RATNAPURA—GEMS
To Ratnapura—The City of Rubies—Adam’s Peak apparently triple—
Rest-houses—Full moon festival—Fireflies and glow-worms—Visit to the
gem pits—Red sapphires and blue rubies—Other gems.
The Bishop most kindly arranged that I should accompany him and his
daughter on one of his extensive rounds of visitation, riding and
driving circuitously right across Ceylon; the journey from Colombo on
the west coast, to Batticaloa on the east of the Isle, to occupy a
month; thence travelling inland through the district of Tamankadua to
visit the ruins of the ancient city of Pollanarua, and so _viâ_
Trincomalee to Jaffna, in the extreme north of the isle.
We accordingly started from Colombo in the beginning of August,
following the course of the beautiful Kelani River right inland, _i.e._,
due east, halting the first night at Hanwella, and the next at
Avissawella, all the time rejoicing in lovely river scenery, embowered
in most luxuriant and infinitely varied foliage—all manner of palms,
feathery bamboos with bright yellow stems, and fine trees, with the
richest undergrowth of bananas, ferns, caladium, and innumerable
beautiful plants.
One fairy-like detail was the abundance of exquisitely delicate climbing
ferns, of several varieties, which in some places literally mat the
jungle and veil tall trees with their graceful drapery. One of these is
identical with that whose beauty is so fully recognised by the Fijians
that they call it the Wa Kalou, ‘the fern of God,’ and in heathen days
wreathed it around the ridge-pole of their temples.
In Ceylon it is cut wholesale, and laid as a covering over thatch, its
long, glossy, black stems, like coarse horse-hair, acting as rain
conductors. Near Avissawella I sketched a very peculiar covered bridge,
with wooden pillars supporting a high thatched roof, which was thus
protected.
Our route lay thence south-east to Ratnapura, skirting so near the base
of Adam’s Peak that we obtained a succession of grand views of it
towering above white clouds beyond the nearer wooded ranges. As seen
from this side, a group of three stately peaks tower so conspicuously
above all their blue brethren, that they seem to form one majestic
triple mountain, and one of these peaks, known as the Bana Samanala, or
‘nephew’ of the Sacred Mount, appears somewhat higher than the true Sri
Pada (the mountain of the Holy Foot).[134] A grand view of this group is
obtained from below a wooden bridge at Ratnapura, looking up the
Kalu-Ganga or Black River, the whole framed in dark trees, whose stems
and boughs are covered with parasitic ferns. Picturesque groups of
natives of divers nationality, in bright draperies and with
gaily-coloured umbrellas or palm-leaf sunshades, crossing the bridge,
add life to the scene. All around are abrupt rocks, high peaks, and
hills clothed with forest. A small fort on a rocky hillock protected the
village at its base during the Kandyan wars, and is now a pleasant spot
from which to watch a peaceful sunset.
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Footnote 134:
See Chapter xxv.
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(After leaving Ratnapura, still driving in a south-easterly direction,
these three peaks, now more distant, tower to a greater and apparently
uniform height, with fewer intervening ranges. For the benefit of future
sketchers, I may mention that they are seen to great advantage from the
57-1/4 mile-post, with a foreground of luxuriant rice-fields surrounded
with clumps of bamboo and all manner of palms.)
Here, as in all mountainous countries, one’s enjoyment of these glimpses
of the upper regions is perhaps intensified by their uncertainty. After
watching a glorious sunrise or sunset, when these lofty summits are
glorified by the flood of golden light, or one of those clear mornings
when every crag and ravine can be plainly discerned, you turn away for a
little while, and when you look again, there is nothing whatever to
suggest the existence of a mountain—only quiet banks of fleecy clouds.
So he who would sketch such scenes must have his materials ever at hand,
and take for his motto, ‘Ready, aye ready.’
We found all the rest-houses along this route delightfully situated, and
commanding such views that there was comparatively little temptation to
leave their cool shade during the hottest hours of the day. As I write,
I have before me sketches of the Kalu-Ganga from the rest-house at
Ratnapura, of the Kelani-Ganga from Hanwella Fort, and many another
suggestion of cloud-reflecting rivers and dreamy shores, where foliage
of all loveliest forms blend in visions of delight.
