Indigenous Productions--Botanical Gardens--Suggested Experiments--Lack
of Encouragement to Gold-diggers--Prospects of Gold-digging--We want
"Nuggets"--Who is to Blame?--Governor's Salary--Fallacies of a Five
Years' Reign--Neglected Education of the People--Responsibilities of
Conquest--Progress of Christianity.
The foregoing chapter may appear to decry in toto the indigenous
productions of Ceylon, as it is asserted that they are valueless in
their natural state. Nevertheless, I do not imply that they must
necessarily remain useless. Where Nature simply creates a genus,
cultivation extends the species, and from an insignificant parent stock
we propagate our finest varieties of both animals and vegetables.
Witness the wild kale, parsnip, carrot, crab-apple, sloe, etc., all
utterly worthless, but nevertheless the first parents of their now
choice descendants.
It is therefore impossible to say what might not he done in the
improvement of indigenous productions were the attention of science
bestowed upon them. But all this entails expense, and upon whom is
this to fall? Out of a hundred experiments ninety-nine might fail. In
Ceylon we have no wealthy experimentalists, no agricultural
exhibitions, no model farms, but every man who settles in a colony has
left the mother country to better himself; therefore, no private
enterprise is capable of such speculation. It clearly rests upon the
government to develop the resources of the country, to prove the value
of the soil, which is delivered to the purchaser at so much per acre,
good or bad. But no; it is not in the nature of our government to move
from an established routine. As the squirrel revolves his cage, so
governor after governor rolls his dull course along, pockets his
salary, and leaves the poor colony as he found it.
The government may direct the attention of the public, in reply, to
their own establishment--to the botanical gardens. Have we not
botanical gardens? We have, indeed, and much good they should do, if
conducted upon the principle of developing local resources; but this
would entail expense, and, like everything in the hands of government,
it dies in its birth for want of consistent management.
With an able man as superintendent at a good salary, the beautiful
gardens at Peredenia are rendered next to useless for want of a fund at
his disposal. Instead of being conducted as an experimental farm, they
are little more than ordinary pleasure-grounds, filled with the
beautiful foliage of the tropics and kept in perfect order. What
benefit have they been to the colony? Have the soils of various
districts been tested? have new fibres been manufactured from the
countless indigenous fibrous plants? have new oils been extracted? have
medicinal drugs been produced? have dyes been extracted? have
improvements been suggested in the cultivation of any of the staple
articles of Ceylon export? In fact, has ANYTHING ever been done by
government for the interest of the private settler?
This is not the fault of the manager of the gardens; he has the will,
but no funds. My idea of the object of a botanical garden is, that
agricultural theories should be reduced to facts, upon which private
enterprise may speculate, and by such success the government should
ultimately benefit.
It is well known to the commonest school-boy that soil which may be
favorable to one plant is not adapted to another; therefore, where
there is a diversity of soils it stands to reason that there should be
a corresponding variety of crops to suit those soils, so as to make the
whole surface of the land yield its proportion.
In Ceylon, where the chief article of production is coffee, land (upon
an estate) which is not suitable to this cultivation is usually
considered waste. Thus the government and the private proprietor are
alike losers in possessing an amount of unprofitable soil.
Now, surely it is the common sense object in the establishment of a
botanical garden to discover for each description of soil a
remunerating crop, so that an estate should be cultivated to its
uttermost, and the word "waste" be unknown upon the property.
Under the present system of management this is impossible; the sum
allowed per annum is but just sufficient to keep the gardens in proper
condition, and the abilities of the botanist in charge are sacrificed.
Many a valuable plant now lies screened in the shades of remote
jungles, which the enterprising botanist would bring to light were he
enabled by government to make periodical journeys through the interior.
These journeys should form a part of his duties; his botanical
specimens should be his game, and they should be pursued with the ardor
of the chase itself, and subsequently transferred to the gardens and
their real merits discovered by experiments.
