NUWARA ELIYA
Spring foliage—Ironwood—Potato-tree—Rhododendron—The patenas—Horton
Plains—Lemon-grass—Lake Gregory—Gardens—Church—An exhilarating
climate—Various expeditions—Migration of butterflies—Descriptive
names— Nillo—Bees—Hak-galla Gardens.
Starting in the cool of early morning (preceded by sundry coolies
burdened with my baggage) I walked up-hill to a point where the
Governor’s carriage awaited me, the drive thence to ‘The City of the
Open Plain’ being simply exquisite, the deep wooded gorge of a river
something like our own beautiful Findhorn,[59] with dark peat-coloured
water, and with foliage tints as vivid as ours in October, but having
this advantage, namely, that the brilliant tints—primrose, gold,
scarlet, deep crimson, claret, and tender green—are not, as in Britain
or America, precursors of death and of leafless winter and frozen
forests, but stages in progressive life, where the young scarlet,
yellow, and orange coloured foliage of the ironwood and of some other
trees turns crimson and purple, bronze and maroon, ere it settles down
to the sober greens of maturity.
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Footnote 59:
In Morayshire; the loveliest river in Scotland, whose dark brown
waters flow through deep gorges clothed with birch and fir trees,
bird-cherry, wild-cherry, and alder, which in autumn turn scarlet and
crimson, green and gold.
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Such is the inverted order of things in this land of ceaseless summer,
where autumn, winter, and spring are terms of no meaning, because Nature
carries on her ceaseless work all the year round, and at the same moment
that the forest trees cast their withered leaves, the young fresh
foliage is continually bursting into new beauty.
Near Pussilawa we had halted fairly dumb with surprise at the
gorgeousness of a whole ironwood-tree,[60] all vividly scarlet, save
that its stem and boughs were entirely clothed by a brilliant
glossy-green creeper. This pyramid of fire stood close to a large
‘potato-tree,’[61] so called because its blossoms are exactly like those
of our common potato, only thrice their size; and when you see a tree
the size of an average oak literally covered with these splendid purple
and white blossoms it is something to remember, especially when you
chance, as we did, to see beneath it a group of gaily dressed and
bejewelled Tamil women and children.
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Footnote 60:
_Messua ferrea._
Footnote 61:
It belongs to the family of the _Solanaceæ_.
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But on the present occasion the ‘new sensation’ lay in the fact that I
had attained the region of bright crimson rhododendron-trees, growing
side by side with splendid daturas and real tree-ferns, the latter
especially luxuriating in every damp ravine. This was quite the end of
March, and the rhododendrons were only just beginning to show colour.
They did not attain their full glory till the beginning of May, by which
time a group of such trees, or a solitary old tree, perhaps forty feet
in height, cutting clear against a blue sky, was truly a thing of
beauty. I am bound to say, however, that I have seen many
rowan-trees[62] in Scotland quite as richly laden with bunches of pure
scarlet, and gleaming in the sunlight against as cloudless and blue a
sky.
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Footnote 62:
Mountain-ash.
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The latter is by no means a marked characteristic of these mountain
regions, where I was much struck by the prevalence of cool grey skies,
frequent rain, and such misty effects as we are wont to associate with
our Scotch Highlands. I am told that in October and November the sun
scarcely shines for half an hour at a time, and that the cheerless fogs
are really depressing. Nevertheless, the clear intervening days are the
loveliest of the year. ‘The season,’ however, is from January to the end
of May, during which time visitors abound.
As regards the date of the rhododendron flowering, I may mention that
when, in the following year, I ascended Adam’s Peak at the end of
January, I found the trees on the very summit in full beauty. They
continue in blossom till about July. There are two distinct varieties.
That which grows on the highest elevations, and is said to be peculiar
to Ceylon, is a tall tree with small narrow leaves, silvery on the under
side. It sometimes grows to a height of about sixty feet, and the
twisted gnarled stem is often about eighteen inches in diameter. The
commoner sort has broader leaves, which are brown on the under side.
Here and there among the general scarlet, one sees a pink variety, and
even a few rare trees whose pink blossoms are mottled with white.
The black peaty soil of Nuwara Eliya suits the rhododendron to
perfection, and it grows freely along the banks of the main stream,
which meanders through the plain, as also beside the numerous tributary
rivulets.
I can never forget my first views of this Elysium when, after toiling
steadily up-hill to the end of the eleventh mile from Rambodda, we
reached the dividing summit 6,600 feet above the sea, which, in the
exquisite morning light, lay clear on the horizon beyond a wide expanse
of lowland, with the lovely river-gorge for a foreground. This was
looking back. Then looking forward through a framework of most luxuriant
and fragrant daturas, graceful tree-ferns, and many-coloured foliage, I
beheld the charming valley still two miles distant, and about 400 feet
lower than the summit where the carriage halted to let horses breathe
and human beings admire.
Great must have been the surprise of the first Europeans who, when in
pursuit of big game through the dense mountain forest, accidentally
discovered this cool, delightful grassy plain, three miles in length and
about eight in circumference, lying in the very heart of the mountains,
about 6,200 feet above the sea. Singhalese and Hindoo legends account
for its existence by saying that the monkey-god Hanuman set fire to this
forest when he came to rescue the beautiful queen Sita, wife of Rama,
from captivity in the hands of Ravana the demon-king. Hence the
beautiful and romantic stream flowing from the plain towards Hak-galla
bears the name of Sita Ella.
This, however, is but one of a series of high table-lands (growing only
coarse lemon-scented grass, rhododendrons, and a few small shrubs) which
lie at different elevations in the midst of this sea of mountain-ranges,
like level terraces with precipitous edges, so that they have been
likened to a succession of vast ledges. The highest of these, about
twenty miles from Nuwara Eliya, and about a thousand feet higher, is
known to Europeans as the Horton Plains (so called in honour of Sir
Robert Horton), but to the Singhalese as the Maha Eliya or Great Plains,
or, more literally, ‘The great cleared place.’
They form a level about five miles long by two broad, surrounded by low
wooded slopes rising to 7,800 feet above the sea-level. The plains are
clothed with rank bright green grass, buttercups, ground orchids, and
ferns innumerable. In place of palms we have tall tree-ferns thirty feet
in height, their slender black shining stems supporting a crown of
fronds twelve feet in length.
