THE CRUISE OF THE CASTLE JERMYN
Rivers—Lagoons—Noah’s Ark—Lake Negombo—Kabragoya—Objections to milk—
Insect-pests—Reverential customs—The Luna-Oya—Monkeys—‘Betty.’
Perhaps the most fascinating feature of Ceylonese scenery is the number
and the beauty of the rivers, ranging from picturesque mountain torrents
(which form cascades and waterfalls as they hurry from their cradle
among the rhododendrons) to stately streams, flowing swiftly though
silently to meet the thundering surf.
Their course is so short that their descent from the mountains is
necessarily rapid; consequently very few of these are navigable, except
within a few miles of the sea, where flat-bottomed boats and canoes ply.
By far the longest river is the Maha-welli-ganga, which, rising near
Adam’s Peak, wanders through the mountains till it reaches Kandy, the
mountain capital, whence, descending to the plains, it travels
northward, a total distance of 134 miles, and finally enters the sea by
several branches near Trincomalee.
Next to this ranks the Kelany-ganga, also called the Mutwal river, which
is eighty-four miles long, and which, as we have already seen, flows
into the sea near Colombo. All the other rivers of Ceylon are from ten
to twenty miles shorter.
As a natural result of so short and swift a descent from the mountains,
these streams are laden with sand and soil, and a very remarkable
geographical feature (of which I have already spoken in reference to the
formation of the lake at Colombo) is due to the meeting of these
surcharged waters with the strong sea-currents, which in the north-east
and south-west monsoons sweep along the coast, and are likewise
saturated with sand. These prevent the rivers from carrying their
earth-freight farther, consequently it is all deposited in sandy bars,
which, likewise receiving the deposits of these gulf-streams, rapidly
increase, and form such effectual barriers as compel the rivers to flow
north or south behind this embankment of their own creation.
Thus strangely indented lagoons, many miles in length, of still, silent,
fresh water, lie separated from the booming surf by only a narrow belt
of sand—perhaps only partially carpeted with marine convolvuli, but
generally clothed with quaint screw-pines, mangroves, palms, and other
trees. The effect of the roar of the unseen surf, as heard while one’s
boat glides silently on these still rivers embowered in richest
vegetation, is very impressive.
This peculiarity is most strikingly developed on the east side of the
Isle, as at Batticaloa, where the rivers have formed one labyrinthine
lagoon fully fifty miles in length, divided from the ocean by an
embankment of their own construction, nowhere exceeding a mile and a
half in width, and all clothed with cocoa-palms. The same formation
extends all the way from Trincomalee to the far north of the Isle.
These very peculiar estuaries are known as Gobbs, and they were turned
to good account by the Dutch, who cut canals to connect some of the most
important, and thus formed a continuous calm water-way on each side of
the Isle, connecting sea-coast towns. Thus, on the west coast you can
travel by these canals and lagoons all the way from Kalatura to Colombo,
and thence right north up to Kalpitiya. Such delightful house-boats as
those in which foreign residents in China make their water-excursions,
are here unknown luxuries, but with a little contrivance an ordinary
flat-bottomed rice-boat may be made to do duty instead, and thus
furnishes the means for a very enjoyable cruise.
Most fortunately for me, soon after my arrival the Bishop had occasion
to visit various churches and schools along the coast to the north of
Colombo, and resolved to travel by water. He had decided that his
daughter should bear him company, and, greatly to my delight, I too was
invited to join the expedition.
I confess that when I think of all the difficulties in arranging
‘house-room’ for guests in luxurious British homes, I often remember
with amazement the unselfish kindness which contrives to make the
smallest colonial houses so wondrously elastic (exemplifying the good
old proverb that ‘where there’s heart-room there’s hearth-room’); but
never in all my wanderings have I met with so very practical a proof of
such hospitality, as that which assigned me an extemporised berth on
board ‘The Castle Jermyn,’ as we dubbed our craft when commencing our
voyage, though long ere our return the little ‘Noah’s Ark’ better
described the floating home in which were congregated so great a variety
of curious living creatures, to say nothing of the skins of various
birds of gay plumage, and animals presented to us by many kind friends.
