _ought_ to regulate the number
of his human ponies. What a fortune the original inventor of these
little machines might have made had he secured a patent for even the
primitive form devised by some ingenious Japanese only about twenty
years ago! Already in the city of Tokio alone there are upwards of
30,000 in constant use, and in Japan at large fully 200,000! And now the
jinrikisha is as familiar and indispensable in Hong Kong, Shanghai,
Penang, and Colombo, as in its native land. It may interest future
generations to know that the very first was imported into Ceylon in May
1883.
Meanwhile, during these same years, the grievous collapse in the coffee
trade left some scars on Colombo, where great coffee-stores, with all
their once busy machinery and crowds of workers, were deserted—grass and
weeds overspreading the drying-grounds, and costly buildings being left
to fall to decay—a sorry aspect of dead trade which cannot be revived by
the new products of tea and cacao, inasmuch as these are prepared for
market on the estates where they are grown.
But on the other hand the city has been improved and beautified in many
ways, notably by the generous Jubilee gift of the late Governor, the
Honourable Sir Arthur Hamilton Gordon, in the transformation of the old
Fort Green (a small grassy common surrounded, by ‘tulip’ trees, and
occasionally used as a cricket-ground) into a fine terraced garden, with
banks of greenest turf, crowned by an octagonal fountain whence cool
waters flow by divers channels to supply other pools and fountains, in
one of which the magnificent Victoria Regia has already flowered freely.
Here rosy oleanders, crotons of all gorgeous hues, feathery palms, and
all manner of flowers lend fragrance and colour to what will henceforth
be the favourite afternoon lounge, more especially on those days when
the excellent band adds the further attraction of good music.
From a business point of view Colombo has advanced prodigiously in
general traffic, and many and various improvements mark progress in
divers directions, giving evidence of the happily reviving energies of
the Isle, and proving how well her adopted sons have now applied the
dearly bought lessons of past experience.
The Colombo iron-works turn out work that would do credit to Newcastle,
from the casting of iron pillars for the Grand Hotel, to the building of
steel barges, and the manufacturing of tea-machinery, and of sundry
engines for use on land and sea; also the repairing of damaged vessels.
But foremost among the grand new industries is the steam cotton spinning
and weaving factory, established on the brink of the Wellewatta Canal,
on a site which, two or three years ago, was a dense jungle of neglected
cinnamon. Now a huge factory has been erected, and 10,000 spindles and
150 looms are already busily at work, with every probability that ere
long there will be such a demand for these home-made fabrics that
100,000 spindles, and looms to correspond, will find ample work.
Of course this must prove an immense incentive to the growth of cotton
(the amount carried by the railway to Colombo advanced from 32 tons in
the first year to 289 tons the following year), and doubtless thousands
of acres of now waste jungle-land will shortly be transformed into busy
cotton-fields.
The growing and weaving of cotton is no new thing in the Isle, for long
before the Christian era both were extensively carried on, as were also
the arts of bleaching and dyeing, and mention is made in the Mahawansa
of a canopy in the ancient city of Anuradhapura, which was formed of
eight thousand pieces of every hue. That was B.C. 161.
Early in the present century a large quantity of cotton was grown in the
northern province, and was extensively manufactured by the weavers of
Jaffna and Manaar till the imposition of a five per cent. tax to
Government on island-made cloth, instead of on imported cotton goods, in
a great measure discouraged their industry. The weavers of Batticaloa on
the east coast and Chilaw on the west, have long been famous for
excellent bed and table linen, and the native looms of Saffragam and
Galle turn out well-made white cottons.
According to official returns for 1887, there were then 15 hand-looms in
the southern province, 21 in the north-western, 429 in the eastern, and
575 in the northern province. The cultivation of the cotton plant,
however, has not been systematic, and its experimental growth by
European planters has not been altogether encouraging, though a good
deal has been grown by natives. Now, however, it has been satisfactorily
proved that in certain soils it will grow well and bear abundantly, and
cautious native capitalists deem its success so certain that they are
forming companies for cotton-growing on a large scale, as well as
investing largely in the Colombo mills.
Of course here, as in India, the giant steam-power will ruthlessly
swallow up all the interesting native arts of hand-spinning and weaving,
and already the weavers of Batticaloa have yielded to the inevitable,
and have come to Colombo to learn the new methods and secure employment,
and homes in the new village of comfortable cottages which the company
are erecting for their workers.