[Illustration: THE PLAINS OF NUWARA ELIYA.]
Black peat soil favours the luxuriant growth of rhododendrons, and tufts
of dwarf bamboo which border clear streamlets, one of which forms the
Bilhool-Oya, which flows seaward through Saffragam. Here also rises the
Maha-velli-ganga, which hence descends to the low country by a
succession of rapids through narrow rocky gorges, each leading to
another plain—in all, upwards of a dozen. At each of these the river is
transformed from a wild headlong torrent to a broad calm stream, flowing
peacefully through grassy levels—favourite pastures for wild deer.
It is a beautiful day’s ride from Nuwara Eliya through the forest and
across the patenas, and then up Totapella to the pass, whence you look
back on Nuwara Eliya far below, and then ride on a couple of miles
through forests all bearded with golden moss, till you reach the Horton
Plains ready for a sound sleep in a pleasant rest-house.
Here there is ample space for a very much larger sanatorium than Nuwara
Eliya, upon far richer soil, and amid incomparably grander scenery, for
all along the southern side it ends in precipitous cliffs, forming a
perpendicular rock rampart of about 5,000 feet down to the primeval and
still beast-haunted forest below. The plains comprise an extent of about
twenty square miles of level or gently undulating land, with rich soil
capable of growing anything. There is every reason to suppose that ere
very long this must become the true mountain capital, and be to Ceylon
what Ootacamund is to Madras—the Elysium to which wives and children of
busy men may be sent for as complete a change of climate as is generally
necessary. And by the creation of a new railway to Uva, they will be
carried in luxurious railway carriages direct from Colombo to a station
within three miles of these grand plains.
Even at Nuwara Eliya, which is a thousand feet lower, the pale children
who have lost all their roses in the heat of the low country, quickly
regain them and look the very picture of health; and thus they may
safely be kept in Ceylon till about twelve years of age, when a return
to British climate is generally recommended.
But, in truth, the doctors of the future will be able to select the
exact elevation they deem desirable, for between the Horton Plains and
Nuwara Eliya lie the Totapella Plains, about 700 feet lower than the
former, while nine miles to the north of Nuwara Eliya, at a somewhat
lower level, lie the grassy Elephant Plains; six miles to the west,
still somewhat lower, commences the grand district of Dimboola, once
forest-clad, but now all under cultivation.
Nine miles to the east of Nuwara Eliya, but about 1,500 feet below it,
stretches the vast, thickly peopled district of Uva, which has been
compared to the Sussex Downs on a gigantic scale, comprising as it does
an extent of about six hundred square miles of undulating open
grass-land, varied only by the rice-crops raised by the miserably poor
and hitherto utterly neglected inhabitants of about eight hundred
villages scattered over innumerable small valleys. Happily the grass
which clothes this grand district is really rich short grass, easy to
walk over—a very different matter from the enormously tall rank mana and
lemon grasses which grow in the rich soil below forest-ranges. These far
overtop the toiling human being who has to struggle through them,
shutting out all breeze, while concentrating the sun on his luckless
head; moreover, his hands are sure to be painfully cut by the sharp
serrated edges of the grass.
These grand Uva downs are, as it were, a vast mountain terrace, built up
above the lowlands, from which they are divided by a mighty boundary of
precipitous crags.
Besides these there are several other grassy plateaux, such as the Elk
Plains, the Maturata, the Moonstone Plains, the Kondapallé Plain, the
Agra, and the Bopatalawa Plains, or Patenas as they are commonly called.
They are of all sizes, and lie like islands in the midst of the
surrounding sea of forest. The lemon and mana grass with which they are
clothed, though affording fair pasture when young, rapidly grow up into
coarse tufts seven or eight feet in height, most unpalatable to cattle,
so the natives periodically set fire to it, when there ensues a glorious
blaze. The sweeping flames rush on with a subdued roar and crackling,
and showers of sparks, but so lightly as not to scorch the roots, which
are fed by the charcoal thus produced, and only need a few days’ rain in
order, phœnix-like, to renew their life, and then the blackened hills
and plains are clothed with tenderest green, affording fair pasture till
the grass again grows too coarse. While short it is gemmed with many a
dainty flower. In the month of May true blue-bells of Scotland
(campanula—_not_ blue hyacinth) abound, as also, on swampy ground, true
golden buttercups. In some places the patenas are yellow with a ground
orchid, suggesting a field of daffodils with a faint fragrance like
primroses. In some places sweet violets grow freely.
In the late autumn, however, after the summer’s drought, the patenas are
no longer beautiful, but all clothed with parched yellow grasses, with
here and there broad blackened tracts marking where the shepherds have
fired the grass for next year’s growth.
The natives prepare from the leaves of the lemon-grass a medicinal
infusion with a bitter flavour and strong aromatic smell. From it also
is manufactured the citronella oil of commerce, which, amongst other
useful properties, is effectual in checking the growth of the fungus—a
sort of luxuriant mildew—which works such ruin in museums and
collections of all sorts.
The grass from which the oil has been distilled is valuable as fuel
where firewood has become scarce owing to the wholesale destruction of
timber. Now, however, it has been discovered that this refuse from the
oil-factories can be turned to profitable account in the preparation of
strawboard, for which there is an enormous demand for the manufacture of
boxes in which to pack tea for the rapidly increasing export. Another
article hitherto deemed useless is the mana-grass which grows so
luxuriantly on the hills, from which it has recently been discovered
that, with the addition of one-fourth of coarse waste-paper or old
sacking, a strong flexible millboard can be prepared, much tougher and
less brittle than that which is made from wheat-straw. So it appears
that these long-despised grasses are likely to take a prominent place
among fibre-yielding plants, and to start a new local industry.
These plains do not always exactly correspond to our interpretation of
the word. For instance, the Totapella Plains are a most singular
geological formation, the so-called plains being closely covered by
several hundred grassy conical hills, each about a hundred feet high,
like tumuli of the giants. A deep river winds circuitously amid these,
and they are surrounded by forest-covered hills, a group of which occupy
the centre of these very unlevel plains.