The live offerings included six or eight land-tortoises of various
sizes, and several large handsome turtles, which shared ‘the hinder part
of the ship’ with the picturesque Singhalese crew and the Bishop’s
Singhalese major-domo, and were turned out at night to swim in the
shallow water, while our own quarters became the playground of a
ubiquitous bull-dog puppy and a very young mongoose, so small as to earn
from my companions the nickname of ‘The Rat.’ A more affectionate little
pet never existed. It at once recognised me as its special mistress,
never seeming so happy as when trotting along beside me, creeping
quietly into my lap or nestling on my shoulder, and at night curling
itself, uninvited, into one of my slippers, whence the little soft hairy
creature darted out to greet me with a gentle little murmurous cry the
instant I stirred in the morning.
It very soon outgrew its slipper-cradle, and when we returned to St.
Thomas’s College, it selected more roomy sleeping quarters in a dark
corner of my room, where it lay rolled up like a furry ball. I fed it
principally on bread and milk, and sometimes I could not resist giving
it an egg as a great treat, though well aware that I was therein
injudiciously awakening what might prove an inconvenient taste. I do
not, however, believe that Goosie ever sinned in this or any other
direction. No blame attached to its short happy life.
My gentle pet rapidly developed to the size of an average cat, its hair,
which was partly brown and partly silvery grey, becoming hard and wiry,
and although its devotion to me as its adopted mother continued to be
most touching, it was occasionally inconvenient. I was therefore not
altogether sorry, on my return to Colombo after an absence of some
months, to find that ‘Goosie’ had transferred its allegiance to the
friend in whose care I had left it, and in whose garden it had done
valiant combat with several cobras, the plucky little creature having
developed all the abhorrence towards these for which its race is so
remarkable.[24]
-----
Footnote 24:
Soon after my visit to Galle, a villager at Happugalle (about three
miles distant) saw a mongoose attack a large cobra. He stated that the
combat continued for some time, after which the mongoose, apparently
unable to cope with the serpent, beat a hasty retreat to the jungle.
Presently he reappeared, accompanied by a grey mongoose. So soon as
the cobra perceived the new-comer, he was paralysed with terror and
crouched before the mongoose, which rushed forward and snapped off the
serpent’s head. The Singhalese believe that the small grey mongoose is
king of the race. So fully is the skill of the mongoose as a
snake-killer established, that I cannot understand why it is not more
commonly trained as a domestic pet in countries where these deadly
reptiles abound. As a rat-killer it has done splendid service in the
West Indies, where the devastation wrought on sugar, coffee, cocoa,
and other plantations by the great rat-army, ranged from £100,000 to
£150,000 per annum, till in 1872 Mr. Espeut happily imported some
mongooses direct from India. Four males and five females reached him
in safety and were turned out on his estate. In a wonderfully short
time they increased and multiplied to such an extent as to overrun the
whole island. Thousands of young ones were captured by negroes, and
sold to planters in very remote districts, and as these creatures are
excellent swimmers and make their way across streams and lagoons, they
quickly found their way to every corner. Naturally such prolific
colonists have become somewhat of a pest, and the planters are now
compelled to thin their ranks.
In 1884 Ceylon exported 105 mongooses to Australia, there to wage war
against the rabbit legions. Well may we wish them success!
In Egypt the mongoose (_alias_ ichneumon) is kept as a domestic rat
and mouse catcher, and moreover is invaluable from its talent for
raking up the sand wherein crocodiles have laid their eggs, to the
number of perhaps fifty in a brood, which it devours with _gusto_. It
also kills many of these little monsters when newly hatched, and is
altogether a true benefactor to humanity. The services of ‘Pharaoh’s
Rat’ were so fully recognised by the ancient Egyptians that it was
treated as a sacred animal, pampered during life, and divinely
honoured after death. Funds were set apart for the support of
representatives of the race, which, like the sacred cats, were fed on
bread soaked in milk, and fish specially caught for their use by the
fishers of the Nile. To kill a mongoose was a criminal act, and
whenever one was found dead its mummied remains were carefully laid in
the catacombs with the other sacred animals.
-----
Sad to say, it soon fell a victim to its valour; for, though by its
marvellous agility it contrived in several instances to elude the darts
of the serpent, the first bite also proved the last—no wise old mongoose
having instructed this poor young one in the healing properties of that
herb which, it is said, the wild mongoose eats as an effectual antidote
to cobra poison. (This is said to be the _Mimosa occandra_, which in
Ceylon is called the _Nakulishta_—_i.e._ ‘the desire of the mongoose.’)