One excellent thing in connection with these cotton spinning and weaving
mills is, that the work thus provided has furnished the Wesleyan
missionaries with the opportunity for establishing industrial homes and
schools for destitute boys and girls. The Home has been erected close to
the mills, which provide ample work for the young folk, whose board,
lodging, and clothing, as well as moral and religious training, are the
care of their missionary friends. This work of mercy is an all-round
benefit, the manager of the mills being well pleased to have so reliable
a staff of young workers always at hand, instead of having to look for
an irregular supply from the villages.
I may add that simultaneously with the establishment of these industrial
schools in Colombo, admirable schools of the same class (though more of
a reformatory character) have been established by another Wesleyan
missionary, Mr. Langdon, at Haputale, chiefly for the hitherto
grievously neglected children in the province of Uva.
In concluding these introductory words, let me briefly forewarn
travellers who purpose visiting India and Ceylon, that they will find
the latter poorer in startling scenic effects. Here there are no mighty
forts which seem to have been ‘built by giants and finished by
jewellers’—no fairy-like lace-work sculptured in marble—no solemn
grandeur of great Mohammedan mosques, nor bewildering intricacy of
detail in sculpture as in the Hindoo temples; while, as compared with
the marvellous rock-temples of India, those of Ceylon are grievously
disappointing. Neither are there such striking street-scenes as one
finds in many an Indian city, nor such bewildering crowds of gorgeously
apparelled rajahs with their camels and elephants.[6] Therefore, for all
such impressions, visit Ceylon first and India afterwards.
-----
Footnote 6:
For details of a never-to-be-forgotten year in Hindoostan, see ‘In the
Himalayas, and on Indian Plains.’ By C. F. Gordon Cumming. Published
by Chatto & Windus.
-----
But, for archæological interest, the pre-Christian and medieval cities
of Ceylon, so long buried in the silent depths of the great forests, are
altogether unique; and for luxuriant loveliness of tropical foliage,
Tahiti itself cannot surpass this Isle of Palms.
I would fain hope that those who have patience to peruse these notes of
two of the happiest years of my life, may discover something of the many
attractions of Ceylon. Nevertheless, I fear that no words can adequately
describe her fascination. So I can only advise all who have the power to
travel leisurely, to go themselves and enjoy a winter there.
CHAPTER I
MY FIRST GLIMPSE OF THE TROPICS
‘Where Champac odours float,
Like sweet thoughts in a dream.’
Aden _versus_ Ceylon—Fragrant breezes—Canoes—Singhalese, Tamils, and
Moormen—Singhalese love of gambling—Point de Galle—‘Hothouse
flowers’ at home—Discordant voices—Fire-beetles—Phosphorescence—
Corals—Cocoa-palms—View of Galle—Sail for Calcutta.
To begin with, let me recall my very first impressions of this paradise,
when, _en route_ to the Himalayas, we touched at Point de Galle, and
there obtained our first glimpse of the tropics—a delight never to be
excelled in any subsequent wanderings.
In those days there was no Suez Canal; so travellers were landed at
Alexandria, and crossed Egypt to Suez, whence another steamer carried
them down the Red Sea to Aden, and thence eastward.
It would be difficult to imagine contrast more complete, as opposite
types of Creation, than the scenes thus successively revealed, like
dissolving views in the panorama of travel—Aden and Ceylon—the former
like a vision of some ruined world, the latter the very ideal of Eden:
there a stifling atmosphere and scorching rocks, seemingly without one
blade of grass whereon to rest the wearied eye; here a balmy sleepy air,
laden with the fragrance of our rarest hothouse flowers, clustering in
densest luxuriance amid tangled mazes of infinitely varied verdure.
Creamy blossoms with large glossy leaves; crimson and gold gleaming like
gems, from their setting of delicate green shadow; an endless variety of
tropical flowers growing in wild confusion over hill and plain; delicate
creepers festooning the larger shrubs, and linking together the tall
graceful palms with a perfect network of tendrils and blossoms, or
finding their home in every crevice of the rocks, and veiling them with
fairy drapery.