The soil of these patenas is generally dark and peaty, and the early
settlers hoped that it would prove easy of cultivation; but they found
that it was so unfertile that literally nothing would grow without such
heavy manure as was too costly to be profitable, and that it really paid
better to fell and clear forest land, even with the toil of rooting out
every stump, one of which sometimes cost the work of two men for three
days!
As we look now on the splendid crops of English vegetables—potatoes,
peas, cabbages, carrots, turnips, and beans, the good strawberries and
other fruits, and the luxuriant fields of sweet white clover, dear to
the busy bees, it is hard to realise all the difficulties and
disappointments which Sir Samuel Baker had to face and conquer, when in
1848 he and his brother resolved to establish a real English farm and
village on the estate which still bears their name on the Moon Plains at
the eastern end of Nuwara Eliya.
They took out a good English bailiff, a blacksmith, and about a dozen
emigrants, with all manner of farm implements, machinery, grain, and
animals, not forgetting a pack of fox-hounds. When with infinite trouble
the soil had been prepared, the first crop of oats was devoured by elk
and wild hogs, who here held grand midnight festivals. In like manner,
the first crop of potatoes was entirely consumed by grubs. The animals
almost died of starvation; twenty-six fine bullocks did die of some
disease, and five fine Australian horses died the first year. However,
patience and perseverance were rewarded in due time, and the scheme,
which was at first deemed so foolish, ere long proved eminently
successful, the naturally unfertile land being found capable, in
response to very generous manuring, of yielding four crops of potatoes
in the year!
Although the settlement is entirely a creation of the last sixty years,
and there is no trace of any ancient building, there is some reason to
believe that, like many other places in the Island, once populous and
then totally abandoned, this verdant plain must at one time have been of
some importance to the Kandyan kings. The steep descent towards Badulla
is still known as ‘The Path of a Thousand Princes,’ and leads past ‘The
Valley of Rubies,’ a name which suggests another hidden source of fame
and profit in the days when gem-hunting was a royal monopoly. All these
plains are studded with deep pits, telling of ancient as well as modern
gem-diggers.
But the chief importance of the high levels in ancient days was their
command of the water-supply for irrigation, which was led in every
direction by most carefully constructed watercourses, aqueducts, and
canals. Traces of these remain in many a spot now visited only by some
chance sportsman, and hillsides once carefully terraced and cultivated
have now relapsed to their original wild state.
Here it was that Donna Catherina, the child-queen of Kandy (so
proclaimed by the Portuguese), found refuge when in later years she was
driven from her stormy throne; but the place does not seem to have been
visited by any European till Dr. Davy came here in 1819, after which it
was forgotten, till rediscovered in 1826, when the Governor, General
Barnes, at once resolved to establish a sanatorium here, with barracks
and officers’ quarters, and to build a residence for himself, all of
good solid stone-work. Barnes Hall is to this day one of the best houses
in the little colony of from thirty to forty neat little villas and
cottages—not bungalows as in the low country, but stone-built houses
with chimneys, whose ‘reek’ is a very characteristic feature in the
landscape. Each stands in its own pleasant garden, and these lie
scattered on a succession of grassy knolls, all along the base of the
wooded mountains in which the plain lies embosomed.
Right above it tower Kiklomanee and Pidaru-tala-galla; the latter,
though not remarkable for beauty of form, is the highest mountain in
Ceylon—height, 8,295 feet—and is happily still clothed with forest to
the very summit—forest, moreover, which is all hardwood, for we are now
quite beyond the region of palms, and there was not a pine or fir tree
in the island till they were recently acclimatised in nursery gardens.
Here rises the Nanu-Oya, which forms one of the affluents of the
Maha-velli-ganga,[63] but which here is only a sparkling stream
meandering through the valley. By means of an artificial embankment at
the farther end, designed and carried out by Sir William Gregory, a
marshy piece of ground, all reeds and rushes, has been transformed into
a beautiful little lake which bears his name. (It is said that this
whole valley must at some prehistoric time have been the bed of a
mountain lake.)
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Footnote 63:
The true source of the Maha-velli-ganga is on Adam’s Peak.
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Thanks to the unwearied care of Mr. Le Mesurier, Lake Gregory, and also
the streams which water the Horton Plains, are now abundantly stocked
with carp and trout, some of the latter being over three pounds weight.
The breeding-pond was dug out of solid _cabook_ (laterite), paved with
pebbles, and lined with watercresses, under which the fry found refuge,
and also insects to their liking, including tiny shrimps which abound in
the mountain streams, as do also small crabs, which find favour with
grown-up trout, but are dangerous to the fry.[64]
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Footnote 64:
Mr. Le Mesurier’s care for the fish-supply of the colony is not
confined to freshwater pools and streams. He has shown that an
inexhaustible harvest of excellent grey mullet, one of the best of
sea-fish, might easily be secured by a simple system of barriers to
protect the spawn and young fry, which are hatched in inlets so far
in-shore that during their infancy they might easily be thus guarded
from predatory fish and native fishermen.
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Otters also prove such formidable foes to all freshwater fish that a
raid against them is now being made with a view to their extermination.
It always seems hard that any interesting wild creature should have to
be totally sacrificed for the preservation of game of any sort, whether
finny, furred, or feathered, but it is certain that the Nuwara Eliya
otters are doomed. On the other hand, there is good hope that if only
they can be left undisturbed, the little grebe and other aquatic birds
which have already discovered this new high-level lake may take to it as
an habitual haunt, undisturbed by the stately swans which already float
on the still waters.
A curious and unexpected benefit resulting from the formation of this
lake, now swarming with fish, is a most marked diminution in the legions
of bloodthirsty mosquitoes, which formerly bred undisturbed in the
marsh. Now each individual carp and trout is on the _qui vive_ to secure
for itself a share in that daintiest of morsels, mosquito larvæ; and
seeing how surprising is the fecundity of the mosquito, it follows that
each which is thus consumed represents the annihilation of a multitude
of foes.
In his interesting book on ‘Tank Angling in India,’ Mr. H. S. Thomas
says: ‘One female mosquito laying at the commencement of the year 100
eggs would at the end of the month be found the parent of 100
mosquitos, of which 50 would be females. In the second month 50
females laying each 100 eggs, would yield 5,000 larvæ. In the third
month 2,500 females × 100 eggs = 250,000 larvæ. In the fourth
12,500,000 larvæ, and so on, until at the end of the twelve months
there would be 488,281,250,000,000,000,000 larvæ.’