So my poor Goosie died. But what concerns us at present was only her
place in our boat-home, where her infantile sporting instincts found
scope in chasing the pretty little lizards which found refuge in the
thatched roof. As seen on our first visit, the said boat was not
attractive, being dingy, dark, and airless; but a little ingenious
carpentering soon worked wonders. In the first place, the thatched roof
was raised bodily, so as to leave four inches all round, admitting light
and air to our sleeping quarters. Then the deck was matted, and the
interior was lined with white calico, and divided into compartments, so
that we each had our special quarters, with our beds, chairs, tables,
hanging-trays and pockets, bags, books, sun-umbrellas, butterfly-nets,
writing and sketching materials of all sorts. To these were soon added
constantly renewed baskets of fruit—great bunches of green or yellow
bananas and plantains, pine-apples, oranges, mangoes, and
custard-apples, and ever-increasing stores of quaint seeds, shells, and
divers curiosities.
[Illustration: THE CASTLE JERMYN]
The boatmen, who were all fishermen (which is almost equivalent to
saying that they were all Roman Catholics), had their quarters astern,
as had also the cook and his flock of ducks and hens; and how eight
human beings could stow themselves away in so small a space, and carry
on their existence so silently, was a marvel. The fact of their being
Singhalese secured us against the interminable songs by which the Tamils
cheer their work, and which in such close quarters would have been
unendurable. When they had work to do ‘forrard,’ they ran lightly over
the thatch without disturbing their unwonted passengers, for whom they
were never weary of collecting lovely flowers and exquisite climbing
ferns, with which we adorned our quarters, devoting one basin to the
most gorgeous jungle blossoms—scarlet, white, and gold—and another to
dainty water-lilies—white, pink, and blue—while all else found a niche
on the foundation of ferns with which we fringed the edge of the movable
roof, part of which was constructed to draw backwards or forwards, so
that in case of rain our ‘sitting-room’ would have been well protected.
Happily we were favoured with lovely weather, and so enjoyed to the full
the peaceful beauty of both days and nights.
One flower, which our sympathetic collectors brought with special
appreciation, was a most exquisite orchid which they call the Wanna
Rajah,[25] or king of the Wanna or Forest (the comprehensive name given
to the great tract of hot and generally arid land in the extreme north
of the Isle). On the upper side, the leaves of this orchid are like
black velvet veined with gold, while the under side is of a delicate
pink. The fragrant white blossom hangs on a pink stalk. It seems to
flourish specially in marshy localities.
-----
Footnote 25:
_Anæctochilus setaceus._
-----
A tiny canoe (just the trunk of a tree scooped out, and balanced by a
log floating alongside of it, attached to it by a couple of bamboos)
floated astern, ready to land us at any point where the cool loveliness
of the river-banks proved irresistibly tempting; and strangely
fascinating indeed was the deep shadow of the beautiful forest-trees
overhanging the clear sunlit waters, the intense silence broken only by
the cry of some wild bird, or the deep hooting of the large wanderoo
monkeys, while at short regular intervals came the low roar as of
distant thunder, which told of mighty green waves breaking on the
sand-reef of their own creation.
It was in the middle of February that we embarked for the three weeks of
‘water-gipysing,’ every hour of which proved so full of novelty and
interest. A beautiful drive from St. Thomas’s College, Colombo, brought
us to the Mutwal river, or Kelany-ganga, where our boat-home awaited us.
Crossing that broad majestic stream, we entered one of the canals cut by
the Dutch, parallel with the sea, and thereon glided smoothly into the
wide shallow lake of Negombo, at the north end of which we anchored for
the night, at a picturesque village of the same name twenty-three miles
from Colombo.
All along the canal we passed a succession of winding streams and marshy
places with special beauties of their own, and several small lagoons—
lovely glassy pools—covered with pure white water-lilies, and one
variety with petals just tipped with lilac and the under side of the
leaf purple. These lakelets are fringed with various species of graceful
palms, with an undergrowth of luxuriant ferns and handsome shrubs; while
the marshes are glorified by the rich glossy foliage of the mangrove,
with clusters of white blossom and large green fruit resembling oranges,
but very poisonous.