Every shrub is covered with young fresh leaves of many tints; for here
we have perpetual spring as well as continual autumn, and though the
ground is always strewn with withered leaves, new life is for ever
bursting forth, in hues which we are wont to call autumnal, and which in
Britain speak to us only of approaching winter and death. Some trees
there are whose sombre foliage is always tipped with young leaves of
vivid crimson; others which seem to change their leaves periodically,
and which one week burst forth in brilliant scarlet, then gradually
deepen to crimson, changing to olive; finally the whole tree becomes
green.
Long before we sighted the beautiful Isle, the breath of these tropical
forests ‘met us out on the seas’; and as so many people, who do not
happen when nearing the coast to have been favoured with a land-wind,
laugh at the idea of ‘spice-laden breezes,’ I may as well state that
again and again in southern seas, even when out of sight of land
(notably when passing Cape Comorin), I have for several hours been
rejoiced by a balmy breeze off shore, like the atmosphere of a
greenhouse, recalling the delicate scent of primulas. It has been as
unmistakable as is the fragrance of birch-woods in the Highlands after
summer rain, or that of resinous fir-needles in the noonday sun.
As we neared the Isle, some of our party confessed themselves
disappointed, even though we were favoured with a clear view of Adam’s
Peak, rising in solitary beauty above the blue mountain-ranges, right in
the heart of the Isle. But in truth these lie so far inland that the
unaccustomed eye fails to recognise their height; and the coast, with
its endless expanse of cocoa-palm topes fringing the coral strand, is
certainly somewhat monotonous as seen from the sea.
Not till we were gliding into the calm harbour did we realise the
fascination of the scene, when, from those white sands overshadowed by
palms, we espied curious objects coming towards us over the blue
rippling water. In the distance they looked like great sea-spiders with
very long legs; but as they approached and turned sideways, we saw that
they were long narrow canoes, most curiously constructed, each being
simply the hollow trunk of a tree, with raised bulwarks stitched on with
twisted cocoa-nut fibre. They ride high on the water, and the long oars
produce the spider-like effect aforesaid.
Some of the larger canoes are from forty to sixty feet in length, and
carry many human beings; but the width is so small that there is never
room for two persons to sit abreast. Of course such hollowed trees would
inevitably roll over were they not balanced by a long heavy log, which,
like the canoe itself, is pointed at both ends, and floats alongside at
a distance of about ten feet, being attached to the boat by two strong
bamboos tied on at right angles, thus staying the craft fore and aft.
This outrigger, as it is called, is applied on one side only, and must
always be kept to windward, hence tacking is impossible; so the canoe is
constructed to go either backward or forward. The quaint brown sail
forms a triangle between two bamboos, which meet in a point at bow or
stern alternately; and when this is hoisted, the canoe literally flies
before the breeze—the strength of which is described as a ‘one-man
breeze’ or a ‘two- or three-man breeze,’ according to how many human
beings must help to steady the boat by adding their weight to that of
the floating log, by either standing on it or on the connecting bamboos.
Very picturesque are these lithe, rich brown figures, ever and anon half
swamped by the waves, as they stand with rope in hand, ready at a
moment’s notice to haul down the sail. Most of the fishermen wear
wide-brimmed straw hats, and scanty drapery consisting of a couple of
gay pocket-handkerchiefs—one of which, knotted round the shoulders,
perhaps displays a portrait of the Pope or of the Madonna, which,
together with the small crucifix hanging from the neck, shows them to be
members of the Church of Rome.
Even the tiniest canoes are balanced by the floating outrigger, so that
very small children paddle themselves about the harbour in perfect
safety; and a number of most fascinating little traders came round us
offering fruit and coral for sale. Ere our vessel reached her moorings
she was boarded by a crowd of merchants—we should call them pedlars—
offering us curious treasures; but to us the sellers were far more
interesting than their wares—especially the gentle, comely Singhalese,
who in every respect contrast with the last brown race we had seen
(namely, the hideous Somalis of Aden, with their fuzzy lime-washed
yellow hair), just as strikingly as do the lands which gave them birth.
We very quickly learnt to distinguish three totally distinct elements in
the crowd of brown men, each representing totally different branches of
the human family. The clear, sienna-coloured Singhalese, who number
about sixty per cent. of the total population, are of pure Aryan race,
and are the descendants of the conquerors who adopted ‘Singha,’ a lion,
as their emblem, and who in far back ages swept down from Northern
India. The dark-brown Tamils hail from the Malabar coast in Southern
India, and are of the Dravidian family. Some are descended from early
conquerors, others are recruited year by year from the mainland to do
the hard work of the Isle, and together these number about thirty-three
per cent. of the total population.
