THE CRUISE OF THE CASTLE JERMYN
Hedgehog-grass—Strychnine—Snake temples—Kalpitiya—Orchilla dye—_Bêche de
mer_—Edible birds’ nests—Cashew-nuts—Karative salt-pans—Puttalam—
Fish-market—Roman Catholic fishermen—St. Anna—Negombo—Banyan-trees—
Cinnamon-collectors.
Again passing through a short connecting-canal, we crossed the mouth of
the Dedroo-Oya, a fine wide stream, calm as the ocean into which it
flowed, and contrasting strangely with the majestic green wave which
ever and anon rose as if by magic to fall with a thunderous roar in a
cataract of dazzling surf.
We never missed any opportunity of landing to collect whatever treasures
we might chance to find, of marsh or jungle, river or sea; so here we
landed on the sands and picked up—not shells, but a great variety of
seeds, large and small, rough and smooth, dropped into the river by
forest-trees and creeping plants (chiefly gigantic beans), and thus
carried to the ocean, to be thence thrown back on the land far from
their birthplace.
But the most curious objects in our collection of seeds were the large
circular heads which contain those of the aptly-named hedgehog-grass, or
_Spinifex squarrosus_. These are light balls, often from ten to twelve
inches in diameter, composed of long spines radiating from the
seed-bearing centre. When these are mature they drop from the plant, and
the wind blows them like wheels for miles along the shore, or maybe
across rivers and lagoons, dropping many seeds on their way, but
retaining some to the last, and thus carry the first promise of future
fertility to the newest and most arid sandbanks, which they bind
together much in the same way as does the abundant lilac convolvulus.
A very marked feature of the vegetation along the coast is a handsome
tree[31] with luxuriant dark foliage and most inviting-looking fruit
like golden oranges. But woe be to the rash lips which would approach
those tempting fruits, for within them, embedded in pulp, lie the seeds
which yield strychnine, the deadliest of poisons! Somewhat on
homœopathic principles, some of the Tamil coolies are said actually to
accustom themselves to eat a small portion of a seed every day, not as
an intoxicant (though it is said that in India these seeds are sometimes
used for that purpose in the adulteration of arrack), but as an antidote
against a possible bite from a cobra.
-----
Footnote 31:
_Strychnos nux-vomica._
-----
Strange to say, the only other member of the strychnine family[32]
yields seeds which are invaluable in districts where the water is muddy,
for by rubbing the inside of the chatty with one of these all impurities
are very soon precipitated, and the water remains quite clear.
Nevertheless, the part of wisdom in jungle travelling is NEVER to drink
water which has not been both boiled and filtered.
-----
Footnote 32:
_Strychnos potatorum_, called by the Tamils _tettan-cotta_, and by the
Singhalese _ingini_.
-----
Leaving the Dedroo-Oya, we passed into a smaller stream, and then into a
succession of lagoons with sandy banks clothed with a plant resembling
our own broom in the profusion of its yellow blossoms. For a while our
water-way lay through very desolate country. No more luxuriant ferns or
tall quivering reeds, but eerie-looking screw-pines, with their scarlet
fruit peeping from odd bunches of sword-like leaves, and their labyrinth
of strangely contorted roots. These, and strange cacti from fifteen to
twenty-five feet in height, with yellow blossoms tipping their thorny
arms, stood out black against the red sunset sky, a most uncanny-looking
scene. Here, however, we anchored for the night, and found compensation
for the poverty of vegetation in a delightful absence of bloodthirsty
mosquitoes, from whose attacks we generally suffered considerably.
Emerging from the river Moondalani, we entered the long wide lake or
gobb, which eventually enters the sea above Kalpitiya, and here saw
great flocks of white cranes and Padda-birds. Unlike the graceful white
bird so called in India, the Ceylonese Padda-bird has brown wings and
back, only showing white when flying. Dark glossy lotus-leaves floated
on the shining waters, with blossoms silvery, golden, roseate, and
azure, and in those dainty cups bright dewdrops glistened like fairy
gems.
For about five miles we sailed on this calm peaceful lake, then passed
into the usual chain of bits of rivers connected by short canals. We
landed in a lovely jungle, and brought back loads of flowers to decorate
our boat-home, and bright scarlet and black seeds of the Olinda, a
jungle creeper; but all these treasures were gathered at the cost of
many sharp bites from ants, and tears from cruel thorns which pierced
our thickest boots and tore our dresses, although mine was of good
strong serge.
The boatmen (ever on the alert to find wayside treasures for us) brought
us curious seeds of the Naga-darana or ‘snake’s fangs,’ so called from
having sharp curved points like teeth, which inflict a very painful
scratch. These, together with little bowls of milk, are offered to
snakes by persons who wish to propitiate them; for although
serpent-worship no longer holds so prominent a place in Ceylon as it did
of yore when the Isle was described as Naga-dwipa, ‘The Snake’s Isle,’
quite as often as Lanka-dwipa, ‘The Happy Isle,’ the old reverence for
the Naga is by no means extinct.[33] Till quite recently there was a
very ancient snake-temple on the small isle of Nainativoe near Jaffna,
where live cobras were devoutly tended by reverent priests and
priestesses. Those slippery gods still reign in the cobra temple on
Iranative, the twin’s isle, a little farther south; but their shrine is
said to have been seriously damaged by the great cyclone in November
1884, which swept the whole coast with such appalling fury that on one
small island alone 2,500 palm-trees were uprooted, and about 800 head of
cattle and sheep were killed.