These eventually turn scarlet, as do also the pine-like fruit of the
Pandanus or screw-pine (so called from the corkscrew pattern in which
its leaves grow from the stem). The roots of this plant are among the
oddest vagaries of the vegetable kingdom. Here and there a patch of the
flame blossom, called by the Singhalese _eribuddu_, glowed really like
fire as the setting sun shone on its scarlet pea-shaped flowers set in a
crown of scarlet leaves. Then there was a sort of prickly acanthus with
large blue flowers, also pea-shaped, and a sort of acacia with bright
yellow star-shaped blossom.
Negombo Lake is about four miles in width, and all around us were
picturesque canoes, whose owners were diligently fishing in its quiet
waters. They have a curious method of frightening fish into the net,
which is held by some of the men, while others wave long fringes of torn
plantain-leaves or cocoa-palm similar to those which are hung up as
decorations at any festival. The fish thus alarmed are expected to jump
net-wards. At night the fishers carry a blazing torch downwards, so that
the glare is all on the water. The torch consists of a fagot of sticks,
and from its centre projects a long sharp knife with which to impale any
large fish which is seen resting in the shallows.
This was our first night on the water, and to our dismay we found that
we had neglected to bring our mosquito-nets, an omission which left us
all wholly at the mercy of those venomous little insects, who all night
long hummed a chorus of delight as they took it by turns to feast on us,
their helpless victims. Of course their onslaughts involved a sleepless
night and a feverish morning; but ere the next sunset we extemporised
very efficient nets by hanging up muslin petticoats, which effectually
protected our heads, though an incautious foot occasionally revealed
itself and suffered accordingly.
Before sunrise we were once more under way, and, leaving the lake,
turned into a most picturesque canal running right through the native
town, of houses embowered in large-leaved tropical shrubs, overshadowed
by tall palms, and the water covered with very varied boats and canoes.
Leaving the town, our quiet water-way still lay beneath overarching
palm-trees, and between banks matted with the dark glossy foliage and
large lilac blossoms of the goat’s-foot ipomœa, a handsome marine
convolvulus which forms a thick carpet, binding the arid sandbanks along
the seaboard.
Presently we crossed the mouth of the Maha-Oya, or great stream, a broad
majestic river, gliding silently to join the ocean. It was a vision of
wonderful peace to look along its calm waters to the equally calm ocean,
whose margin was only defined by the periodical uprising of a great
green rolling wave which broke in dazzling white surf with a deep
booming roar.
That strange solemn sound continued for hours to reach us from the
unseen ocean, as, turning into the Ging-Oya, another most lovely stream,
we followed its windings, almost parallel with the sea, which yet was
effectually hidden by a narrow bank of luxuriant jungle, and tall palms
which cast their cool deep shade on the glassy waters. But for that
ever-recurring reminder of
‘The league-long rollers thundering on the shore,’
there was not a sound to break the silence, save only the rustle of dry
reeds or the gentle ripple of our boat sailing with a light breeze. Even
the shy creatures which haunt these banks were undisturbed, and amongst
others we observed several large iguanas (or, as the Singhalese call
them, _kabragoya_), huge lizards from five to six feet in length. Though
very prettily marked, they are ungainly-looking creatures, and I confess
to having felt somewhat qualmish the first time I came suddenly upon one
in the forest; but they are quite harmless if unmolested. They have,
however, a good weapon of defence in their strong tail, with which they
can inflict a blow not quickly forgotten. They feed on ants and insects,
and are amphibious—being equally at home on marshy ground or in the
water.
Another lizard very nearly as large, called Talla-goya, is so tame that
it scarcely moves away from human beings, and even comes and lives in
gardens, though it thereby courts its doom—its flesh being considered as
delicate as that of a rabbit, and its skin being in request for
shoemaking. Certainly its appearance is not prepossessing.
We caught glimpses of various smaller lizards, especially a lovely
bright green one about a foot in length. Strange to say, when angry,
these creatures turn pale yellow, and the head becomes bright red. I
believe they are akin to the ever-changing chameleon, which, however,
prefers the dry districts farther to the north of the Isle.