On the present occasion the leaders of the invasion were mostly Moormen,
who, though few in proportion to the races aforesaid (numbering only six
per cent. of the whole), hold a very strong position, being the most
energetic traders of the Isle. They claim to be descended from Arabian
merchants who settled in Ceylon two thousand years ago, and so represent
a third great branch of the human tree—namely, the Semitic. In
complexion they are pale copper-colour, and the majority have black
beards. Their shaven heads are crowned with high straw hats made without
a brim, and these are often covered with a yellow turban. They are
peculiarly well-built men, taller than either the delicately formed
Singhalese or the sturdy Tamils.
Conspicuous among the latter are the Chetties or Hindoo merchants from
the coast of India, who are easily recognised by their enormous
ear-rings, and who are accompanied by coolies carrying bales of really
precious merchandise, which they are only too anxious to unpack and
display on the faintest chance of a sale.
Perhaps the readiest way of distinguishing between Tamils and Singhalese
is that the former bear on their forehead the symbol of the heathen god
at whose shrine they have last worshipped—a spot, a circle, straight or
curved lines in white, black, red, or yellow;[7] and also almost
invariably retain their national head-dress, namely, the very becoming
turban,—whereas (with the exception of the Anglicised clerks, who adopt
European dress in every detail save that they wrap a long waist-cloth
over their trousers) the low-country Singhalese of every degree are
always bareheaded—their long, glossy, black hair, of very fine quality,
being turned back from the face, held by a semi-circular comb round the
back of the head, and coiled at the back in a knot, which men of the
wealthier classes secure by means of a handsome, very large
tortoise-shell comb, which contributes another touch to the feminine
appearance of the ‘pretty,’ and, for the most part, beardless men.
-----
Footnote 7:
For full details of these, see ‘In the Himalayas,’ by C. F. Gordon
Cumming, pp. 23, 24. Published by Chatto & Windus.
-----
In truth, a new-comer is rather apt to think that all the Singhalese are
women, and that the stalwart Moormen and Tamils are the sole lords of
the creation! And the mistake is very natural, for men and women
generally dress almost alike—with neat white jacket, and a long white
cloth wrapped round the waist, so as to form a very tight skirt down to
the ankles. This is called a _comboy_, and a more inconvenient
walking-dress could not be imagined. The men are almost as slender and
delicate in figure as the women, and have very small hands—in fact, the
most obvious distinction between the sexes is that the tortoise-shell
comb is a masculine monopoly, the women generally fastening their hair
with silver pins. I observed that the firmly coiled back hair is used by
both men and women as a convenient receptacle for pins and needles!
Tortoise-shell forms one of the most attractive items in Ceylonese
manufactures. Beautiful combs of all shapes and sizes—bracelets, chains,
bunches of charms—some of the palest amber, some dark and mounted in
silver. The palest yellow is by far the most valuable, being, I believe,
formed of the tortoise claws only.
Jewellers are numerous, for the gems of Ceylon are far-famed; but of
course the fact that (with the exception of diamonds and emeralds) every
known gem is found on the Isle leads to an amazing amount of cheatery,
and vast numbers of sham jewels are pawned off on unwary travellers.
‘Damned-fool steamboat gentlemen’ is, I regret to say, the name by which
this section of the white race is commonly described by the astute
natives.
Most of these sham gems are manufactured in the isle of Murano, near
Venice, and are thence sent to Britain, where they are set in purest
gold from the mines of Birmingham, and then forwarded to Ceylon, amongst
other christianising influences of civilisation. They are known to the
merchants as ‘steamboat jewels,’ and offered at fabulous prices, which
are liable to amazingly swift reduction. Each trader describes his own
store as a priceless collection of real stones, whereas all his
neighbours have only real glass!
Then there are vendors of cinnamon-sticks, of ebony and ivory carving,
of grass shoes, of beautifully carved boxes of sandal-wood, of coral
shells, and fruit. We were chiefly captivated by bird-sellers, who
coaxed us to buy whole families of darling little green love-birds, and
who proved how tame they were by perching the tiny creatures on each
wire of our sunshades, where they walked about happily and contented.