-----
Footnote 33:
_See_ Chapter XII., Tree and Serpent Worship.
-----
I heard of another snake temple at Badulla, where, so recently as 1850,
my informant had seen live serpents gliding about at large and
reverently worshipped. At another temple in the same town there is a
stone on which is sculptured a short thick serpent with a head at each
end, which stone is said to possess magic virtue in healing broken
bones.[34]
-----
Footnote 34:
For kindred serpent-lore in Scotland, see _In the Hebrides_ , by C. F.
Gordon Cumming, page 54. Published by Chatto & Windus.
-----
In Southern India persons suffering from leprosy or ophthalmia, or who
are childless, believe these woes to be the penalty for having killed a
cobra, either in this life or in some previous state of existence. So
they take earth from a serpent’s hole, and therewith rub the leprous
spot, or if possible they make pilgrimage to a serpent-shrine, and lying
down prostrate on the ground, wriggle round the shrine several times,
imitating the gliding motion of a serpent. They then present as their
offering a small image of Siva, with a five-headed snake forming his
canopy.
Doubtless in Ceylon also, a lingering belief in the supernatural power
of the serpent is by no means extinct; but the special reverence
accorded to the cobra, even by Singhalese Buddhists, is accounted for by
the legend of its having, by expanding its uplifted hood, sheltered
Buddha from the scorching sun when he lay down to rest. Hence the images
of Buddha are frequently canopied by a five or seven-headed hooded
snake.
Among the various traces of this strange worship, one which greatly
impressed me was a remarkable rock-sculpture at Mehintale (near
Anuradhapura), representing a great five-headed cobra rising from a dark
pool near the summit of the mountain. There was something strangely
weird in this most reverend creature with his expanded hood, guarding
the pool on which floated such pure white water-lilies.
Happily the Kandyans hold the cobra only in honour, under the belief
that he is beneficent to man. All other venomous snakes are not only
killed, but hung up by the neck, partly as a mark of indignity, but also
to avert the danger of any passer-by walking on them unawares, and
possibly being scratched by their poison-fangs. If a fire is available
they cremate the corpse to ensure its not reviving.
But in the maritime provinces the traces of the ancient Naga-worship are
not confined to the cobra, for Singhalese and Tamils alike are extremely
averse to killing any serpent. If possible, they coax them into covered
wicker-baskets, and float them down some stream, trusting that they may
land in safety elsewhere. One of our friends, who occupied a charming
house near the mouth of the Kelani River, mentioned, as a serious
drawback to the situation, the number of these frail arks containing
cobras, tic-polongas, and other deadly snakes, which the natives
reverentially launched at various points up the river, and which the
eddying currents too frequently landed among the great clumps of bamboo
and overhanging shrubs, whence they invaded the garden at pleasure.
The professional snake-charmers, who go about with a basket full of
these wriggling reptiles for exhibition, are all Tamils, but some of the
Singhalese are said to do a little domestic serpent-taming. A very
curious instance of this was recorded by Major Skinner in 1858, at which
time a certain rich man living near Negombo, and who liked to keep his
money in his own house, protected it by keeping tame cobras gliding
about as other folk keep watch-dogs. These discriminating creatures were
warranted only to molest would-be thieves, and never injured any of the
family. This was said to be by no means a unique case.
Though I cannot say that cobras seem to me attractive pets, I confess to
some sympathy with those natives who make friends with the useful
rat-snakes who take up their abode in the thatch, and do their best to
clear the house of vermin. These are occasionally so tame as to come
when summoned to share a family meal!
Saturday night found us on a swampy lake, bordered with thickets of
great tree-cacti of several sorts. Again the sun sank in fiery red, and
the weird arms of the cacti seemed black as ebony against that scarlet
glow, which rapidly gave place to the briefest twilight, during which
flocks of wild-fowl rose from their feeding-grounds on the quiet lake.
In this strange spot we spent a peaceful Sunday, and on the morrow a
short sail brought us to the town of Puttalam, eighty-five miles from
Colombo. It is a large village on the flat shores of the shallow gulf,
and the country inland is likewise flat, with low thorny jungle and
swampy rice-fields, sluggish streams and crocodile-haunted tanks. We
wandered for some hours on the shore and in the native bazaar, then
again set sail and travelled northward all night up the long sea-lake,
till we reached Kalpitiya, formerly called Calpentyn, where a dreary old
fort tells of the days when the Dutch ruled in the Isle.
Here as elsewhere in Ceylon, I was struck by the remarkable ugliness of
the mosque, so inferior to even the humblest of those in India. These
have no tall minarets, nor does the call of the muezzin summon the
faithful to pray; indeed, though the Moormen (_i.e._ the Mohammedans)
are a very important body in Ceylon, I have never seen them pause in
work at sunrise and sunset to observe the hours of prayer, which is so
marked a practice of their brethren in other lands. It is, however,
worthy of note, that during the period of wholesale nominal conversions
under the Portuguese and Dutch rule, there is no record of a single
Moorman having professed the creed of the conqueror.
Mohammedanism is, however, so unobtrusive here, that I noted with
special interest the lights which at nightfall gleamed on all the tombs
near the mosque, and which we were told are kindled every Tuesday and
Thursday night in memory of the dead.