The lesson to be practically applied would seem to be that all
mosquito-breeding tanks and pools should be cleaned, cleared of all
predatory fish, and stocked with carp, which seem to multiply almost as
rapidly as the mosquitoes, and will therefore supply never-failing
armies to do battle with our foes.
The change of climate from Colombo to Nuwara Eliya is surprising. Here,
within 7° of the equator, I believe the thermometer never exceeds 72°
Fahr. at noon in summer, and at night it sometimes falls below
freezing-point, so that in the early morning I have often seen the
ground white with hoar-frost, and have been thankful for a thick plaid
and a warm tweed dress, and this not only in the chill of frosty
mornings and evenings, but even at noon on many a cold rainy day. Snow
is, of course, absolutely unknown in Ceylon. For the first week after my
arrival the rainfall was excessive, pouring as if the very heavens were
coming down—pitiless pouring rain—and the ceaseless drip, drip, drip
from the soaked thatch was most depressing. Weak corners were revealed
by unsightly leaks; the ground was saturated, and the paths were all
muddy rivulets. Sketching was hopeless, and I fully appreciated the
reasons why houses here are built of stone and have fireplaces, with
fires morning and evening, round which friends gather as naturally as if
in Europe.
The heavy rainfall fills the numerous clear brown streams which rush
down every ravine of the dark hills, and very gloomy these often seem
when capped with gathering clouds and grey drift, clothing the green
forests in sombre purple and blue shadows; but when the sun conquers,
then you have a climate like that of our very loveliest summer days in
Scotland: the crisp clear air is so marvellously invigorating and
inspiriting that every breath is an elixir, and the mere fact of
existence is a delight, renewed with every breath, of an atmosphere so
exhilarating that even the feeblest folk find themselves endued with
exhaustless energies.
Mornings, evenings, and moonlight are each more enchanting than words
can tell, and all alike perfumed with the breath of English clover from
cultivated fields, mingling with that of mignonette, musk, stocks,
pansies, violets, lilies, carnations, phloxes, sweet-peas, honeysuckle,
azaleas, and all manner of fragrant garden flowers; and you look up from
gardens, where heavenly roses, geranium, fuchsia, chrysanthemum,
camellias, and heliotrope are luxuriant bushes, to the beautiful
mountains encircling the plain, where the sparkling rivulet winds about
through thickets of wild roses, yellow wattle imported from Australia,
golden gorse—real whins, exactly the same as our own, fragrant and
home-like—with foxgloves, and blue-bells, brambles and bracken, growing
side by side with the magnificent tree-ferns and the scarlet
rhododendron-trees, and masses of snowy datura, the latter dipping in
the stream their graceful boughs, heavy with the weight of beautiful
trumpet-shaped blossoms. And of minor flowers, there are our own
buttercup, foxglove, and common white clover, and white violets (which,
however, are scentless), and a most fascinating wild passion-flower,
pure white, and enfolded in a mossy calyx just like a white moss-rose.
Conspicuous among these wild plants are the osbekia, laden with lilac
blossom, and the tall stiff spikes of a pink lobelia, and of a pale
yellow mullen (the Aaron’s rod of our gardens, only twice as tall).
You must not imagine, however, that gardening even at Nuwara Eliya is
all play. Were it only the ceaseless battle with divers insects, the
work would be no sinecure. A gentleman who was admiring the glories of
the gorgeous gladioli in the garden of the Grand Hotel in November,
observed several women busy collecting black grubs, and was told that in
the previous week they had collected on an average three thousand grubs
daily in that one garden! And that is only one detail of trouble.
A week of perfect weather before Easter produced such a wealth of
blossom as made church decoration a real pleasure, especially where
there were so many willing hands to help. This year (1891) I hear the
decorations were lovelier than ever, as you may judge by a few details.
There were texts on backgrounds of moss or of scarlet; the font was
decked with white arums, marguerites, daisies, and ferns; the chancel
trellised with creepers, maiden-hair ferns, arum lilies, and scarlet
geranium. In the chancel-window was a cross of Black Douglas geraniums,
and the altar-rails were entwined with ferns and bunches of
cream-coloured roses and crimson poppies. The pulpit and lectern were
adorned with arum lilies, ferns, and crimson cacti, the reading-desk
with cream-coloured carnations, arums, daisies, and ferns.[65]
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Footnote 65:
The thanksgiving services in June, at the Cathedral, Colombo, as the
equivalent of a ‘Harvest Home,’ were also pretty and characteristic,
the church being adorned with wreaths of the glossy green coffee and
cinnamon, with a profusion of pine-apples, shaddocks, brinjals,
bunches of oranges, lemons, and limes, green and yellow cocoa and
areca nuts, graceful pepper, and lovely nutmegs, and, in short, all
manner of tropical ‘fruits of the earth.’
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So the flower-angels had their full share as ministering spirits at the
great festival:
O the beautiful flowers, the sweet fragrant flowers,
These dear loving smiles from our Father above;
To earth they are given to teach us of Heaven:
They bloom round our pathway to whisper of love,
THESE BEAUTIFUL SMILES OF GOD.
The pretty little cruciform church and the peaceful churchyard lie in a
pleasant sheltered corner, surrounded by rhododendrons, daturas, and
other flowering shrubs, and overshadowed by one grand old tree with a
gnarled, twisted stem, such as one sometimes sees in miniature on very
rank heather. At a little distance it is hard to believe that this is
not a veritable stone-pine. I was told, however, that it is a eugenia,
of the myrtle family. Happily, in the clearing of the forest on the
lower hills a considerable number of these have been spared, and,
together with groups of tall dark trees resembling cypresses, have all
the effect of the non-existent pines and firs.
Of course, wherever Government makes its headquarters for the season,
there white men and women congregate; and so during these spring months,
until the end of May, each of the nest-like homes encircling the plain
is well-filled, and a most cheery social life is kept up, picnics and
races, games, balls, and dinner-parties enlivening both day and night.