Vain were the friendly warnings which whispered of most villanous
love-potions, and told how the dainty birds had been drugged for the
market. Of course we invested largely, and for the rest of the voyage
our time was divided between feeding our lovely playthings with
sugar-cane, and rescuing them from dangers and perils of open ports,
cold baths, and unwary footsteps. One or two of them did manage to walk
out of the window in our cabin, and our aviary met with divers
mischances before we reached Calcutta.
We were soon instructed in the detestable Eastern custom of offering a
quarter of the price asked, and gradually rising till the buyer meets
the seller half-way, and while so doing we witnessed an instance of the
extraordinary love of gambling which is one of the most striking
peculiarities of the Singhalese—a weakness well known to old travellers,
and occasionally taken full advantage of. It seems as if no bet could be
proposed too ludicrous for some one in the crowd to take it up, no terms
too preposterous.
The case in point was that of a lady who was bargaining for a very
beautiful large tortoise-shell comb. The price asked was high, that
offered was so absurdly low that it was at once refused, and the matter
dropped. Just then a bystander said jokingly, ‘I’ll toss you whether I
give you the sum she offered, or nothing.’ ‘Done,’ was the reply. The
merchant won the toss, and pocketed the ludicrously small sum without a
murmur, the lady receiving the coveted comb as a memorial of Singhalese
gambling.
Of course we very soon found our way ashore, and explored the old
fortress and batteries which tell of the successive occupation of Galle
by the Portuguese and Dutch, each of whom left abiding traces on the
Isle, in the form of fortifications, churches, and houses; while their
descendants form distinct bodies in the heterogeneous population which
has drifted hither from so many lands—Persia, China, Malacca, Arabia,
Coromandel, and Northern India, to say nothing of the pale-faced races
of Europe.
I cannot say that the handiwork of the Dutch is generally poetic, but
here all prosaic details are glorified by the wealth of vegetation, and
even the fortress and the streets are shaded by Suriya trees—_i.e._ the
yellow _Thespesia populnea_, whose delicate straw-coloured blossoms
contrast so beautifully with its dark glossy leaves. And the pleasant
bungalows, with their wide pillared verandahs, which form the coolest
and most delightful resting-place in the heat of the day (being
invariably furnished with comfortable chairs), are one and all embowered
in gardens where all lovely things grow in rank profusion, veiling the
pillars and half covering the roof—exquisite blue clitoria, orange
venusta, purple passion-flowers, lilac and white clematis, mingling
their starry blossoms with those of the glorious crimson tacsonia and
splendid blue or white convolvulus; and luxuriant fuchsias, while
heliotrope, gardenias, and roses blend their fragrance with that of the
loquot and orange-blossom, and with the breezy freshness of the sunny
sea.
Of course we experimentalised on all manner of Eastern fruits, doubly
tempting because offered by such comely and gentle brown people, and
amongst other novelties we proved the excellence of bright-green ripe
oranges, followed by a more serious luncheon of pine-apples and divers
curries of superlative excellence, after which we started for a drive,
so as to make the best possible use of the exquisite afternoon.
Our road lay through groves of graceful and luxuriant palms,
bread-fruit, and jak trees with their glossy foliage and huge fruit, and
thickets of flowering-shrubs, whose delicious fragrance scented the air.
Here and there we passed a group of Flamboyants—magnificent trees, well
named ‘the Flame of the Forest,’ so gorgeous are the masses of scarlet
and gold blossom, which in May and June rest on delicate feathery
foliage of dazzling green. Especially fascinating to us was the
_Hibiscus mutabilis_, a shrub whose masses of rose-like blossoms daily
change from white to crimson. Each morning sees the bush covered with
newly opened flowers gleaming like freshly fallen snow, and ere the sun
sets all have assumed a lovely rose colour.
Exquisite living creatures, gossamer-winged, skimmed through the
blossoming forest in this sweet summer-world. Amid the flame-coloured
and golden blossoms flitted splendid butterflies, some pale blue, some
yellow, others velvety black with crimson spots, and brilliant
metallic-looking dragonflies.