Nature supplemented this poetic illumination, for the water was
brilliantly phosphorescent, and every ripple that broke upon the shore,
or in the wake of boats or canoes, flashed in lovely light like gleaming
steel. Of the many infinitesimal creatures to whom we were indebted for
this soft radiance, one outshone all its fellows—namely, a water-gnat,
which skimmed lightly over the surface like a marine meteor, leaving a
trail of fairy-like green light. This fascinating display was repeated
night after night, the most vivid of all being on the lake at Negombo,
where the phosphorescence took the form of little balls like white
electric light, and when my bath was filled in the dark cabin, I found I
was sitting in luminous water. That night the air was full of
electricity, forked and sheet lightning by turns illumined the dark
heaven, and I wondered whether the sea could be affected by the same
cause.
Yet another detail in the varied illumination was supplied by the
blazing torches of many fishermen, torches of plaited palm-leaf, by the
light of which they spear fish with a seven-pronged fork, or sometimes
capture them by dropping a basket over them, as, bewildered by the
glare, they lie still on the bed of the shallow lake. Close to us,
secured by a huge wooden anchor, lay a very picturesque vessel laden
with rice and salt. Her crew of Moormen spent most of the night
monotonously chanting verses of the Koran, which did not soothe our
slumbers.
On the morrow the Bishop held service, first in English and afterwards
in Tamil, in a solid but exceedingly ugly old Dutch church; the
English-speaking congregation consisting chiefly of the “Burgher”
descendants of those same Dutch colonists.
In the evening we landed on a small island clothed with dense jungle and
masses of exquisite blue blossoms of the clitoria. We watched with much
interest the movements of a sea-snake putting up its head to breathe;
but we were careful to keep at a safe distance, many sea-snakes being
venomous, though we were assured that all those living in fresh water
are harmless.
On the beach natives were filling sacks with a gelatinous seaweed which
answers the purpose of isinglass, while others were collecting off the
rocks and trees a pale-grey lichen like tattered ribbons, called
orchilla,[35] from which a rich blue dye is obtained. This lichen has
long been imported to England from the coast of Zanzibar and South
America, but it is only within the last quarter of a century that its
existence in Ceylon has been known: once recognised, however, it has
been so eagerly collected that, being a slow-growing plant, it has been
greatly reduced in quantity, and the annual export has fallen from 1,200
cwt. to about 450 cwt.
-----
Footnote 35:
_Roccella Montagnei._
-----
Here and there on the shore were piles of bleached corals, such as many
a British collector would prize; but which here were only waiting to be
burnt, and so converted into lime for chewing with betel and areca (that
most obnoxious habit which makes the whole population seem to be
constantly spitting blood!)
Through the very clear shallow water we could see many ugly fat slugs,
about six inches in length, and were told that these are the far-famed
_bêche de mer_ or trepang (_holothurians_), so greatly prized by the
Chinese that a colony of Chinamen have settled in the north of the Isle,
near Jaffna, on purpose to superintend the fishing for these slugs and
curing them. They are found all along the north-west coast, in water
from one foot to eight fathoms in depth, and are systematically captured
by native divers. They are partially cooked in iron pans over a slow
fire, and are then dried in the sun, and finally smoked over a fire of
greenwood.
In the hands of a Chinese cook they make excellent and most nutritious
gelatinous soup; but they require careful preparation and very slow
boiling, and they are not appreciated in Ceylon any more than another
delicately gelatinous dainty, dear to the _gourmet_ of China—namely,
edible birds’ nests, which are found in considerable quantities in the
darkest recesses of large gloomy caves in the Central and Southern
Provinces of Ceylon, both on the sea-coast and far inland, chiefly in
the latter, in the Morowa Korle, whence they are collected by Chinamen,
who have purchased from Government the exclusive right to this harvest.
The swift,[36] which builds these curious nests, is a small dark-grey
bird. The proportion of isinglass in its nest is considerably less than
that obtained in Java, Borneo, and elsewhere, so that although the birds
are numerous in Ceylon, the value of the nests as an article of commerce
is small, not exceeding 4,000 rupees a year.
-----
Footnote 36:
_Collocalia francica._
-----
Short as was our stay at Kalpitiya, many kind people—Tamil, Singhalese,
and Burgher—brought us miscellaneous gifts,—the dear little baby
mongoose aforesaid, both land and water turtles, shells, corals,
fragrant limes strung together to form necklaces of honour, and
strangely fascinating blossoms of the cocoa-nut and the areca palm,
which I can only describe as somewhat resembling bunches of the richest
waxy wheat, vastly magnified and carved in ivory. These are much used in
Singhalese decoration, though involving a prodigal sacrifice of the
precious nuts. Less wasteful, but also less graceful, were the plaited
palm-leaves wherewith our boat-home was further honourably adorned,
while there seemed no end to the ingenious oddities in the form of
miniature lanterns, parrots, birds of paradise, &c., all fashioned by
plaiting strips of palm-leaf.
Amongst the gifts which to me had all the charm of novelty was a basket
of Cashew-nuts,[37] an excellent kidney-shaped nut, which grows in the
most eccentric fashion outside of a yellow pear-shaped fruit, hanging on
to one end of it. The fruit itself is of an acrid astringent flavour;
but in some countries a strong spirit is distilled from the fermented
juice. Here, however, only the nuts are eaten. When raw, although nice,
they are very unwholesome, and the shell contains an acrid caustic oil,
which is almost poisonous, and stains one’s fingers, so they are always
roasted ere they are brought to table, and are excellent.