This continues until the end of May, when, the stormy south-west monsoon
being almost due, the Cottage itself—_i.e._ the Governor’s house—is
deserted, and his Excellency adjourns to Kandy, there to celebrate the
Queen’s birthday. Then within a very few days this sweet spot is
forsaken of the gregarious multitude, and those who do remain settle
down to the peace and quietness of their pleasant highland homes.
Now that Nuwara Eliya, in common with most of the principal European
stations in Ceylon, has started a golf-course, it has secured an
additional all-the-year-round attraction in the eyes of many. But there
certainly is no reason why it should ever be forsaken on the mere score
of climate, for although howling wind, drizzling rain, and heavy white
mists prevail in June and July, August has many warm, bright, clear
days, and then till the end of November the climate is as variable as
the same months would be in Britain; but with one singular advantage for
Nuwara Eliya—namely, that, no matter what storms sweep over it and the
hills towards Colombo, or how dark the clouds which rest on Hak-galla,
there is sure to be a bright blue sky beyond it, telling of clear
sunshine on the Uva hills and the country towards Badulla, so that
anyone who wearies of rain has only to ride about four miles in that
direction to find himself beneath a cloudless sky with all the mists
behind him. Of course these green hills get their turn of rain in the
other monsoon.
The great feature of ‘the season’ is the Jymkana, when as many of the
planters as can possibly snatch a brief holiday from their estates flock
to Nuwara Eliya, and of course try how much fun can possibly be crammed
into the time. Nowhere have I ever met a whole community so thoroughly
genial and hearty, or in which the affectation of _blasé_-ness is so
totally unknown. As for any women-folk attempting to play the dowagers,
the thing was impossible; for so many of these exiled Britons had ridden
thirty or forty miles on purpose for a dance, that they would dance with
one another rather than sit out, so, under such circumstances, feminine
indolence would have been downright selfishness.
Nothing short of an atmosphere so amazingly invigorating as that of
these mountains could enable any average mortal to get through so much
exertion without fatigue. Perhaps I cannot prove this better than by
quoting a few passages from my diary, first remarking that at that time
there was only one carriage in Nuwara Eliya, so that almost everyone
walked to and from all evening entertainments, and also that eight
dances and divers other entertainments were crowded into three weeks.
The presence of the band of the 73rd Highlanders was the chief incentive
to such an outburst of frolic.
Here, then, is one morning: ‘Out sketching before daybreak, returning
home at noon. Afternoon standing about at games. Dinner and dance till 2
A.M. Out sketching by 6 A.M.’
Another day: ‘Staying at Headquarters House—_i.e._ of the General in
command. At 6 A.M. the Governor’s carriage came to take me to breakfast
at the Cottage. Rode with his Excellency, by a somewhat steep
jungle-path, to the top of “Pedro,” the highest mountain in Ceylon. Its
real name is Pidura-tala-galla, which means “the mat-weaving rock.” It
was so called on account of a sort of rush which was abundant here and
was used for making mats.
‘From the summit we literally overlooked the whole Isle, the sea being
clearly visible both to the east and west. Before us, as on a map, lay
outstretched the intricate mountain-ranges clothed with dark-green
forest,[66] brighter green marking the coffee plantations, and a still
lighter tint the mountain meadows called patenas with silvery lines and
glittering mirrors indicating streams and pools. In the wonderful
stillness we heard the voices of many mountain torrents rushing
tumultuously down the rocky ravines and gullies.
-----
Footnote 66:
Almost the whole of which has now vanished before the advance of the
planter’s axe.
-----
‘On the summit we found wild strawberry plants and forget-me-nots; and
as we walked leisurely down the mountain, I gathered buttercups, yellow
St. John’s wort, small geraniums, real “blue-bells of Scotland” (NOT
blue hyacinths!) and a sort of ranunculus. Scented purple violets are
sometimes found, but I sought for them in vain.
‘After breakfast drove back to Headquarters House, whence in the
afternoon we all walked a mile to the races and back again, standing
about all the afternoon. Walked to a dinner party at one house, whence
the whole party walked to a ball at another. Thence at 4 A.M. all walked
home across the plain in the most lovely moonlight. I was out again by 9
A.M. sketching till noon.
‘Up at 5 A.M. Rode to the top of Pedro, and sent the horses back.
Sketched as much as was possible of that vast panorama, with Adam’s Peak
conspicuous above the many mountain-ranges, and a somewhat desolate
foreground of ghostly dead trees, scorched by some accidental fire, but
still standing, bleached by many a wintry storm and summer sun, and
bearded with long trails of grey moss and lichens. But the view from a
mountain top is not very sketchable, being rather suggestive of a
petrified ocean, as if liquid waves had been suddenly transformed to
solid rock ridges, fixed and immovable.
‘Walked back, a distance of four miles, and found all the party busy
decorating the ball-room, in which I gave a helping hand. Dancing till 4
A.M. Out sketching beside the river by 9 A.M.’
One lovely morning we started early—a very pleasant party—to ride twelve
miles through the loveliest jungle to Ragalla, where it had been
arranged that we should all sleep in a tiny bungalow built by a planter
who had just commenced clearing a coffee estate. Such a scene of havoc!
The lovely jungle ruthlessly burnt down, and the charred and blackened
trunks of huge old trees lying on the ground, their grand boughs all
turned to charcoal, slowly feeding the wretched little coffee shrubs
which were planted all over the ground.
After luncheon the Government Agent invited me to come and see a grand
view of the Maturata Plains; it was some way off, but he didn’t know how
far. Being quite fresh, I was of course ready to see as much as
possible, so we started, riding the first four miles, till the road
became impassable for horses, so we had to walk the rest of the way,
which proved to be four miles more! (In Britain in my best days, a
three-mile walk has always been my full day’s work, so you see what
credit belongs to this glorious climate of Nuwara Eliya!)
Happily my kind friend had had the forethought to send up a chair on
poles, and coolies to carry me; so after thoroughly enjoying the
magnificent view, in all the grandeur of a most awesome thunder-storm, I
was carried down. Long before we got through the jungle it was
pitch-dark, and we had to halt while the coolies manufactured _chules_—
_i.e._ torches like small fagots of dried sticks, which they feed with
frequent applications of cocoa-nut oil.