These rest-houses for the accommodation of travellers are kept up all
along the principal roads, under the occasional supervision of a
committee of the gentlemen in charge of the district roads. They are
each in charge of a native, with one or more coolies to assist him. The
furnishings consist of table, chairs, crockery, knives, forks, spoons,
and very rude bedsteads, every traveller being supposed to carry his own
bedding and mosquito-nets. Where there is bedding, it is essential to
turn over the cushions and anything of the nature of a mattress, as
being only too likely to conceal centipedes and scorpions—possibly
snakes. The rest-house keeper provides food, but of course in
unfrequented districts it is only fair to let him have notice beforehand
when guests may be expected. Each detail is charged according to a fixed
tariff.
On the principal roads some of these houses are quite luxurious, but in
out-of-the-way districts we halted at some which were very much the
reverse. Some of the road bungalows yield shelter and nothing more; for
instance, that at Aralupitya, on the Batticaloa road, which consisted of
two minute rooms of sun-dried mud (whitewashed), one on each side of the
open space which acted as dining-room. Happily the projecting thatch,
supported on rude wooden posts, afforded some shelter from the blazing
sun. Of course such houses are liable to be inhabited by many creatures,
more objectionable than even swarms of flies, and their natural spider
foes, while the high-pitched thatch is invariably the home of a
menagerie of divers reptiles, from graceful little lizards to large and
energetic rat-snakes, which are the true rat-catchers of Ceylon. The
verandahs of even the best rest-houses are invariably haunted by pariah
dogs and carrion crows, all too familiar, and all seeking what they may
devour. An _ambulam_ is a rude rest-house for native travellers, raised
eight or ten feet on a foundation of masonry, so as to be above the
miasma which always clings to the ground.
However, I need not have digressed into the matter of rest-houses while
speaking of Ratnapura, where we were so speedily carried off to the
charming home of a most kind family (Mrs. Atherton). A very pretty
Singhalese princess, Kumarahami Eckmalagoda, came with her father,
Eckneligoda, to luncheon, and to invite us to their house for the
evening festivities, namely, the Perahara, or procession in honour of
the August full moon.
These continue every evening for a week. I have already described the
festival as observed at Kandy,[135] when the treasures from all the
temples are carried to the river, and at an auspicious moment the
priests cut the water with golden swords, and rapidly empty and refill
their temple water-vessel at the very spot thus struck.
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Footnote 135:
See Chapter x.
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At Ratnapura the ceremony was very weird. First there was a rather
pretty dance by a company of women. These were quickly succeeded by a
very horrible apparition of men dressed to represent demons and wearing
hideous masks suggestive of divers diseases. It is odd to see the
conventional expression by which every variety of bodily ailment is
depicted—fever by a red face, deafness by a vacant look, lameness or
paralysis by twisted faces, idiotcy by distorted features, projecting
eyes, and mouth drawn up.
The masquers who thus personated the powers of evil each carried a
three-pronged flaming torch, which they brandished while dancing a wild
whirling dance, occasionally refreshing the torches by throwing on them
a resinous gum, which produced a burst of flame and smoke. The whole
scene was truly demoniacal.
After the dance we adjourned to the temple, which is a Dewale or Saami
house (_i.e._, a house of Hindoo gods), with a small Buddhist Vihara
alongside.
I think that no priest of either religion was present, only temple
headmen, of whom our host, Eckneligoda, was chief. First from the
Buddhist temple a silver relic-shrine was brought forth with great pomp,
carried by the temple headman, before whose footsteps white carpets were
spread and sprinkled with white jessamine blossom; above the relic was
borne a white canopy and an umbrella.