-----
Footnote 37:
_Anacardium occidentale._
-----
What with fruit, flowers, and living creatures, our limited space was
being rapidly filled up.
Next morning we started early on the return voyage to Puttalam, but lost
the morning breeze while halting at the Karative Salt-pans, so the crew
had a long day of hard work rowing in the sun. These salt-works, with
those at Puttalam, Chilaw, and other points, are the special industry of
this district; the salt being obtained from the great calm lagoon, whose
waters, owing to ceaseless evaporation in the burning sun, are very much
more briny than those of the ocean by which it is fed. The lagoon is
nearly thirty miles in length, with a breadth of from four to eight
miles.
As salt is deposited more rapidly by still water than by that which is
subject to tidal movement, a large part of the lake is enclosed by a mud
embankment, where the waters are held captive for a given period, after
which they are led by small ditches into shallow enclosures or pans,
where evaporation goes on still more rapidly, and the brine is left till
it becomes further condensed. This saturated solution is then again
transferred to another series of shallow enclosures, where it is left
till the salt is precipitated in snowy crystals, forming a glittering
crust of from two to three inches in thickness.
Upwards of 300,000 cwt. is sometimes thus obtained in this neighbourhood
in the course of a season, though at other times not one-third of this
amount may be collected. The quantity eventually stored depends greatly
on the sun, for the harvest is as precarious as that of kelp or of hay,
or whatever else depends on fickle weather; and the most promising
deposits vanish literally ‘like snow-drifts in thaw,’ should
unseasonable rains chance to fall.
This work (which in this district gives employment to upwards of a
thousand persons) is chiefly carried on by Moormen working under
Government supervision, for the salt trade, here as in Hindoostan, is a
Government monopoly, and one which forms a very important item in the
revenue, bringing in an annual average of upwards of 800,000 rupees
(_i.e._ about £80,000). The cost of manufacture being only about
threepence per cwt., and the price paid to the salt contractors only
about four rupees per ton, while retail dealers pay about forty-seven
rupees for the same weight, it follows that Government profits to the
extent of about 900 per cent.
Curiously enough, it is proved that whereas the annual consumption of
salt in India is less than 6 lb. per head, that in Ceylon is just
double, averaging 12 lb. per head. Whether this implies a peculiarly
strong craving for salt in these islanders, I know not; but its
importance is so fully recognised that, on various occasions, both the
Dutch and the Portuguese contrived to bring the kings of Kandy (_i.e._
of the mountain province in the heart of the Isle) to terms by
blockading every route by which salt could be carried from the sea-coast
to the mountains.
The price of the article of course varies enormously with the distance
to which it has to be carried. To fish-curers on the coast it is now
supplied almost gratis, with a view to the encouragement of this as an
island industry, instead of, as at present, importing large quantities
of salt fish from India. In the towns on the seaboard, to which salt is
conveyed by boat, the addition of freight is not very serious; but in
inland districts, which can only be supplied by toilsome bullock-cart
and coolie transport, the price is enormously increased; and in the hill
districts, the difficulty and cost of transport is so great, that the
salt which at the salt-pans sells for two cents per pound, may fetch
from one to two rupees in the mountains. It is hoped that ere long a
branch railway may greatly facilitate this traffic.
Besides these salt-works on the west coast, there are others at
Hambantotte in the Southern Province, and smaller ones on the north and
east sea-coast.
Sunday proved anything but a day of rest for the Bishop, who had come to
Puttalam in order to consecrate the new church, and who in the course of
the day held all possible services in English and in Tamil, beginning
with a baptism in the early morning and ending with a confirmation in
the evening. Amongst the candidates were several very smart Tamil
ladies, who wore short-sleeved jackets of bright coloured silk, and
muslin skirts which by no means veiled their bare brown feet and ankles.
According to oriental custom their large muslin veils duly concealed
their faces till the moment of confirmation, when the veils were thrown
back.
We were very glad to end the evening by a stroll on the sea-beach,
watching a lovely sunset; but we were assured that this would not at all
times be so pleasant, as in one monsoon shoals of jelly-fish are washed
ashore, and lie rotting in the sun, poisoning the whole atmosphere. A
pleasanter gift of the sea is the oyster crop, which here is said to be
excellent. We passed through the fish-market, and saw a great variety of
fishes—some odd, some beautiful; but all these we saw in larger numbers
a few days later at Chilaw, a very pretty village lying between the sea
and a river, only separated from one another by a very narrow belt of
sand. The coast there is infested by sharks, and monstrous saw-fish,
fully fifteen feet in length, were sometimes captured.
In that market we saw young sharks of three distinct species, saw-fish,
dog-fish, cuttle-fish, and many more; some of the most vivid scarlet
with sky-blue spots, some scarlet shaded with crimson, others mauve and
silvery grey, like the doves of the sea. There was every shade of
colour, in every conceivable combination and variety of marking, with
odd scales and fins. In the fish world, as elsewhere, the gaudiest are
by no means the best. Those most in favour for the table are the seir,
soles, mullet, whiting, mackerel, dories, and good little sardines.