In the morning we all started at 6 A.M., the rest of the party having to
return direct to Nuwara Eliya; but I halted by myself for some hours _en
route_ to secure a sketch of a lovely jungle scene. Of course I was not
literally alone, for here, as in India, every horse-keeper is always
bound to be in attendance on his own horse, and is supposed to keep up
with the rider, whatever may be the pace, and very hard running that
involves, even when humane new-comers make excuses for dawdling, to give
them a chance, especially after an irresistible canter.
Whenever one leaves the beaten track one is of course liable to find
jungle paths in a very dubious condition. Of this we had good experience
one day, when a friend undertook to guide me to a very fine
sketching-point beyond the Elk Plains. So we started, as usual, at 6
A.M., and rode round the back of beautiful Hak-galla and across the
patenas, which, having been recently burnt, were in all the loveliness
of the freshest young green, but fringed with scorched jungle.
We expected to reach our destination before 9 A.M., but to our
unmitigated disgust found that the jungle-path had never been
over-hauled for six years! and the distance proved to be upwards of
twelve miles. We could not go beyond a slow walk the whole way, and I
had literally to dismount upwards of twenty times to let the horse be
led over impracticable bits of broken bank.
At 1 P.M. we had not reached the point where my companion had purposed
leaving me for the day, so there was nothing for it but to rest awhile
and then retrace our ground. That was indeed an exhausting day, nine and
a half hours in the saddle, only varied by the fatigue of incessantly
mounting and dismounting. To add to the situation, a tremendous
thunderstorm came on, which certainly was very grand, but followed by
such downpouring rain as was supremely disagreeable; for it was not nice
returning to civilised life like drowned rats to meet all the smart
people taking their walk in the beautifully clear evening.
(It really is extraordinary to see what trouble people do give
themselves, even in Paradise, to keep up with the changes of the very
latest fashions—all the newest Parisian millinery, dresses from Worth,
and kid gloves fresh by every mail! Common-sense and comfort plead alike
in favour of no gloves and the simplest attire, in a climate whose warm
moisture promotes such rapid vegetation that a very few days suffice to
mildew gloves and silk dresses, and to coat boots and broadcloth with
fungus half an inch in length! Clothes of all sorts are ruined unless
they are perpetually being aired in the sun, and clothes left lying by
are simply destroyed. Consequently, for people living in remote parts of
the country, a visit to Kandy or Colombo involves grave considerations
as to the adorning of the outer man or woman!)
Here, as in most hilly districts, there is a good deal of swampy morass
in the hollows, and one of the dangers to be avoided in riding along
vague tracks is that of getting bogged in soft peaty soil, a most
disagreeable experience which I narrowly escaped while riding up Mount
Kiklomani. We came to a bit of dubious-looking ground, and I fortunately
insisted on getting off, for it proved to be a most treacherous bog, in
which a moment later the poor beast was floundering, and was only
extricated with much difficulty. I was truly thankful that the owner
himself was there in charge, for, indeed, the anxious responsibility of
riding a borrowed horse is serious, and some of the difficult
jungle-paths, and those along the face of steep hillsides, did try my
nerves to an unwarrantable extent, and a small stumble often made me
hotter than I would have cared to confess.
Of pleasant picnics, large and small, there was no end. One was beside a
lovely still pool, fed by a rippling stream working its way among moss
grown boulders; on the pool shone the snowy cups of a multitude of
floating lilies, deeply shaded by the overhanging foliage—an ideal of
sleepy loveliness. Blue and green dragon-flies, and occasionally a
scarlet one, hovered over the lilies or skimmed across the pool, and
butterflies of gorgeous hue assembled (holding parliament, we said) in
the cool damp of many a shady green nook.
The butterflies of Ceylon are so beautiful and so varied as to be at all
times a joy, whether seen singly, when one glorious creature seems for a
moment to have the garden to himself, or in companies of radiant joyous
little beings. One of the mysteries of the Isle is the annual migration
in November and December, and at intervals right on to February, of
countless myriads of butterflies in vast flights; whence they come and
whither going, no one can guess.
The migration commences with the setting in of the north-east monsoon,
with its cool mornings and bright days; and when the stormy wind blows
strongest, these delicate insects, impelled by some inexplicable
instinct, force their way against it, and during a couple of months
successive legions pass on like an ever-flowing stream. I have collected
a few notes of observations made on this subject in different years.
Thus, in 1884, swarms of dark-coloured butterflies passed over Kandy and
Ratnapura on November 19. On the following day these were succeeded by
swarms of white and yellow ones.
In 1887, Mr. Le Mesurier, writing from Nuwara Eliya, noted the first
flight of the season on November 18. The flight lasted the whole day;
direction from due south-west to north. Wind from south-west. Colour of
butterflies, speckled dark brown.
The next flight he noticed was on November 21, when two kinds of
butterflies, white and sulphur, continued all day passing right over the
summit of Pedro from north to due south. The direction of the wind was
from the north-east.
On December 10 another observer stated that brown and white butterflies
had been in flight for some days, flying south.
In 1888 the migration northward in the teeth of the wind was observed at
Colombo on November 18, the great flight of white and yellow butterflies
being mingled with some of a darker colour.
In 1889, flights were observed in the mountain district of Dimbula,
about the middle of October, and at Colombo on November 5, when
dark-brown butterflies and yellowish-white ones flew in separate columns
at a rate of about ten miles an hour.
All the accounts (which might be multiplied by observations from all
parts of the island, north, south, east, and west, from Manaar to Galle,
and from Trincomalee to Negombo) speak only of brown, white, and yellow
insects; hence I infer that the glorious butterflies which most
delighted us do not risk becoming food for fishes by any such
venturesome flights. There is one lovely creature with black velvety
wings spotted with crimson, and measuring about four inches from tip to
tip; while another, likewise robed in black velvet, has brilliant yellow
spots on the under-wing; and yet another of the sombre sort has black
velvet upper-wings with lovely blue under-wings. Others are of a
lustrous pale-blue, or a rich metallic purple or green, and some are
pure white. The most delicate of all has semi-transparent wings, and is
so exquisitely refined that it is generally known as the sylph.
Then at sunset these radiant creatures disappear, and handsome
hawk-moths and humming-bird moths dart to and fro in the twilight, to be
succeeded an hour later by various night-moths, whose beauty is lost to
us in the darkness, their presence only revealed by a rushing flight,
too often in the direction of lamps and candles. Many of the moth and
butterfly caterpillars are exceedingly handsome and brightly coloured.