Then from the temple of Saman Dewiyo, _alias_ Rama, a much-venerated
gilt bow and three arrows were solemnly brought forth. They are said to
have been placed here by Rama himself after he had therewith slain
Rawana, the demon king of Lanka, who had carried off the beautiful Sita,
wife of Rama. These precious relics were sprinkled with the holy water
preserved since the previous year, and placed in the mysterious ark,
very much like those used in Arkite ceremonies in the Himalayas. It is
really a palanquin with rich hangings, about 4 feet 6 inches by 20
inches, and slung on a central pole. The four bearers who carried it
were each robed in white, and had their mouth covered with a strip of
white linen. The foremost couple carried a large silver umbrella of
honour. A strip of white carpet was also spread for these to walk on.
Each temple possesses one of these sacred arks, which is only used on
this festival. We had seen a party of pilgrims start from Colombo some
time previously, in order to reach Kataragam, far in the south-east, in
time for this feast, and they carried their deo or god in a similar ark.
The precious arrow having been satisfactorily started, the bow was next
carried downstairs with equal solemnity, and the mystic wand of the
Kapuwas followed. Then the small Juggernath car was dragged out—rather a
pretty object, only 12 feet high, with a crimson body on very large gilt
wheels, and forming a three-storeyed square pagoda, each storey having a
white roof with bells at the corners.
Amid much blowing of horns and shouting, the procession then formed in
the moonlight, elephants bearing headmen who carried large honorific
umbrellas above precious objects, devil-dancers with astounding
head-masks going before the ark, and men on foot carrying more
umbrellas, one of which overshadowed another precious arrow. They made a
sun-wise procession round the temple, and then, as it was Saturday night
and somewhat late, we had to come away.
The drive home by moonlight, through vegetation of marvellous
loveliness, was a dream of beauty, and the breeze was scented with a
general perfume of orange blossom, citron, and lime, blossoms of the
areka palm, temple flowers, and jessamine, each by turn sending us a
breath of delicious fragrance; and the dark foliage overhead and around
us was illuminated by the dainty green lanterns of myriads of luminous
beetles, flashing to and fro in mazy dance, like glittering sparks,
while from many a roadside bank came the far more brilliant, but
likewise intermittent, light which tells of the presence of a glow-worm,
a fat white grub about two inches in length. As in the case of our own
garden centipede, the light is more attractive than the light-bearer.
When captured, the light of the Ceylonese firefly proves to be a very
tiny glimmer, but that of the glow-worm is so brilliant as to enable one
to read even small print by its light. Scientific men have experimented
as to whether this light was extinguished on the death of the creature,
and so have killed poor glow-worms, and extracted from the tail a
gelatinous fluid so highly phosphorescent that they could read by its
light.
I returned on Monday to the Dewali to sketch the car and the ark, and
found a great fair going on, at which I invested in sundry oddities.
But previously the great Gem-Notary of Ratnapura (owner of three-fourths
of the native town) had sent his carriage in the early morning to convey
us to his gem-pits, where white awnings had been erected, carpets
spread, and all made ready that we might sit in the utmost comfort to
see the whole process of digging and washing the gemmiferous gravel, and
its various stages of examination. First the ‘illan,’ as it is called,
is dug up, and placed in wicker baskets, which are washed in a stream
close by to get rid of the clay; then the gravel is washed in long
sloping wooden troughs, with divisions, at intervals, of perforated
zinc, with holes of various sizes. By these first the largest and then
the smaller stones are kept back, so that only the fine gravel passes
through the last grating, thence to be transferred to the final trough
for critical inspection.
It is a curious sight to see the keen, eager faces of the Moormen
(Mahommedans), to whom most of the gem-pits belong, and who sit perched
on raised seats overlooking the great troughs wherein a long row of
coolies (all but naked) are sifting and washing the gravel, which,
perchance, may yield some priceless gem, only to be recognised in its
rough exterior by experienced eyes, but which a clever coolie would
detect as quickly as his master, so that the latter needs to practise
keen vigilance to prevent any attempt at concealment of treasure-trove.
Should his attention be distracted for a second, some precious gem may
be swallowed, as the only possible means of securing it. So the man on
duty sits with hawk-like eyes intently fixed on the trough, and must not
even wink till his successor relieves guard. Another walks about keeping
a general look-out, just to ‘mak’ sicker.’