But for gorgeous colouring we turn to the family of parrot-fishes, of
lustrous green, gold, purple, or crimson, varied by bands of the richest
scarlet, grey, and yellow, the whole being toned by cross stripes of
velvety black. Then there are great fire-fish, of vivid flame colour,
and Red Sea perch, of dazzling scarlet. One lovely fish, about eighteen
inches long,[38] is specially sacred to Buddha, being clothed in his
colours of lovely gold barred with rich brown sienna. The red pahaya is
also brilliant red tinted with gold. It grows to about two feet in
length, and is excellent to eat. The basket parrot has a green back,
fading into yellow, with yellow fins; but the whole is covered with
straight lines and cross patches, giving the exact effect of
wicker-work.
-----
Footnote 38:
_The Dewe_ (or holy) _Boraloowah_.
-----
A very handsome parrot-fish,[39] about two feet in length, has a
dove-grey body with black spots, fins brown, with rows of dainty little
black spots; the ventral fin is edged with delicate green, while that on
the back is edged with scarlet. The tail is scarlet with a white edge;
the eye is bright gold, set in a golden head with blue-green stripes.
Altogether one almost fancies that a ray of prismatic light must rest
upon it. Then there is the worm parrot,[40] so called from a fancied
resemblance to the worm which bores holes in palm-trees. Its body is of
a dark claret colour, crossed by five bars of delicate yellow, while
each separate scale is edged with green. Bands of yellow, edged with
pale blue, meander over the head.
-----
Footnote 39:
_Ratoo-Girawah._
Footnote 40:
_Panoo-Girawah._
-----
When one hears of a ‘squirrel parrot,’[41] one naturally expects to see
something grey or brown; but this is by no means the case. It is a
gorgeous fish, about eighteen inches in length, of beautifully shaded
green, with longitudinal stripes and dots of crimson: its head is
likewise green and crimson, and its tail-fin striped scarlet and gold on
a green ground. The pumpkin parrot,[42] which averages three feet in
length, has a blue-green back and bright green tail, grey under side,
and yellow head, with sienna fins; but it is covered all over with a
honeycomb pattern of bright yellow.
-----
Footnote 41:
_Lena-Girawah._
Footnote 42:
_Laboo-Gira-wah._
-----
A very lady-like-looking member of this family is the Balistes, robed in
delicate silver; its eyes are bright golden, with large black pupil. The
green tulip parrot[43] is also a dainty little fish, only about six
inches in length, apparelled in lovely shaded green; while the cocoa-nut
sparrow (_Pol-Kitchyah_) is a small creature, with head, tail, fins, and
crossbars of yellow on a claret-coloured ground.
-----
Footnote 43:
_Mil-Talapat-Girawah._
-----
Perhaps the most marvellously variegated of all these creatures is the
flower parrot,[44] which chiefly frequents the coral-reefs off the south
of the Isle. Its lustrous robe has horizontal bands of silver, blue,
crimson, bright green, and dark green, crossed by black bands and
patches of yellow. The fins are straw-coloured, the head has crimson and
bright green stripes radiating from the eye.
-----
Footnote 44:
_Mal-Girawah._
-----
Even the excellent herring of Ceylon[45] displays an oriental love of
colour, for its silvery body is striped with red, and some of its fins
are yellow, while the others are dark steel-grey. But the triumph of
fish millinery is reserved for a lovely, very rare perch, dressed in
silvery grey, with tail, fins, and crown of the head of vivid gold, just
tipped with velvety black.
-----
Footnote 45:
_Pookoorowah._
-----
Another radiant butterfly of the deep is the Malkotah, which is
apparelled in green satin striped with scarlet, its fins and tail being
also scarlet.
But for oddity nothing can excel the various members of the Chetodon
family or ‘Moon-fish,’ as they are called by the Singhalese, because of
their globular form. One is just a ball of bright golden yellow, with
glittering yellow eyes and enormous brown fins. Another has a yellow
body with curved lines of purple; black-and-gold tail and fins, and a
black band on the face. One little gem about four inches in diameter is
silvery grey, shaded with bands of darker grey, and silvery eyes.
Another equally tiny is of bright gold, with a blue back and gold dorsal
fin.
There are also crabs innumerable, including some which are brilliantly
tinted. They are of all shapes and sizes, from the largest edible crabs
down to little tiny hermits, which scamper about the shore in thousands,
hiding during the heat of the day under the cool shade of the marine
convolvulus, each tenanting some empty shell which it has selected from
the multitude which strew the beach. But I must not linger too long over
the wonders of the fish-market and of the sea-shore, which so specially
attracted us at Chilaw, from being so close to and parallel with the
banks of the river where our boat lay anchored.
Here we were taken to see some fine wood-carving in the Roman Catholic
Church, where we were told the Sunday congregation averaged 900 persons;
for here, as elsewhere in Ceylon, a large proportion of the fishers and
many of the coast population are Roman Catholics—descendants of the
Portuguese converts. Chapels are numerous, all built by the people
themselves, and devout congregations attend Mass daily at 4 A.M. The
fishers give their priest a tithe of their daily catch, and in stormy
weather will never put to sea till he has sprinkled the boats with holy
water. Not one boat puts to sea on Sunday—a deference for the day in
honourable contrast with the enormous amount of Sunday labour exacted at
the ports where foreign vessels call, and where the toil of shipping and
unshipping cargo goes on without intermission.