Flowers familiar to us only in stoves and hothouses were there in wild
luxuriance—ipomeas, convolvuli, orchids, the quaint pitcher-plant, and
many another blossom; while ferns which we deem rare and precious formed
a rich undergrowth of golden-green, the loveliest of all being the
climbing-ferns, which, creeping on delicate hair-like stem, form a
tangle of exquisitely dainty foliage veiling trees and shrubs. In some
districts I have seen these growing to such a height, and hanging from
the trees in such masses, that the natives cut them as we would cut
bracken, and use them for thatch, the long black stems reaching down to
the ground, and acting as rain-conductors.
Here and there clumps of graceful bamboo waved their feathery branches;
and broad shining leaves of the yam, resembling huge caladiums, and the
still larger and more glossy plantain, clustered round the picturesque
native huts, whence pleasant, cheery-looking people or curious small
brown children came to offer us flowers or wonderful toys, made of
strips of palm-leaf, twisted into stars, wheels, birds of paradise, and
all manner of strange forms, suspended on long thin grasses, so as to
tremble and quiver with a breath—most ingenious creations.
What these people may really be, a casual traveller cannot of course
judge, but they look like embodiments of contentment: their rich mellow
bronze colouring is most attractive, while their soft brown eyes suggest
deep wells of quiet thought. It does seem so strange at first to be in a
land where _all_ eyes are brown, and _all_ hair black, and straight, and
silky!
Before these novelties had lost their first charm we had reached
Wakwella, a hill clothed with cocoa and other palms, overlooking a fair
valley, richly wooded, and through which the Gindura, a broad river
glittering like silver, and with a thousand silvery veins, was winding
westward through vividly green rice-fields to the sea.
We sat on a grassy headland and watched the soft grey and blue and
gleaming green blending in the silvery sea. Presently, as the sun
lowered, the light grew golden, and poured in misty rays of glory,
adding its dreamlike beauty to the forests of cocoa-palms and the ranges
of lovely hills. It was a scene of intense peace, only marred, as is too
often the case, by the human voice—doubtless the raw material for
perfect music hereafter, but, as a general rule, strangely discordant
with nature’s calm in its present crude form.
I have sometimes listened in amazement to discussions as to the relative
anguish of losing sight or hearing, and have marvelled almost invariably
to hear the crown of sorrow awarded to the latter! Just think of the
endless variety of joy which the soul drinks in through the eye,
compared with the very divided pleasures of hearing—the countless
harmonies of form and colour on which the eye rests unwearied with ever
new delight, compared with the few chords of melody in all the jarring
world of sound. How few notes that are never discordant! How few voices
that never become wearisome, for no other reason than just because they
_are_ sounds! It seems as if perfect silence was the one joy of life
most hopelessly unattainable.
So, at all events, we thought on that calm evening, the repose of which
was utterly destroyed by the arrival of many fellow-creatures. There was
nothing for it but to make a mutual-protection party, bound by a solemn
vow of silence, and to retreat to the farthest spur of the hill, where
we might sit and drink in the loveliness of that strange dreamy shore,
while earth’s many voices sang soft lullabies, and soothed us to rest.
Even here, however, all harmony was marred by one jarring sound, namely,
the everlasting hum of the cicala, whose myriad army holds its noisy
revel in every Eastern grove, utterly destroying what should be the
principal charm of the solemn forests—the vainly longed-for silence. But
as the sun sank below the horizon a sudden stillness fell on all
insect-life, like the sudden stopping of machinery. The ear could
scarcely realise relief so sudden. Then we were conscious that the noisy
bipeds had likewise all departed with the daylight, and that we too must
follow.
Beautiful night-moths appeared, hovering among the blossoms with
tremulous flutter and sudden dart like humming-birds. Then through the
darkening foliage flashed a thousand fire-flies in mazy circling dance,
suggesting the invisible presence of Titania and her maidens, crowned
with pale-green flames. These spirit-lights appear and disappear
suddenly, as each insect, at its own sweet will, shows or veils its
fairy beacon—a tiny intermittent spark. These dainty torch-bearers are
in reality minute beetles, not much bigger than a house-fly, and their
light would wane in presence of their West Indian cousins, which the
natives carry in dry gourds, riddled with holes, and which are so
brilliant that a dozen of them act instead of a lantern. ’ Returning to
Galle, we found about two hundred people at the hotel—passengers from
half-a-dozen different ships bound for all corners of the earth. The
prospect of a noisy _table-d’hôte_ dinner seemed too much out of keeping
with our recent impressions, so we preferred returning to our floating
home.