Glorious large butterflies skimmed lightly over the water—some with
wings like black velvet, and others of the most lustrous metallic blue;
and kingfishers, golden orioles, and other birds of radiant plumage,
flitted over the waters. One bird something like a plover is known as
the ‘Did he do it?’ because of its quaint inquisitive cry, which seems
ceaselessly to reiterate this question.
As the evening came on, we were treated to a concert of croaking frogs,
and jackals alternately barking and calling in eerie tones. Finally we
anchored for the night beneath an overhanging tree which was evidently
specially favoured by the fire-flies, for their tiny green lamps
glittered in every corner of the dark foliage, ceaselessly flashing to
and fro in such mazy dance, that when we looked beyond them to the quiet
stars, it seemed to our bewildered eyes as if these too were in motion!
I use the word fire-flies in deference to a common error. In reality
these fairy light-bearers are tiny beetles which carry their dainty
green lantern beneath the tail, and veil or unveil its light at
pleasure, as a policeman does his bull’s-eye lantern—hence the
intermittent light which vanishes and reappears several times in a
minute.
On the following morning a kind European heard of our arrival and
brought us most welcome gifts of fruit and milk. Strange to say, the
Singhalese have an invincible objection to milking their cows, even when
they possess large herds of cattle, and the calves might very well spare
a certain amount. This prejudice has been in a measure conquered in the
immediate neighbourhood of towns where foreigners require a regular
supply; but (like the Chinese) no Singhalese man, woman, or child seems
ever to drink cow’s milk, though a little is occasionally used in the
form of curds and eaten with _ghee_, which is a sort of rancid butter.
From the Ging-Oya we passed by a short canal into the Luna-Oya, another
even more lovely river; but first we crossed a fascinating lagoon
literally covered with water-lilies of various size and colour—small
white ones, larger ones like cups of creamy ivory, with green calyx;
exquisite pink lilies with brown calyx, and the under side of the leaf
of a rich purple. Besides these, there were myriads of tiny white
blossoms no bigger than a silver penny, which, together with their flat
floating leaves, were so like liliputian lilies, that we could scarcely
believe they were not, till we pulled up a cluster and found that leaves
and flowers all grew in a bunch from one little rootlet near the
surface, instead of each having its own stem, three or four feet in
length, and smooth as a piece of indiarubber tubing, rising from the bed
of the lake.
Necessity, they say, is the mother of invention; and great was my
satisfaction when, having lost my black hair-ribbon, I found that one of
these half-dried stems answered the purpose admirably, being rather
elastic and perfectly flexible. But the water-gipsies soon discovered
many such treasures in the jungle. The smooth tendrils and filaments of
various climbing plants supplied us with excellent string several yards
in length; indeed, we found lianas as thin as thread, and quite as
pliant, hanging without a twist or a knot from the top of the tallest
trees; and as to pins, we had only to select the length we required from
the too abundant supply of needle-like thorns, which in truth are so
marked a characteristic of the Ceylonese forest, that one might almost
accept it as a proof that here indeed was the original Paradise—for
notwithstanding all its wonderful beauty, Ceylon assuredly bears a
double share of the curse anent thorns and briers!
We soon discovered that most of the jungle flowers we saw and coveted
were thus guarded—the jessamine-like stars of crimson ixora, the
fragrant blossoms of the wild lemon, and many another. There is even one
sort of palm whose whole stem bristles with long sharp needles. And
besides these dangers, we soon discovered that almost every branch of
every flowering shrub is the home of a colony of large red ants, who
glue the leaves together, entirely concealing their nests; so that,
however carefully you may have looked for them, no sooner do you venture
cautiously to gather the flower which tempts you, than in a moment a
legion of vicious red ants rush forth from their ambush, and covering
your unwary arm, swarm into the innermost recesses of your sleeve, all
the time biting most painfully. What with ants biting and mosquitoes and
small sand-flies feasting on us, we certainly suffered a good deal, the
irritation produced being such that we had simply to take our
hairbrushes and brush our poor arms and shoulders to try and counteract
it.
Another fruitful source of irritation was ‘prickly heat,’ which is the
effect produced on many people by constant perspiration. The sufferer
receives no pity, as he is told it is the best safeguard against fever;
but nevertheless the discomfort is excessive, and various remedies are
recommended, of which the simplest, and, I think, the most efficacious,
is every morning to rub one’s self all over with limes, cut in half, and
presently sponge off the healing juice. A thin solution of either alum
or powdered borax applied with a feather is also beneficial—a piece of
alum the size of a walnut, dissolved in a pint of water, being
sufficient to last several days.[26]
-----
Footnote 26:
If there is abrasion of the skin, equal parts of oxide of zinc and
carbonate of magnesia is very soothing.