Having been converted by the Portuguese, the Roman Catholics in Ceylon
have ever continued subject to the jurisdiction of the Archbishop of
Goa, whence also their priests have been chiefly supplied. The French
and Italian priests and vicars-apostolic sent from Rome have found less
favour with the people, who have shown themselves nowise disposed to
accept the dogma of Papal infallibility, more especially since the Pope
decreed that in September 1884 the jurisdiction of the Archbishop of Goa
should cease, and the Goanese clergy should no longer be competent to
dispense the holy sacraments, unless they would subject themselves to
the Pope’s representative—a change of allegiance to which they very
seriously objected.
The strife born of those disputes has been most unedifying. Thus we were
shown an island near Negombo (Dhuwa Isle) to which some notion of
special sanctity attaches, and there the different orders have had
serious conflicts as to which should say Mass first. The year before our
visit, thousands had assembled, quite prepared for a free fight in
support of their respective spiritual leaders; but the British
authorities having got wind of their intentions, a body of police took
possession of the chapel, and ordered which should take precedence.
Afterwards the others held their service, although greatly incensed at
the preference shown to their rivals.
I heard much of the miracle-plays performed on Good Friday in a building
adjoining the chapel. The room was chemically darkened, leaving only
sufficient light to distinguish three great crucifixes. All other
figures were real. The Blessed Virgin was personated by a Singhalese
woman. Afterwards an image representing the dead Christ was carried on a
bier through the streets of the city, which were lined with thousands of
kneeling women, all dressed in black, and wailing aloud. At Chilaw, on
Palm Sunday, processions of large images of our Lord riding the ass, and
of the twelve Apostles, are paraded on wheels, just as the Hindoos
parade their gods. At Jaffna the processions might well be mistaken for
that of Jaggernaut’s cars, and no heathen idol could be more repulsive
than are the images of many of the Christian saints as here displayed.
About half-way between Puttalam and Kalpitiya lies a village named
Talavillu, which has attained to great notoriety through certain
miraculous cures imputed to St. Anna, to whom a sick man vowed to give
all his goods in case he should recover from dire illness. He did
recover, and his little property proved a nest-egg for the accumulation
of a great sum of similar offerings. So a large church speedily replaced
the original humble shrine, and now crowds of pilgrims of all faiths, to
the number of 20,000, assemble there for a great annual fair in the
month of July. Not only Roman Catholics, but Hindoos and Buddhists, pay
their vows at the shrine of St. Anna, who receives gifts of all sorts.
We were told that a waiter in one of the hotels had just presented her
with a magnificent green satin dress and golden crown. The pilgrims
travel from afar in crowded boats and heavily laden carts, and are a
cause of considerable anxiety to the authorities, from the fear of their
causing or spreading disease.[46]
-----
Footnote 46:
Letters from Puttalam, on July 19, 1889, tell of the town being
invaded by the usual groups of pilgrims, mendicants, devotees,
soothsayers, musicians, &c.—men and women of all classes, and of all
the different races which people the Isle, crowding to worship at the
shrine of St. Anna, irrespective of their various creeds, greatly to
the advantage of the owners of ferry-boats plying between Puttalam and
Ettalai.
But by July 26 cholera had broken out, and three deaths having
occurred, the festival was stopped by order of the Government
officers, pilgrims being forbidden to enter Puttalam, and recommended
to return to their homes. A hospital was established at St. Anna’s,
and shelters for wayfarers stricken with illness were organised along
the route, in charge of properly qualified attendants. A medical
officer was also stationed at Kalpitiya, whose duty it was to see the
various bands of pilgrims safely started on their homeward way.
-----
Ceylon has no lack of modern miracles, so called, nor of faithful
believers therein. Thus, had we been curious in such matters, we might
have visited a church five miles from Negombo, in which lay a girl whose
life was said to be one long trance, but who on every Friday imagined
that she endured all the agonies of the crucifixion, and who certainly
did seem to be enduring indescribable pain, though heretics failed to
believe that, as was alleged, drops of blood truly trickled from her
hands and feet. At first the good old village priest declared himself
unable to express any opinion on this strange case; but, after a visit
from his bishop, it was declared to be a true miracle, whereupon
thousands flocked to see her, and enriched the chapel by their
offerings.
[Illustration: OUR HOUSE-BOAT ON THE LUNA-OYA.]
Leaving pleasant Chilaw, we rowed back, in glorious moonlight (oh, so
beautiful as seen from beneath the dark over-arching fronds of tall
cocoa-palms!) to the lovely Luna-Oya, and there anchored, that we might
get full enjoyment of the early morning light on its beautiful foliage
and tangled creepers, and on the wealth of reeds, acanthus, and
innumerable water-plants on its sedgy shores. The men camped on shore,
rigging up the brown sail as their tent, and kindling a bright fire
beneath the trees.
Again, with the dawn, we rejoiced in all the voices of the wakening
jungle life—monkeys and jolly old wanderoos, parrots, kingfishers,
barbets, jungle-fowl,—notes of all sorts, harsh and liquid, the most
attractive being those of a cheery black and white bird, which Europeans
call a robin, because it has something of the friendly demeanour to
human beings which endears our own little redbreast.