Never can I forget the glory of the heavens that night and the
brilliancy of the stars, all of which were mirrored in the calm harbour,
which likewise glittered with gleaming reflections of many-coloured
lights on land and ships. The water seemed doubly still and dark by
contrast with the pallid white phosphorescence that played along the
surface—sometimes in quivering tongues of fire, intensely bright,
dazzling like electric light, then fading away to reappear a moment
later in fitful ghostly gleams. It is a pulsating light, like that of
the pale lambent flame of the Aurora. So fascinating was this scene that
for hours we sat on deck watching it, sometimes shooting along the water
in coruscations of fire, sometimes just rippling into golden sparkles
like sea-stars; following in the wake of every tiny boat, and touching
her sides with living flame, while each stroke of the oars flashed fire,
and each leaping fish scattered a starry spray.
Is it not wonderful to think of the myriads of luminous animalcules
which must exist to produce these mysterious submarine illuminations! I
am told that they are of all colours, blue, white, and green, and so
tiny that it is calculated that fifty thousand would find ample swimming
space in a small wine-glass of water! The commonest of these microscopic
creatures is something like a tiny melon, but their forms are very
varied.
I had the good fortune once to travel in the same ship with a naturalist
possessed of an excellent microscope, and a very delightful companion he
proved, day by day conjuring up new marvels from the exhaustless
treasure-house of the deep. One small bucket did all the work of his
Lilliputian fisheries, and brought him a never-failing harvest of
strange wonderful creatures, of which he then made most faithful
paintings, of course magnified a thousand-fold. But the tiny prisoners
resented having to sit for their portraits, and wriggled restlessly till
they attained to a _nirvana_ of their own, and evaporated altogether!
At daybreak we again hailed one of those marvellous native outriggers,
and, pointing to a bay of pure white sand, overshadowed to the water’s
edge with cocoa-palms, made our brown brethren understand that there we
must go. As we neared the shore, and looked down through the transparent
depths of that lovely sea, we could distinguish beautiful corals and
strange water-plants. No ‘dim water-world’ is here, but a sea of
crystal, revealing its treasures with tantalising clearness, while each
rippling wavelet cast its shadow on the rocks and sand far below.
At last we reached the little bay, whose white coral sand was thickly
strewn with larger fragments of the same, as though flakes of sea-foam
had suddenly been petrified by some fairy touch. Of course the charm of
collecting these was irresistible. Soon we had heaped up a little
mountain of treasures while our rowers looked on in much amusement and
tried to explain to us that it was altogether poor stuff we had found.
Then from a hut on the tope came a kindly pleasant-looking family, men,
women, and boys, clothed in white raiment (as beseems dwellers in
Paradise), and laden with all manner of beautiful corals brought up from
the reef. It was so early that their morning toilet was incomplete, and
the men’s long silky hair floated on their shoulders.
Some merry little brown natives swarmed up the cocoa-palms, and threw us
down young creamy nuts. It was very curious to watch them run up and
down the tall smooth stems, simply knotting a strip of cloth round
themselves and the tree, so as to give them a ‘lean-to’ for their back.
Then, by sheer pressure of feet and hands and knees, they worked their
way up to the leafy crown.
The nuts selected for us were scarcely half ripe, so that the rind,
instead of being hard wood, as in the old nuts which are exported to
England and other distant lands, is still green like the shell of an
unripe walnut, and the inside coated with transparent cocoa-nut jelly.
Besides this, each nut contains a good tumblerful of sweet cool water, a
very different fluid from what we find in the old nuts that reach
England. Nevertheless, all new-comers ought to be warned that this is a
delicacy which does not suit all constitutions; and however refreshing a
drink of young cocoa-nut milk may be, it is well for the unacclimatised
to partake sparingly. Happily, on the present occasion none of the party
suffered for their imprudence, although we feasted freely, while sitting
beneath the palms, which spread their tender film of quivering foliage
overhead, like the fairy web of some great gossamer spider.