-----
We were very fortunate in escaping more serious dangers. One evening, as
we sat on deck in the bright starlight, I suddenly observed a gruesome
centipede, fully seven inches long, coiled up in my lap! With sudden
impulse the Bishop flicked it with his handkerchief, when it fell to the
deck and escaped, leaving us with a horribly all-overish sensation of
centipedes in every corner. Happily neither it nor any of its family
favoured us with another visit. It is really wonderful, in a country
where venomous creatures abound as they do in Ceylon, how very rarely
one sees any of them, and how quickly one acquires the instinctive habit
of beating the grass or withered leaves before one’s steps, in order to
warn possible snakes to wriggle out of the way, which they seem always
ready to do if they have time. Indeed, the mere vibration of a booted
footstep generally suffices to give them the alarm—the sufferers from
snake-bite being almost invariably barefooted natives, whose silent
approach is unnoticed.
On the other hand, the land leeches, which swarm in damp places and
luxuriant grass, have no tendency to fly from man. On the contrary, the
footfall of man or beast is as a welcome dinner-bell, at sound of which
the hungry little creatures hurry from all sides; and as each is
furnished with five pair of eyes, they can keep a sharp look-out for
their prey, which they do by resting on the tip of the tail, and raising
themselves perpendicularly to look around. Then, arching their body
head-foremost, and bringing up the tail, they rapidly make for their
victim. Being only about an inch long, and no thicker than a stout pin,
they contrive to wriggle through stockings, and commence their attack so
gently that several may be feasting without attracting attention, till
being gorged, and distended to about a couple of inches in length, and
the size of a quill-pen, they cease sucking; but blood sometimes
continues to flow till checked by a squeeze of lemon-juice.
In this respect also we fortunately suffered little, thanks to constant
watchfulness and precautions, but our bare-legged coolies were cruelly
victimised; and we saw both cattle and dogs terribly worried by a much
larger leech, which infests the tanks and attacks all animals coming to
drink, attaching themselves to the muzzle, and thence passing into the
nostrils and throat. But on our river voyage we were free from these
pests.
Speaking of the ready-made treasures of the jungle in the way of needles
and thread, I must not forget the _Rita gaha_, or sack-tree, the bark of
which literally supplies all but ready-made sacks of a thick texture,
akin to felt. The tree having been felled, its branches are cut up into
logs, each about the size of sack required. The logs are sometimes
soaked in water for a while to soften the bark. This, however, is not
invariable. In any case, the bark is beaten with a wooden mallet till it
can be turned inside out, and drawn off as a serpent casts his skin.
All that is needed to complete these nature-woven sacks is that they
should be sewn up at one end. They are so durable that they last for
years, and so elastic that they stretch considerably with use, without,
however, losing strength. So you see the jungle fairy-godmothers really
do provide most useful treasures!
Just before leaving the canal which connects the Ging-Oya with the Lily
Lake, we halted at a village where we saw a Singhalese wedding
procession, the attentive bridegroom (whose knot of glossy back hair
was, of course, fastened by a very large tortoise-shell comb, besides a
circular comb on the forehead) holding a large umbrella over a very
sedate-looking bride, who walked beside him dressed in brocade, with a
wreath on the back of the head, and the hair fastened with golden pins
and a golden comb. This bridal dress, however, was not becoming, and we
awarded the palm of beauty to a young girl in white, shading herself
with a large banana leaf.
The people crowded to the banks to see the novel sight of European
ladies travelling in a padda-boat.[27] Most of the children were dressed
with the elegant simplicity of our ancestors in the original Eden,
except that some were adorned with one pearl tied round the arm as an
amulet, while others for the same purpose wear a tiny tin cylinder
containing some fetish, fastened to the waist. The little Roman
Catholics are generally distinguished by a small crucifix or locket with
dedication to some saint, but many wear tiny bits of embroidered rag
which are sold by the priests as charms!
-----
Footnote 27:
Rice-cargo-boat.