These Moormen, who are fine, tall, well-built men, dressed in white,
with high white calico hats and large sun-umbrellas, look quite the
superior race among their squad of workers, with neither clothes nor
turbans. They keep the trade of polishing and cutting gems chiefly in
their own hands; the commoner stones are intrusted to provincial
lapidaries, but all really good gems are forwarded to the masters of the
art, most of whom live in Colombo. Unfortunately they adhere with rigid
conservatism to their primitive tools and system of cutting, so as to
retain the largest possible size and weight at the sacrifice of
brilliancy; consequently the size of Ceylon gems is generally greatly
reduced, and their value equally enhanced, when they have been re-cut by
European lapidaries.
No stone of any value was found on the occasion of our visit, but the
Gem-Notary invited us to breakfast at his house, and there exhibited his
own priceless collection of sapphires of every size and shade of colour,
and also showed us the whole process of cutting and polishing. This
great ‘gemmer’ is said to have amassed a fortune of twenty lacks of
rupees. He confesses to having cleared 800,000 rupees from one alluvial
mine near Ratnapura; and one of his relatives pointed out some huge
gneiss rocks from beneath which he had washed out 20,000 rupees’ worth
of sapphires, the average price in Ceylon of a good sapphire being £6 a
carat; but of course a specially fine or large stone commands a purely
fancy price, according to what some wealthy purchaser may be willing to
pay for it. Ceylon is, _par excellence_, ‘The Land of the Sapphire,’
these being so abundant and rubies comparatively rare, therein proving
the converse of Burmah, where the ruby is pre-eminent and sapphires
comparatively scarce.
Ratnapura, as is implied by its name, ‘The City of Rubies,’ is the
centre of the district chiefly noted for the abundance and value of the
precious stones which have been found in its alluvial deposits, chiefly
in the beds of clay or of fine gravel washed down from inaccessible
mountain crags—which of course suggests that if these only could be
reached, such wealth of gems could be obtained as would outshine all
fables of Eastern romance.
Though gem-bearing deposits exist in other provinces, and many precious
stones are annually collected from the beds of rivers and from
extemporised gem-pits in many parts of the Isle, this province of
Sabaragamuwa and some parts of the Morawa Korale have supplied the
largest number and the most perfect gems.
I believe that in no other country is there found so great a variety of
gems as in Ceylon; in fact, true diamonds, emeralds, and turquoise are
said to be the only absentees. Sapphires, rubies, topazes, amethysts,
garnet, alexandrite, chalcedony, chrysoberyl, pleonaste, jacinth,
carbuncle, diamond-spar, aquamarine, cat’s-eyes, moonstones, and
tourmalines are abundant, and every now and again some fortunate
‘gemmer’ picks up a treasure worth a fortune. The total absence of
diamonds is singular, as the famous Golconda diamond-mines lie so near
in Southern India.
But Nature keeps all these treasures enfolded in such ugly crusts that
only a practised eye can ever guess which of all the fragments of coarse
gravel is in truth the priceless gem. I think that the garnet and its
first cousin, the cinnamon-stone, are almost the only exceptions to this
jealous concealment. Here and there in the forests of the eastern and
southern provinces there lie masses of gneiss which literally gleam in
the sunlight by reason of myriads of tiny sparkling garnets embedded in
the rock. The cinnamon-stone presents itself in the same unveiled style,
certain great rock-masses being so thickly encrusted therewith that gem
collectors occasionally carry off large pieces in order to extract the
cinnamon-stones at their leisure.
Very beautiful masses of garnets were found while cutting the tunnels on
the new line of railway above Haputale, with individual crystals about a
quarter of an inch in length, and there too were found lumps of quartz
ranging in colour from a rich red to a milky white, and some of a clear
blue, said to prove the presence of true cobalt.
If only Mother Earth would yield all her crystals ready polished like
the glittering garnet, then Ceylon would really be a fairy Isle of Gems;
for not only do her hidden treasures include almost every recognised
precious stone save the three I have named, but her list acquires
inconceivable variety owing to Nature’s freaks in the matter of
colouring, whereby she assimilates different stones so closely as to
prove hopelessly confusing to the eye of any ordinary mortal.