This, remember, was in December; and as we revelled in the soft blessed
atmosphere, which made each breath we drew a sensation of joy, and the
mere fact of existence a delight, a vision rose before us of how
differently it fared with all at home—some on the moors, perhaps,
battling with storm and blinding sleet; others in the murky city. The
very thought of mists and sleet, and of the many fireless homes where
wretched tattered beings shiver in squalid misery, jarred too painfully;
so there was nothing for it but to try and forget Old England
altogether, and think only of the loveliness around us—land, sea, and
sky, each perfect in its beauty, and human beings who seemed to us as
gentle and gracious as they are graceful.
Near us rose a group of stately Areca palms, faultlessly upright, like
slender alabaster pillars, in this leafy sanctuary, each crowned with
such a capital of glossy green as human architect never devised. But
more beautiful in our eyes were the cocoa-palms bending in every
direction, each stem averaging from seventy to eighty feet in height,
and crowned with fronds far longer and more graceful than those of the
Areca, and with several large clusters of fruit in all stages, the
golden nuts hanging down, the younger, greener ones above; and, to crown
all, two or three lovely blossoms, like gigantic bunches of
cream-coloured wheat carved in purest ivory, each long wheat-head having
at its base a small white ball, which is the embryo nut. Each bunch
numbers thirty or more of these heads, and about eight or ten of the
nuts come to perfection. The blossoms in their infancy are enclosed in a
hard sheath, which bursts when the flower expands, and is then useful
for many household purposes. I think this grain-like blossom is one of
the loveliest things in creation; and well do the chiefs know its value
for all purposes of decoration, resulting too often in lamentable waste
of poor men’s property.
The contrast of the graceful growth of the cocoa-palm (which generally
bends towards the nearest water) with the straight heavenward growth of
the Areca, is noted in a native proverb, which says that he who can find
a straight cocoa-palm, a crooked Areca, or a white crow, shall never
die. The Areca palm bears large clusters of hard nuts—perhaps 200 on a
tree—about the size and consistency of nutmegs, which, like the
cocoa-nut, are encased in an outer husk of fibre. These are to these
natives what tobacco is to the Briton, especially in the form dear to
our sailors, the nuts being cut into thin hard slices, several of which,
with the addition of a pinch of lime, are wrapped up in a glossy leaf of
the betel-pepper, forming a mouthful, the chewing of which furnishes
occupation for a long time, resulting in free expectoration—if possible,
even more disgusting than that of a tobacco-chewer, from the fact that
the saliva is blood-red.
We were sorely tempted to linger in this beautiful shady grove, but a
glimpse of a wooded hill beyond carried us onward; so, taking a couple
of the young brownies to guide us along a slight native track, we
plunged into a jungle of exquisite tropical plants—the strange
screw-pine with its pillared roots, and scarlet pine-apples, dear only
to monkeys, glossy leaves and rough leaves in endless variety, old forms
and new, plants which we knew from pictures and from description;
creepers and climbers of exceeding beauty, and in endless profusion.
Then, as we scrambled up the rough narrow path, there burst upon us a
scene of inconceivable beauty. On the one side we looked over masses of
vegetation and reddish cliffs to the bluest of blue seas, edged with
white surf. Beyond lay Point de Galle with its white lighthouse.
On the other side the same blue sea, washing the long shore of white
sand; then range beyond range of forest-clad hills, behind which
far-away blue peaks rose to a height of from six to seven thousand feet.
But, in truth, it is mere folly to attempt to describe such a scene. No
words or pictures can tell of the myriad beauties which link all these
divers parts into one perfect whole—the joyous sunlit atmosphere and the
restless repose of the calm azure sea, enfolding a land beautiful beyond
expression.
It was with many a lingering backward look, such as our first parents
are said to have cast on the same fair Isle ere they were driven hence,
that we at length tried to leave this Paradise; and, retracing our steps
through the beautiful jungle, found ourselves once more beneath the
cocoa-palms, where our little brown friends awaited us with stores of
creamy half-ripe nuts and lovely corals, with which our curious canoe
was quickly laden.
A few hours later with exceeding regret we bade farewell to the
beautiful Isle of Palms, and with our little cabin half full of corals
and green love-birds, and sugar-cane to feed them with, we once more
held on our course, with a sadly diminished party, and many stale jokes
(scarcely jokes to a good many) about the said Point of _Gall_,[8] and
all its sorrowful partings from those whose paths lay farther and
farther towards China and Japan and the uttermost isles.
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Footnote 8:
The name of Galle is derived from the Singhalese _galla_, a rock.
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