-----
Nowhere have I seen more fascinating little children with such soft
lovely brown eyes—coming so coaxingly to offer us gifts of flowers; and
their mellifluous speech is as attractive as their personal appearance.
One handsome man brought his beautiful little girl and asked us to
sketch her. She was quite naked, but a few minutes later he brought her
back in all the magnificence of her green jacket and red skirt, with
coral necklace and ear-rings. As the proud father brought her on board,
his own long silky black hair got unfastened, and fell in rich masses
over his shoulders. The effect was most artistic, but unfortunately in
Ceylon it is not considered respectful to wear the hair hanging down in
presence of a superior, so it is always coiled up in a knot. (In China
it is just the contrary—the man who, for convenience while working,
twists his long black plait round his head, must always let it down in
presence of any superior.)
In this island where the two races, Tamil and Singhalese, meet one at
every turn, one is sometimes struck by a curious point of difference in
their symbols of respect. The Tamil must cover his head in presence of a
superior, and an extra large turban indicates extra reverence. The
Singhalese, on the contrary, should appear bareheaded: so when a person
of any recognised rank approaches, the Tamils, who have been sitting
with bare shaven heads, quickly twist on the long strips of cloth which
form their turbans; whereas the Singhalese, who perhaps have let down
their hair and thrown a bright-coloured handkerchief over it, quickly
pull off the handkerchief and twist up their hair as if they were going
to bathe.
In old days, under native rule, Singhalese of certain low castes were
prohibited from wearing any covering above the waist, and any one
presuming to do so was liable to have his or her raiment torn off by
order of any person of higher station. Even those of the highest caste
threw off their upper garments on entering a temple, covered shoulders
being then deemed as irreverent as we should consider it for a man to
wear a hat in church.
But these old customs are happily traditions of the past, as are also in
a great measure the objectionable features of caste distinctions, which
here are far less obtrusive than in India, even among the Tamils.
Long years of intercourse between these two races has in some respects
tended to assimilation, most obviously in that all Tamil women go about
bareheaded like the Singhalese, an innovation very remarkable in
contrast with their strictly veiled sisters on the mainland. Happily
they retain their graceful drapery in preference to the little white
jacket and tight loin-cloth invariably worn by the Singhalese women.
Our sail up the Luna-Oya was lovely as a fairy dream, the banks on
either side being clothed with richest jungle—great forest-trees
overhanging the still waters, and matted with festoons of luxuriant
creepers, whose exquisite emerald green glorified the darker foliage of
the trees. Especially rich were the masses of a plant suggestive of
Virginia creeper, and brightened here and there with a touch of scarlet,
which, however, in Ceylon tells not of autumn and approaching death, but
of spring and fresh young foliage. There are some trees which, on first
bursting into young leaf, are a blaze of glorious scarlet or crimson,
and then gradually turn to gold or chocolate colour, finally assuming
varied shades of green.
Here and there we came on clumps of cocoa-nut palms, and then we always
looked out for picturesque huts well-nigh hidden by the long waving
leaves of the banana, tall sugar-canes, and the very long fronds of
young palms—for, according to Singhalese lore, this friendly palm can
only flourish within sound of the human voice, and near the sea. This
pretty theory is not strictly borne out by facts, as there are
flourishing cocoa-nut groves at various places (such as at Badulla,
Matale, and Gampola), at elevations of from 1,400 to 2,200 feet above
the sea-level, and a hundred miles inland. Still these are exceptions,
and certainly all the finest plantations of cocoa-palm lie along the
shore in a belt of less than fifteen miles in width.
We noted a curious method of marking boundaries by planting two
cocoa-nuts in one hole, so that they grow up as twins. We also saw
curiously wedded palmyra-palms and banyan-trees; seeds of the latter
contrive to niche themselves in the rough bark of the former, and their
enfolding roots soon form a network encompassing the parent trees. Ere
long these grow so powerful that the palm is killed, and the strange
pillar of white roots and branches stands alone—a monument of
ingratitude.