All day long we sailed or rowed, and at sunset neared the village of
Maravilla; but catching sight of a crowd of natives preparing
decorations in honour of the Bishop’s visit, we pretended not to have
arrived, and, turning back, anchored for the night near a grand old
banyan tree, amid whose dark foliage flashed fire-flies innumerable.
Immediately after early coffee, M. de Soyza, the fine old village
_moodliar_, came to fetch us, and showed us over his splendidly kept
cocoa-palm estate, watered by the aid of a steam-engine, an outlay well
repaid by the luxuriant growth of the trees, young ones about eleven
years of age having fronds of from twenty to twenty-five feet in length.
On an average, each full grown tree yields twenty nuts six times a year.
These fine fronds, torn into shreds and plaited, figured largely in the
decorations at the landing-place, and at church, mingling with the large
fan-shaped leaves and rich glossy-brown fruit of the palmyra-palm, the
scarlet screw-pine, and curiously woven pendent birds’ nests, the
general effect being very light and pretty.
The congregation here being all Singhalese, the Bishop of course
conducted the service in that language (to me as incomprehensible as
Tamil). The interest centred in the baptism of two adults, converts from
Buddhism.
In the afternoon we resumed our voyage, sailing down stream between
beautifully wooded banks, where we saw several great ungainly
kabragoyas, and numerous small lovely lizards. We attempted to capture a
bright green tree-snake, about four feet long, which was twined round a
branch, with a crested bird dead in its mouth; but at our approach it
dropped into the water and swam to shore. Though not venomous, it is
dreaded by the islanders, because of its habit of darting at the eyes of
man or bird.
A sunset, in which every gorgeous colour blended, was succeeded by an
after-glow still more exquisite; and ere its brilliancy had faded the
moon shone gloriously, its light blending with that of the
sheet-lightning, while the glaring torches of men fishing cast long
fiery reflections, and showers of sparks, as the fishers passed in and
out beneath the overhanging branches of the dark trees.
We anchored for the night where the placid waters of the Ging-Oya mingle
with those of the Maha-Oya, and together flow silently into the ocean,
the point of union being marked only by the upheaval every other minute
of the majestic green wave which curls and breaks in dazzling surf and
with thunderous roar—a vision of lovely peace, blended with resistless
force.
Sailing in the early dawn, we passed from the calm river to a still
calmer canal, and thence into the Lake Negombo, where we again anchored
beside the picturesque native town and fishing village, with all its
variety of boats, most fascinating to a sketcher. A hearty welcome
awaited us in a pleasant bungalow between the sea and the lake, and
close to an old fort—commenced by the Portuguese, and completed by the
Dutch—close also to a magnificent banyan tree with innumerable stems,
one of the finest I have ever seen. Beneath its shadow sat groups of
Singhalese men and women, waiting their summons on business to the
court-house, within the old fort.
Truth to tell, banyan trees, beautiful as they always must be, do not
very commonly attain to the gigantic size of our Indian visions. We have
all been from our cradles imbued with descriptions of the sacred fig,
which spreads her arms,
‘Branching so broad and long, that in the ground
The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow
About the mother-tree, a pillared shade
High over-arched, and echoing walks between’—
that mystic grove where Milton tells how the parents of our race found
refuge; and so many travellers have brought home measurements of the
amazing extent of ground covered by the multitudinous offspring of one
parent stem, that stay-at-home folk suppose such trees are to be met
with at every turn.
I am sorry to say that this is so far from being the case, that in the
course of very extensive travels I can only recollect one tree in
Nananu, a small island off Viti Levu (_i.e._ Great Fiji[47]), and two or
three in India, to compare with this one at Negombo. Sad to say, in the
districts of Ceylon where the forest has been ruthlessly cleared to make
way for coffee, I was shown the sites whence trees, which, must have
been well nigh as grand as this, had been felled and burnt, and in place
of their stately beauty and delicious shade, I saw only dull little
bushes beneath a scorching sun.
-----
Footnote 47:
‘At Home in Fiji.’ By C. F. Gordon Cumming. Published by William
Blackwood & Sons.
-----
Of existing trees, perhaps the most accessible specimen for the
easy-going tourist is that at Dumdum, near Calcutta; but for majestic
grandeur probably none can compare with the famous banyan on an island
in the Nerbudda river about ten miles from Baroda, which numbers three
hundred and fifty great stems and three thousand lesser ones. Apparently
a good many more have been washed away by floods, but even now this vast
colony covers an area two thousand feet in circumference, while the
overhanging branches extend over a far wider space, and are continually
putting forth fresh perpendicular shoots and masses of brown fibre,
ready still further to enlarge their border. Of course the Hindoos (who
reverence all large trees as the dwelling-place of a god, and to whom
every leaf of the sacred fig is precious) assemble here in vast
concourse, and at certain great festivals as many as seven thousand
human beings sometimes find shelter under its broad shadow, besides
troops of monkeys and flocks of great bats, parrots, pigeons, and
pea-fowl, which find a safe home in its sacred branches.
Such trees as these are, however, quite exceptional. Even in India an
average family group rarely exceeds twenty or thirty main trunks, and
more slender pillars at intervals; with a beard-like network of pendent
offshoots stretching earthward to meet the great masses of bare roots,
all twisted and interlaced, which seem like some mighty race of serpents
writhing in endless contortions.