All these, however, are far more abundant in the low country than in
this cooler region.
Many fascinating birds also did their part in giving life and colour to
the beautiful scene, a specially lovely family being the jays with their
brilliantly blue body and tail, and golden-sienna head and wings. They
go about in flocks of six or eight, and are very shy of human beings, so
they are warily silent while on the ground feeding on beetles, but make
up for this by harsh croaking cries when on the tree-tops.
One of the favourite amusements at Nuwara Eliya was ‘gemming’—_i.e._
devoting a day to washing gravel in various places where it was likely
that moonstones and garnets might be found. It was scarcely to be
expected that this playing at work would prove very successful, but
amateur seekers are easily pleased, and they invariably brought home a
certain number of promising crystals, some of which it was hoped might
turn out treasures; in fact, several unusually fine moonstones were
found in the gravelly bed of some of the streams. These when polished
certainly are lovely stones, of a lustrous pearly white, really
suggestive of moonlight, and when set in silver they make charming
ornaments. But, in common with garnets and amethysts, they are little
valued, simply because they are abundant.
We had a very pleasant picnic, enlivened by the 73rd band playing Scotch
music, on some grassy downs known to the British as the Bully-hilly
Patenas, which I need scarcely say is not their real name, but one of
those senseless approximations to sound in which the Anglo-Saxon
delights, and by which the really descriptive native names are so
ruthlessly superseded. For instance, what can be more detestable than
‘Mutton Button’ as the name for a beautiful hillside visible from Kandy?
Yet this is the foreigner’s corruption of Mattena Patena, ‘the shining
meadow.’
And many of the native names afford a clue to ancient legends or
topographical changes: thus, Yakka-galla is ‘the demon’s rock’;
Dee-wuran-gaha, ‘the tree of the oath,’ marks the spot when once stood a
very sacred bo-tree; Nuga-talawa is ‘the banyan-tree plain’;
Bogaha-watte tells of another bo-tree felled by ruthless planters;
Kehel-watte suggests the wild plantains of olden days. At Malegawatenne,
‘the palace-flat,’ tradition affirms that Ravanna the demon once had a
palace; now it is a rice-field through which flows a river.
Nanda-nodiyana, ‘the pleasure-ground,’ is the name of a mountainous
district to the east of Nuwara Eliya, in which the aforesaid demon (or
deified hero) is supposed to have taken delight. The Malwatte-oya is the
river of the Garden of Flowers; the Kalu-ganga is the Black River. The
Maha-velli-ganga is the Great Sandy River; the Dik-oya is the Long
River. Hak-galla is said to be a contraction of Yakkada-galla, and to
mean ‘the iron rock.’ Certainly the amount of iron in the soil of the
district is remarkable, and sensibly affects vegetation, being excellent
for tea but destructive to cinchona; but I think Hak-galla is much more
likely to be another ‘demon’s rock.’
Mandara-nuwara, ‘the city of the shadow,’ is the very poetic name of a
village in a gloomy valley at the base of Pidura-tala-galla. (I have
already mentioned that the name of this mountain describes the rushes
there gathered for weaving mats.) Monara-galla describes the Rock of the
Peacock. Bintenne, so frequently referred to in sporting annals, is
difficult to locate till we realise that the name simply describes
sloping wooded foot-hills, answering to the Terai of India. What a new
interest attaches to the Laxapana estate in Maskeliya when we learn that
it derives its name from Laxapana-galla, ‘the mountain of the hundred
thousand lamps,’ so called because at its base bands of pilgrims to
Adam’s Peak congregate and at midnight light their lamps, preparatory to
ascending the holy mount, so as to reach its summit before the rising of
the sun! But I need not multiply examples to endorse my protest against
the useless vulgarising of descriptive names.
Of course half the charm of every expedition lay in hunting for new
wild-flowers, and great was the pleasure of discovering the ‘gold’ and
‘silver’ backed ferns of our greenhouses, growing wild in profusion.
Calceolarias and red and white balsams had also the interest of being
old friends, but one of my chief jungle treasures was altogether new to
me, a wax-like lilac-pink creeper, which clings like a veil to the very
top of many a tall forest-tree, but is so capricious in its growth that,
though several planters told me they had tried to induce it to live when
transplanted to their gardens, none had succeeded in doing so. Each
blossom is the size of a florin and has four petals. I was told its name
was Kandrikia Walkerii.
A less ambitious beauty is the water-balsam, which grows in many of the
streams; the Singhalese call it _diya nilla_, and say that its crushed
leaves are as efficacious as a mustard-poultice, and very beneficial in
cases of neuralgia and lumbago. Owners of white skin, however, are
warned that these easily prepared blisters leave a black stain which is
not ornamental, but may be lessened or prevented by placing a piece of
linen next the skin.
Much to my regret, I did not see these high jungles in their fullest
glory, for that only occurs once in seven years, when a whole clan of
flowering shrubs (of the _Strobilanthes_ family), called by the
Singhalese _nillo_, burst forth into most fragrant blossom. Some of
these are delicate dwarf plants, others have a stem as thick as a man’s
arm, and grow to a height of about twenty feet; all are jointed canes
growing in single stalks, and bear their honeyed blossoms in clusters
round the joints. The different varieties bear white, blue, red, and
purple flowers, while some are parti-coloured, crimson and white. To add
to the charm of the forests at this season, there is often an
undergrowth of gorgeous scarlet and yellow blossoms, gleaming like fire
among the jointed roots of the nillo.
These slim and perfectly upright stems form a dense underwood in many of
the mountain forests, and this, in the case of the species which grows
to about twenty feet in height, is so thick as to be almost
impenetrable. Elephants force their way through it, leaving long lanes
which often prove very convenient to puny human beings. Its only foliage
is on the extreme summit, where a few small branches bear the leaves,
and every seventh year, in the early spring, produce rich clusters of
white and purple blossom, so fragrant as to perfume the whole atmosphere
with a scent of honey, attracting large swarms of bees, which appear as
if by magic in jungles where, perhaps, scarcely one has been in the
previous six years.