For instance, when we talk of sapphires, we naturally think of lovely
rich blue crystals; and though it is easy to recognise as legitimate
members of the family innumerable shades ranging from the deepest
invisible blue, too dark to be of any ornamental use, to the palest
clear azure, it becomes extremely perplexing to be shown pure white
crystals, strangely resembling diamonds, and yellow crystals, exactly
like cairngorms or topazes, and to be assured that they are all
sapphires. Mr. E. W. Streeter, who is the great authority on these
matters, enumerates the colours of Ceylon sapphires as ‘azure-blue,
indigo, dark-red, violet-blue, poppy-red, cochineal, carmine, rose-red
to rose-white, milk-white, yellow-white, French-white, lemon-yellow, and
green!’ I have also seen a clouded sapphire of a greenish opalesque
colour, said to be due to water in the stone.
In like manner true rubies are found of every shade of colour. A spinel
naturally suggests a lovely rose-coloured gem, but here we may see
sparkling bright blue spinels. In point of commercial value the
rose-tinted rubies of Ceylon rank lower than the blood-red rubies of
Burmah, and I am told that the Singhalese have discovered a method of
enriching their colour by wrapping them in shell-lime and exposing them
to intense heat. The Ceylonese stone, however, is considered to excel
that of Burmah in brilliancy and fire, and very valuable blood-red
rubies are sometimes found. One weighing 26 carats, and valued at
£5,000, was found at Ratnapura in 1889.
There is one variety both of ruby and sapphire which is, I am told,
peculiar to Ceylon, namely, the asteria or star-ruby and star-sapphire,
both of which, when skilfully cut and polished, reveal a luminous
six-rayed star of light on a blue or red ground. It is a very lovely
gem.
I do not know whether the starry rays are due to the same cause as the
beautiful light in the luminous olive-green cat’s-eye; that, I am told,
is attributed to the presence of particles of asbestos, a theory which
seems confirmed by the successful imitation of this gem which is
manufactured from crocidolite, a mineral closely related to asbestos.
On the other hand, the Chinese succeed in so cutting a pearly shell as
to produce a very pretty so-called cat’s-eye, with a luminous internal
ray.
The true cat’s-eye is peculiar to Ceylon. Very fine stones are often
found at Ratnapura and in Rakwane, though the finest specimens have
generally been found in the gem-pits of Morowa Korale district,
considerably farther south. This is one of the gems the value of which
is specially affected by the caprice of European fashion, according to
which its price rises and falls in a manner exasperating to gem
speculators. In the Oriental market, however, it holds a steady place,
being especially prized by the Malays.
In 1889 a splendid cat’s-eye was found in the coffee district of Dikoya,
said to be the largest and most valuable yet discovered. It was picked
up by a man who was unloading a cart of earth, and at once sold for
thirty rupees. The purchaser resold it for 700 rupees, and the next
owner secured for it 3,000. In its uncut state it weighed 475 carats.
When cut, it was reduced to 170 carats, and was purchased for 9,000
rupees by a merchant who valued it for the London market at 30,000
rupees. A small piece of the original stone weighing 6-1/2 carats was
sold for 600 rupees. (The nominal value of the rupee is 2_s._, but owing
to the depreciation of silver its value when transmitted to England is
at present about 1_s._ 5_d._)
Another lovely luminous stone, supposed to have been formerly found in
other countries, but now, I believe, only in Ceylon, is the moonstone,
which has a soft silvery lustre suggestive of moonlight. It is found in
some places so abundantly that the supply exceeds the demand, so it
commands a very low price, and exceeding pretty ornaments in really good
taste can be bought for a very small sum.
The Morowa Korale has also yielded almost all the fine specimens of a
very lovely gem, the alexandrite, so called in honour of the Czar, in
whose dominions it was first discovered in the far north. The
peculiarity is that by daylight it’s colour is a rich bronzed green,
whereas by gas or candle light it appears to be of a vivid crimson—a
phenomenon attributed to the presence of copper and oxide of lead.