As we floated on through the deep jungly shade, we occasionally met
picturesque fishing-boats and canoes, which formed most attractive
foregrounds. Specially so was a large double canoe—namely, two canoes
floating side by side, supporting one wide deck with heavy thatch, and
laden with huge clusters of green plantains. The fine bronze figures of
the crew with blue-brown shadows, the dark quilted sail, and darker
reflections, made an ideal study in browns; indeed an artist might make
his fortune in painting the groups which present themselves at every
turn; no need for paid models here, where every careless attitude seems
naturally graceful, and where tailors and broadcloth are of no account,
for a fisherman’s full dress consists of either a large straw hat or a
bright-coloured handkerchief thrown loosely over black flowing locks, a
second handkerchief fastened round the loins, and a crucifix or
medallion of some saint worn round the neck.
Such figures as these, whether seen against the clear blue sky or the
dark sail, are always harmonious. On gala days many wear a large
handkerchief over one shoulder with a picture of the Virgin and Child or
full-faced portrait of the Pope. Others display pictures of the Derby
Race, or some such exciting European scene!
This night we anchored beneath a Suriya tree, covered with blossoms.
Vivid sheet-lightning illumined the sky and the forest, even wakening up
the old Wanderoos,[28] who hooted their indignation. These are rather
small, very grave, bearded monkeys, the patriarchs of the race, of the
most venerable appearance, clothed in thick, dark iron-grey hair, with a
rough shaggy white beard, and a thick fringe of white hair on their
head. Some species, however, are grey, with black beards. They go about
in troops of twenty or thirty, swinging from branch to branch, and
carrying their neat little babies. They are very easily tamed, and some
have been taken to visit sacred monkey-shrines in India, where they are
held in special honour because of their grave demeanour. Their
deep-toned sobbing cry, as we so often heard it resounding through the
silent forest in the stillness of early dawn (albeit I can only describe
it as something like that of our common donkey!), was most eerie,
blending with the shrill cries of all manner of birds, whose voices for
the most part are as discordant as their plumage is radiant. To this
sweeping assertion, however, I must make one exception in favour of a
very pretty wood-pigeon,[29] whose low, melodious cooing is one of the
most soothing influences of the forest.
-----
Footnote 28:
_Presbytes cephalopterus._
Footnote 29:
Called by the Singhalese _Neela-cobeya_.
-----
Of the five varieties of the great monkey clan, which are found in
Ceylon, four are classed as Wanderoos: the largest and most powerful of
this family are found only in the mountain forests. The fifth Ceylonese
monkey is the Rilawa: these are very small, of a warm russet colour,
with a pale very human little face, and a shock head, with hair
projecting like a thatch, or sometimes so long as to resemble that of a
miniature human being. When tamed they make charming little pets. On one
of his forest-rides the Bishop captured a baby one, which he brought
home, and which became a most amusing and affectionate member of the
family.
Its own relations, having been disturbed by the approach of the riders,
scampered off among the branches, in such hot haste that this poor
little one, who was clinging to its mother, dropped on the ground in
front of the Bishop’s horse. The ‘horse-keeper’ (_i.e._ a running groom)
picked it up and handed it to the Bishop, to whom it immediately cuddled
up for protection, nestling inside his coat, where it lay comfortably
till he reached a rest-house, where it was fed and cared for.
Curiously enough, that very afternoon a native from a neighbouring
village brought the Bishop an offering of fruit and flowers, and also of
a small monkey of the same sort. The two little creatures were overjoyed
at meeting, and at once rolled themselves together into a ball, as if
determined that henceforth no one should separate them; so the two were
slung, with other goods and chattels, from a stick over a man’s
shoulder, and so were carried to St. Thomas’s College, where they
received the names of ‘Boots’ and ‘Betty,’ and lived happily together,
till one sad day when Boots unhappily choked himself by too greedily
devouring the hard seeds of a jak fruit. After that poor little Betty
had to console herself with her human friends, and was always specially
devoted to the Bishop.
A very strange thing concerning the monkey tribes is, that the bodies of
those which must surely die are never found. Whether the survivors give
them decent burial, I cannot say, but both in India and in Ceylon there
is a saying to the effect that the man who sees a dead monkey, a nest of
the Padda-bird,[30] or a straight cocoa-palm, will never die. To this
list might be added a dead elephant; for, strange to say, these huge
creatures likewise contrive so to dispose of their dead, that, with the
exception of some which have died from bullet-wounds, their remains are
never found in the jungle.
-----
Footnote 30:
_Ardeola leucoptera._
-----