But what can be expected from an apathetic system of government? Dyes,
fibres, gums may abound in the forests, metals and even gold may be
concealed beneath our feet; but the governor does not consider it a
part of his duty to prosecute the search, or even to render facilities
to those of a more industrious temperament. What can better exemplify
the case than the recent discovery of gold at Newera Ellia?
Here was the plain fact that gold was found in small specks, not in one
spot, but everywhere throughout the swamps for miles in the
vicinity--that at a depth of two or three feet from the surface this
proof was adduced of its presence; but the governor positively refused
to assist the discoverers ("diggers," who were poor sailors visiting
Ceylon), although they merely asked for subsistence until they should
be able to reach a greater depth. This may appear too absurd to be
correct, but it is nevertheless true.
At the time that I commenced these sketches of Ceylon the gold was just
discovered, and I touched but lightly upon it, in the expectation that
a few months of labor, aided by government support, would have
established its presence in remunerating quantities. The swampy nature
of the soil rendered the digging impossible without the aid of powerful
pumps to reduce the water, which filled the shaft so rapidly that no
greater depth could be obtained than eighteen feet, and even this at
immense labor.
The diggers were absolutely penniless, and but for assistance received
from private parties they must have starved. The rainy season was at
its height, and torrents fell night and day with little intermission.
Still, these poor little fellows worked early and late, wet and dry,
ever sanguine of success, and they at length petitioned the Government
to give them the means of subsistence for a few months--"subsistence"
for two men, and the assistance of a few coolies. This was refused,
and the reply stated that the government intended to leave the search
for gold to "private enterprise." No reward was offered for its
discovery as in other colonies, but the governor would leave it to
"private enterprise." A promising enterprise truly, when every
landholder in Ceylon, on referring to his title-deeds, observes the
reservation of all precious metals to the crown. This is a fair sample
of the narrow-minded, selfish policy of a government which, in
endeavoring to save a little, loses all; a miserable tampering with the
public in attempting to make a cat's paw of private enterprise.
How has this ended? The diggers left the island in disgust. If the
gold is there in quantity, there in quantity it remains to the present
time, unsought for. The subject of gold is so generally interesting,
and in this case of such importance to the colony, that, believing as I
do that it does exist in large quantities, I must claim the reader's
patience in going into this subject rather fully.
Let us take the matter as it stands.
The reader will remember that I mentioned at an early part of these
pages that gold was first discovered in Ceylon by the diggers in the
bed of a stream near Kandy--that they subsequently came to Newera
Ellia, and there discovered gold likewise.
It must be remembered that the main features of the country at Newera
Ellia and the vicinity are broad flats or swampy plains, surrounded by
hills and mountains: the former covered with rank grass and intersected
by small streams, the latter covered with dense forest. The soil
abounds with rocks of gneiss and quartz, some of the latter rose-color,
some pure white. The gold has hitherto been found in the plains only.
These plains extend over some thirty miles of country, divided into
numerous patches by intervening jungles.
The surface soil is of a peaty nature, perfectly black, soapy when wet,
and as light as soot when dry; worthless for cultivation. This top
soil is about eighteen inches thick, and appears to have been the
remains of vegetable matter washed down from the surrounding hills and
forests.
This swampy black soil rests upon a thin stratum of brownish clay, not
more than a few inches thick, which, forming a second layer, rests in
its turn upon a snow white rounded quartz gravel intermixed with white
pipe-clay.
This contains gold, every shovelful of earth producing, when washed,
one or more specks of the precious metal.
The stratum of rounded quartz is about two feet thick, and is succeeded
by pipe-clay, intermixed with quartz gravel, to a depth of eighteen
feet. Here another stratum of quartz gravel is met with, perfectly
water-worn and rounded to the size of a twelve-pound shot.
In this stratum the gold was of increased size, and some pieces were
discovered as large as small grains of rice; but no greater depth was
attained at the time Of writing than to this stratum, viz., eighteen
feet from the surface.