Beautiful and interesting as is this stone, I am told that its
commercial value is barely one-twentieth that of a ruby of good quality.
Sometimes a stone is found, and distinguished as an alexandrite
cat’s-eye, which by daylight is dark green, with a cross line of white
light. This at night assumes the ruby colour aforesaid.
A very remarkable feature in the beautiful collection of gems exhibited
in the Ceylon Court at the Indian and Colonial Exhibition in 1886 was
the extraordinary variety of sapphires of various colours, no less than
fifty different tints being there exhibited. Beautiful specimens of all
the gems of the Isle were gathered together under the watchful care of
Mr. Hayward, who, with unwearying courtesy, endeavoured to teach me and
many another inquisitive pupil how to recognise familiar stones, all
disguised in unwonted colours, as if bent on a masquerade.
Even the topaz, departing from its traditional golden hue, comes out in
fancy dress. Not satisfied with assuming every variety of colour, from
pale amber to the richest brown, it occasionally indulges in various
shades of red or blue, and there have been found harlequin specimens
combining blue and yellow in the same crystal! Occasionally the topaz
assumes a faint sea green, so exquisitely delicate that even experts
disagree as to whether such a stone is really a precious blue topaz or
‘only an aquamarine,’ in which case, by a freak of the gem-market, its
value would be greatly deteriorated.
How truly absurd are these fantastic standards of value! I remember one
of my sisters taking a number of Welsh topazes to be set by an eminent
jeweller, who admired them greatly, and, assuming them to be Oriental,
gave her a large estimate of their value. But on her mentioning where
she had found them, and expressing regret that she had not collected
more, his countenance fell as he exclaimed, ‘Welsh topazes! Oh, in that
case they are worth a mere trifle!’
You can understand that here, where, in addition to the innumerable
skilful frauds of the trades in sham gems, Nature herself does so much
to puzzle the unwary, the purchase of precious stones is not altogether
a wise form of investment for non-professional travellers. In fact, the
Moormen take very good care that these shall never even see their really
valuable stones, which they keep securely concealed, and like to retain
as secure property.
As regards the topaz, not only are its own varieties of colour
perplexing, but there are other stones amongst which the untutored eye
finds it hard to distinguish. Such is the little-prized cinnamon-stone,
a crystal of a rich warm orange-brown tint—a description which also
applies to the zircon or jacinth, which, however, ranges in colour from
clear gold or delicate pink to fiery sparkling red. The latter are very
rare, and consequently highly valued. Some specimens are tinged with
olive-green. The zircon is sometimes worn as an amulet to guard its
owner from evil spirits and to assure the blessing of sound sleep.
Closely akin to it are the red jacinth and the white or grey jargoon,
which is commonly known as the Ceylon or Matara diamond.
Then comes the tourmaline, a lovely sparkling gem, which, however, not
being the fashion, is of small value. It is so like a yellow zircon or a
Scotch cairngorm, that I for one despair of ever being able to
distinguish one from the other, or indeed from the chrysoberyl, though
the latter sometimes assumes an æsthetic sage-green peculiar to itself.
These lead on to chrysolites, and to sundry other stones more or less
precious.
In some alluvial districts where the promise of gems seems abundant,
they are found to have undergone the same process of disintegration as
the rock in which they were once embedded, and crumble to atoms at a
touch; so that there are streams, such as the Manick-Ganga, or River of
Gems, in the south-east of the Isle, the sands of which are literally
composed of glittering particles of quartz, mica, rubies, sapphires, and
other crystals, which, gleaming in the sunlight beneath the rippling
waters, seem like the realisation of some Eastern fable, till closer
inspection proves them to be so thoroughly pulverised as to be literally
worthless to the gem-seeker, albeit so fascinating to the eye which can
recognise beauty apart from intrinsic value. These crystal sands are the
trainers of the great gem family, for though not destined to be
themselves exalted to high estate, they supply a polishing material of
great value in the hands of the gem-cutter.