To save themselves time and trouble, the bees, of which there are four
different sorts in Ceylon, construct their nests in hollow trees or
holes in the rock. One suspends a small nest no bigger than an orange
from the boughs of a tree, offering a tempting prize both to bears and
men. The latter prepare torches of green leaves, and with their heavy
smoke stupefy these poor workers, whose well-filled honeycombs they can
then abstract, carrying them to market in hollow gourds slung on ropes.
The combs differ in size and in quality according to the manufacturer—
for the four varieties of honey-bees vary from one kind the size of a
hornet, to another smaller than our housefly.
One of these, _Apis dorsata_ (which is also found in Java), is said to
be the largest and longest-tongued of all bees, and the only one able to
extract the honey from certain flowers in which it lies deeply seated,
just as in Britain only the bumble-bee can reach the honey concealed in
the long tubes of the red-clover blossom.
Speaking of hornets, those of Ceylon are very large, and have
reddish-brown wings, and a most ferocious sting. They make themselves
useful by eating cockroaches, but are dreaded by the lightly draped
natives, whom they sometimes attack savagely. I am told that when
natives are attacked by wild bees, if there are any castor-oil bushes in
the neighbourhood, they run to take shelter in them, as the
discriminating bees avoid those handsome shrubs.
The marvel is that they are not attacked more frequently, as a common
way of taking honey is simply to blow into the nest, when the astonished
bees fly out, and the robber quietly appropriates the honey. Of the
abundance of honey thus obtained one may form some idea from a fact
mentioned by Sir Samuel Baker—namely, that having given a native
permission to hunt for honey in his forest on condition of bringing him
the wax, the hunter in a very few weeks brought seventy-two pounds of
pure white wax made up in large balls. Sir Samuel assumed that the
amount really taken was probably at least double this.
When the bees have had their day among the nillo blossoms, then comes
the turn of flocks of pigeons, squirrels, rats, and other creatures, who
congregate to celebrate their septennial festival of nillo nuts, which
are as pleasant to the taste as was the delicious fragrance of the
blossom to the sense of smell.
The nut festival being over, the whole of the nillo dies, leaving only a
standing array of tall leafless poles. Ere long these decay and fall to
the ground, and the forest then presents the curious appearance of
having no underwood, save confused piles of dead sticks. Soon, however,
a fresh crop of young nillo springs up, in succulent verdure, very
attractive to elk and other deer, who do their best to thin the too
luxuriant growth. Enough, however, escapes them to secure a renewed
promise of perfumed forests, when six more years shall have rolled away.
Several of the larger kinds of bamboo share this peculiarity of only
flowering periodically and gregariously; the smaller bamboos flower
annually, but the very graceful kind[67] which adorns the swamps on the
high patenas all seem to attain maturity simultaneously, and then ‘the
grace of the fashion of it perisheth,’ and for a while the swamps are
strewn only with prostrate withered stems, till a new generation arise
and start fair on their little span of life.
-----
Footnote 67:
_Arundinaria densifolia._
-----
About five miles to the east of Nuwara Eliya rises the majestic mountain
of Hak-galla—a very conspicuous feature as seen from the settlement,
towering beyond Lake Gregory, and especially fine as seen from Baker’s
farm looking down on the intervening grassy valley. It is a grand
massive pile about 7,000 feet in height, all forest-clad, with deeply
indented saddle, the seaward face descending to the vast plains of Uva
in almost precipitous crags.
Nestling at the base of one of these crags, which towers above it in a
sheer precipice of 1,600 feet, lie the Government Botanical Gardens,
5,400 feet above the sea-level. They are not only beautiful for
situation, but very beautiful in themselves, and commanding a
magnificent view of the hills and valleys of Uva. The gardens lie on a
steep slope facing north-east, sheltered by the great crag from
tempestuous monsoon blasts, and always subject to ample rainfall. Like
the mists which watered Eden, so here mists roll up from the low country
dreamy and still, and float spirit-like, enfolding each separate tree
and shrub in a cool filmy veil.
Here experiments are made as to the possibility of acclimatising plants
from tropical mountains and from the plains of temperate lands—America,
Europe, and Australia—so you come on all manner of surprises. There are
flourishing young pine-trees from the Himalayas, cypresses and cedars
(cryptomerias) from Japan, araucarias and plane-trees from Australia,
and all manner of European fruit-trees, peaches and plums, apple and
pear trees. As to Australian gum-trees, which were grown here in the
first instance, they have fairly taken possession of the land, and are
now grown for fuel on estates where all the natural forests have been
wholly swept away.
Here I saw fine experimental plantations of cinchona (quinine), which
soon afterwards came so gallantly to the front, when King Coffee had
come to utter grief. But the reign of cinchona proved all too brief, its
very triumph proved its undoing, and the market was so effectually
glutted that its price would not pay for its cultivation. Growing among
it were masses of wild fuchsia—the sort with a long scarlet tube. And in
every direction there were flowers, flowers, flowers—roses, irises,
lilies, and a multitude of others, with here and there open spaces of
green turf and ferns.
Right above this towered the majestic crag, and in a cleft of the rock
something is pointed out which is said to be the skull of an inquisitive
elephant, who, not satisfied with climbing to the top of the mountain
forest, must needs look over the precipice, and lost his balance.
Certainly elephants seem to take an unaccountable pleasure in climbing
mountains which one would imagine to be inaccessible to them. Both Major
Skinner in 1840 and Hoffmeister in 1844 record having found the
unmistakable proofs of elephants having climbed almost to the very
summit of Adam’s Peak, up and down those steep paths which human beings
find so difficult; and Major Forbes-Leslie says that he has known three
instances, in the Matele district alone, of elephants being killed by
falling down precipices.
Sir Samuel Baker used frequently to come on the tracks of elephants ‘on
the precipitous sides of jungle-covered mountains near Nuwara Eliya,
where the ground is so steep that a man is forced to cling to the
underwood for support,’ and where the jungle was so dense that neither
man nor elephant could see a yard before them. He observed that their
immense weight resting on such large feet, with their edging of sharp
horny toes, fairly cuts steps on the almost precipitous hillsides; and
moreover, whether ascending or descending, the wise beast invariably
moved by zigzags, and thus lessened the abruptness of the incline.