It is necessary to remember that there are three distinct families of
the great clan fig-tree. These huge banyans are the FICUS INDICA (and it
was beneath the shadow of one of these that the Hindoo god Vishnu was
born). The still more sacred _Peepul_ (as it is called in India), or
_Bo_ (which is the contraction for _Bodinwahanse_, as the tree is called
in Ceylon), is the FICUS RELIGIOSA, and it was beneath its cool shade
that Gautama sat absorbed in meditation till he attained his
Buddha-hood, or state of perfect wisdom; consequently, wherever Buddhism
has reigned, even where, as throughout India, it has been superseded by
Brahmanism, this tree is held in deepest reverence.[48]
-----
Footnote 48:
For singularly practical proof of this, in business matters, see ‘In
the Himalayas and on Indian Plains,’ p. 80. By C. F. Gordon Cumming.
Published by Chatto & Windus.
-----
The third great member of clan fig is the FICUS ELASTICA, or indiarubber
tree, of which it would be difficult to find nobler representatives than
the magnificent avenue outside the Botanical Gardens at Peradeniya, near
Kandy. Its large leathery leaf is familiar to most folk as a hothouse
shrub, and it bears a small bright crimson seed. The sacred Bo tree
bears a small scarlet fruit like a tiny fig, and its curiously thin
heart-shaped leaf ends in a long point, which serves as a conduit for
trickling rain-drops, which, after a shower, hang glittering in the
sunlight. Like those of the aspen, the leaves of this ‘tree of wisdom’
are for ever quivering with every breath of air.
Long before sunrise we found our way to the palm-fringed shore, to enjoy
the rare luxury of a delicious bath in the warm sea—rare, because there
are so few places on these shores where we could feel safe from sharks;
but here the water lies so clear above the firm yellow sand, that sharks
seem afraid to approach, so our enjoyment of the perfect morning was
unalloyed.
But the subsequent delight of lying idly at rest in the verandah during
the noonday heat was tempered by alarming stories of the terrible
results of such indulgence should the breeze happen to be blowing from
the north-west, in which case it is known as the ‘Alongshore’ or ‘Land’
wind, which, blowing over feverish Indian jungles, arrives here hot and
dry, and shrivels up whatever it touches. Half an hour of this delicious
but treacherous breeze blowing on a sleeper, or even on a person lying
at rest, often proves worse than a sunstroke, and is quite as permanent
in its effects. Animals suffer from it as severely as human beings,
horses and deer being often crippled with rheumatism, or even blind from
this cause. Its effect on vegetation is also most hurtful, and even
furniture shrinks and splits under its baneful influence.
On Sunday the Bishop held morning and evening service in the old Dutch
fort, the congregation consisting chiefly of the Burgher descendants of
those early colonists, with a sprinkling of more picturesque Singhalese
with their combs and _comboys_. The services were hearty, the singing
good, and the great fronds of the tall palms quivered in the cool light
breeze as we looked down on the bright blue sea—a peaceful, pleasant
scene.
The old fort suggests strange visions of trading under difficulties,
inasmuch as the main purpose of its existence, and of its strong
garrison, was for the protection of the cinnamon trade, and to supply
military escorts for each of the large bodies of the native cinnamon
peelers, who were sent into the jungles all around Negombo to collect
the spice so dear to our grandmothers, and so largely used in the
manufacture of chocolate and church incense. Little did those gentle
dames and peaceful worshippers dream of the risks run by the very poor,
almost naked, Singhalese cinnamon collectors—of attack not only by
divers wild beasts, but also by warlike Kandyan troops, and of the toil
and danger incurred in their service.
About the year 1770, a large extent of the jungle near Negombo was taken
into cultivation for the growth of cinnamon only, when, as I have
already mentioned, such stringent laws were enacted to secure the
Government monopoly of the precious spice, that flogging was the penalty
for any injury to a shrub, while death awaited the wretch who destroyed
a tree in the Government plantations, or even helped himself to a little
bark.
One of the objects of interest near Negombo is a cocoanut-palm with
several heads, a growth so rare that we were taken up the lake to see
it; but found it as hideous as are most other deformities. The stem
rises singly to the usual height; but where the crown of fruit and
fronds ought to be, it divides into nine white stems, each bearing a
misshapen bunch of leaves only. I heard of another deformed palm near
Belligama in the neighbourhood of Galle. That one has a triple crown. I
have also seen a hydra-headed palm on one of the Fijian Isles, where it
was equally prized by the natives on account of its singularity.
I found a more attractive object for pencil and brush in the majestic
banyan tree, which claimed all my available time at charming Negombo, to
which we bade adieu with infinite regret, my companions returning to
Colombo by land, while I preferred returning by water, and sailing down
the lake in clear moonlight. It was an evening much to be remembered, on
account of the wonderful phosphorescence of the water, the brilliancy of
forked and sheet lightning, and the utter stillness, broken only by the
deep growling of distant thunder. There was also something of novelty in
finding myself alone with a crew of Singhalese, of whose language I
scarcely knew six words!
We anchored at Tarracoolie, a very pretty spot with rich foliage and
deep reflections, of which I secured an early sketch, then once more
sailed by lovely river and canal; and ere the sun set, the Castle Jermyn
was safe back at her old mooring, and all her passengers (bipeds and
quadrupeds) were in comfortable quarters at St. Thomas’s College, under
the Bishop’s hospitable roof.