Such rivers suggest that somewhere near their rock-cradles there must be
abundance of such lovely rose-coloured quartz as is occasionally found
in large blocks near Ratnapura, as if Nature had wished to carry out her
ruby colouring on a wider scale. She certainly must have established her
favoured laboratory somewhere among the great hills of Sabaragamua,
whose crumbling crags have scattered such precious fragments in every
rocky ravine and over all these alluvial plains.
To a race so keenly addicted to gambling as the Singhalese, the
possibilities of such glorious prizes as may reward the gem-seeker are
irresistible, and so a very large number of the natives adopt this
profession, somewhat to the neglect of their fields and gardens. During
the dry season between Christmas and Easter, when the streams are
well-nigh dried up and their gravelly beds laid bare, hundreds of the
poorer classes devote themselves to searching for such crystals as the
sweeping torrents of the previous months may have brought from many a
remote mountain.
But the wealthier gem-seekers, who can afford preliminary outlay, find
it more remunerative to work systematically by sinking pits in the
plains at such points as they judge to be hopeful. They dig through
layers of recently deposited gravel, soil, and cabook till they reach
the ‘illan’ or gemmiferous gravel, which lies from five to twenty feet
below the surface. Ratnapura stands in the centre of a great gravel bed
some thirty miles square, and all thus buried; but pits have been sunk
in every direction by gemmers, ancient or modern. Of the latter, some
are now being sunk to a depth of 80 to 100 feet. The cabook is a hard
deposit of plum-pudding stone formed of water-worn pebbles embedded in
hard clay. In this are many circular hollows or pockets—natural
jewel-cases—washed out by the eddying currents of ancient rivers, and in
these many of the finest gems have found a resting-place. The illan is
generally found beneath the cabook.
I spoke of ‘preliminary outlay,’ but indeed this is not excessive. The
necessary equipment of a gemming party consists of a few mamotees or
spades, a few crowbars, a long iron sounding-rod, called ‘illankoora,’
for gauging the illan, and a few baskets of split bamboo. When they have
dug to a depth of five or six feet, should the sides seem likely to give
way, four jungle-posts are inserted, one at each corner, and cross-beams
round the sides and centre-beams. As the digging goes on, this frail
support is likewise deepened till the gravel is reached, where it is
scooped up and washed in the bamboo baskets. As with all other mining,
gemming is exceedingly speculative. A pit may prove workable in a few
days, or it may involve months of toil, and finally be abandoned as
useless. It is said that of every ten pits sunk, only one pays.
In that one, however, there is scarcely a basketful of gravel which does
not contain some inferior kind of gem, and these are called ‘dallam’ and
sold by the pound, at about nine rupees, after having been minutely
searched for any precious stones, which are found in the proportion of
one per cent., and of course really valuable ones are very much more
rare. However, even the occasional find of a real treasure suffices to
keep up the excitement. For instance, about two years ago, quite a poor
man tried his luck in a gem-pit, and straightway lighted on a sapphire
of such value that a knowing hand at once secured it for 600_l._, and a
few days later doubled his money by selling it in Colombo for 1,200_l._
It was expected to fetch 3,000_l._ in London.
Unfortunately, although some very poor agricultural labourers certainly
eke out their scanty living by working in gem-pits, most of the money
thus won by gemmers of the poorer class is said to be squandered in
gambling and drinking, so that perhaps (though some injustice is
apparently involved) it is not altogether to be regretted that recent
Government ordinances have imposed a certain check on promiscuous
digging.
Under the rule of the Kandyan kings, the right of digging for gems was a
royal monopoly, and the inhabitants of certain villages were told off
for this purpose. The office was hereditary, as was also that of the
headmen who superintended the work. Under British rule this monopoly was
dropped, and the gemming industry was thrown open to all men, with the
sole restriction that no one might dig on Crown waste lands without a
license. Portions of Government land were sold at high prices expressly
as gem-lands, and the right of private individuals to seek for gems in
any way they pleased on their own land was never questioned.
In 1890, however, when European companies decided to bring European
capital to commence systematic mining for gems, a Gem Ordinance was
enacted, which is said to be equal to an initial tax of 10 per cent. on
problematic gains, and is said to have practically killed the native
industry and stopped the work of some 20,000 diggers. It enacts that a
license costing five rupees must be obtained for every pit opened, in
whatever locality—even in a man’s own garden—and a further sum of 75
cents per head is levied for every person taking part in the work in the
next three months. Should the number of persons thus licensed for
employment in that pit be exceeded, the whole license may be cancelled,
and the extra worker may be fined fifty rupees or suffer six months’
imprisonment. One of the chief dangers of mining is that of a sudden
influx of water into the pit, necessitating an immediate accession of
helping hands; but of course no men would care to risk such penalties in
helping their neighbours, and as the formalities to be observed in
altering a license generally involve a delay of three or four days, the
immediate result of this legislation has been the abandonment of a very
large number of pits.
At present, reports concerning systematic work vary considerably, one
company being reported to have recovered £1,000 worth of gems in a week,
while another, which had expended about £5,000 on sinking pits, only
recovered gems worth about £400 and one gentleman who had sunk £1,000
got nothing at all. These not being endowed with the lynx eyes of the
Moormen, are naturally suspicious that their gems have been pilfered,
and regret that the regulations of the African diamond-fields are not
introduced into Ceylon. There, they say, a man is locked up for having
in his possession a gem for which he cannot account satisfactorily,
while in Ceylon the man who holds a gem can prosecute the man who dares
to suggest that it has not been honestly obtained.
Doubtless a solution for all these difficulties will be found in course
of time, and there seems every prospect that the gem treasures of Ceylon
will from this time be developed on a more scientific system. The great
object is to try and discover those mountain geese which lay these
precious eggs; in other words, to find the matrix whence the sun and
rains and rivers have extracted those specimens from which we gather
such suggestions concerning that hidden treasury. It has been proved
that in Burmah limestone forms the matrix of the ruby, so the first
thing to be done in Ceylon is to examine all the veins of limestone
along the course of the Ratnapura River from its source in the heart of
the mountains. If once rubies and sapphires can be detected in these,
then the work of mining could be begun in real earnest, with good
prospects of remunerative results.
Those who are interested in mineralogy find abundant food for study in
the very varied minerals thrown out of the gem-pits, including
infinitesimal atoms of gold, which, however, is not found in quantities
that would pay to work. Mica is found pretty freely, and iron is
abundant in certain districts.
But the only mineral of much importance in Ceylon is plumbago, in which
there is a very large trade, hitherto almost entirely in the hands of
natives, who dig for it in the plains. It is thought probable that the
companies who go to the mountains in search of gems will there also find
the cradle of the plumbago, which they hope to work by horizontal
tunnels at far less expense, and without the danger from water which
attends the deep excavations in the low country. In some of these,
shafts have been sunk to a depth of upwards of 200 feet, necessitating
the free use of pumping machinery. It is estimated that, including
carters, packers and carpenters, who manufacture casks for the export of
this mineral, about 24,000 persons are employed in connection with this
industry, which is chiefly carried on in the north western and western
provinces, though the southern province likewise yields a fair share.
But three-fourths of the whole supply is dug from pits in the Kalutara
and Kurunegala districts.
It is often found at Ratnapura and elsewhere in large kidney-shaped
masses lying loose in the soil, and also forms so large an ingredient in
the gneiss rocks that these seem speckled with bright silver. When this
rock decomposes, it resembles yellow brick, and is so soft that when
newly dug out, it can be cut to any shape, but quickly hardens when
exposed to the air. It is a valuable material for the manufacture of
firebricks, as it resists the greatest heat.
The annual export of pure plumbago from Ceylon (chiefly to the United
States and Europe) amounts to about 240,000 cwts., valued at about two
and a half million of rupees. Many and varied are its uses, in supplying
the lead for our best Cumberland pencils, blacking for our stoves, and
an important requisite in polishing steel guns and steel armour for
warships; it is also largely used in colouring dark glass in
photographic studios, in piano and organ factories, and even in hat
factories, where it is used to give a peculiar softness and smoothness
to felt hats!
So what with plumbago and gems, the minerals of Ceylon travel over a
very wide range of the earth.