No other holes were sunk to a greater depth than ten feet, on account
of the influx of water, but similar shafts were made in various places,
and all with equal success.
From the commencement of the first stratum of quartz throughout to the
greatest depth attained gold was present.
Upon washing away the clay and gravel, a great number of gems of small
value remained (chiefly sapphire, ruby, jacinth and green tourmaline).
These being picked out, there remained a jet-black fine sand,
resembling gunpowder. This was of great specific gravity, and when
carefully washed, discovered the gold--some in grains, some in mere
specks, and some like fine, golden flour.
At this interesting stage the search has been given up: although the
cheering sight of gold can be obtained in nearly every pan of earth at
such trifling depths, and literally in every direction, the prospect is
abandoned. The government leaves it to private enterprise, but the
enterprising public have no faith in the government.
Without being over-sanguine, or, on the other side, closing our cars
with asinine stubbornness, let us take an impartial view of the facts
determined, and draw rational conclusions.
It appears that from a depth of two and a half feet from the surface to
the greatest depth as yet attained (eighteen feet), gold exists
throughout.
It also appears that this is not only the case in one particular spot,
but all over this part of the country, and that this fact is
undeniable; and, nevertheless, the government did not believe in the
existence of gold in Ceylon until these diggers discovered it; and when
discovered, they gave the diggers neither reward nor encouragement, but
they actually met the discovery by a published prohibition against the
search; they then latterly withdrew the prohibition and left it to
private enterprise, but neglected the unfortunate diggers. In this
manner is the colony mismanaged; in this manner is all public spirit
damped, all private enterprise checked, and all men who have anything
to venture disgusted.
The liberality of a government must be boundless where the actual
subsistence for a few months is refused to the discoverers of gold in a
country where, hitherto, its presence had been denied.
It would be speculative to anticipate the vast changes that in extended
discovery would effect in such a colony as Ceylon. We have before us
the two pictures of California and Australia, which have been changed
as though by the magician's wand within the last few years. It becomes
us now simply to consider the probability of the gold being in such
quantities in Ceylon as to effect such changes. We have it present
these simple data--that in a soft, swampy soil gold has been found
close to the surface in small specks, gradually increasing in size and
quantity as a greater depth has been attained.
From the fact that gold will naturally lie deep, from its specific
gravity, it is astonishing that any vestige of such a metal should be
discovered in such soil so close to the surface. Still more astonishing
that it should be so generally disseminated throughout the locality.
This would naturally be accepted as a proof that the soil is rich in
gold. But the question will then arise, Where is the gold? The
quantities found are a mere nothing--it is only dust: we want "nuggets."
The latter is positively the expression that I myself frequently heard
in Ceylon--"We want nuggets."
Who does not want nuggets? But people speak of "nuggets" as they would
of pebbles, forgetting that the very principle which keeps the light
dust at the surface has forced the heavier gold to a greater depth, and
that far from complaining of the lack of nuggets when digging has
hardly commenced, they should gaze with wonder at the bare existence of
the gold in its present form and situation.
The diggings at Ballarat are from a hundred to an hundred and sixty
feet deep in hard ground, and yet people in Ceylon expect to find heavy
gold in mere mud, close to the surface. The idea is preposterous, and
I conceive it only reasonable to infer from the present appearances
that gold does exist in large quantities in Ceylon. But as it is
reasonable to suppose such to be the case, so it is unreasonable to
suppose that private individuals will invest capital in so uncertain a
speculation as mining without facilities from the government, and in
the very face of the clause in their own title-deeds "that all precious
metals belong to the crown."
This is the anomalous position of the gold in Ceylon under the
governorship of Sir G. Anderson.
Nevertheless, it becomes a question whether we should blame the man or
the system, but the question arises in this case, as with everything
else in which government is concerned, "Where is the fault?" "Echo
answers 'Where?'" But the public are not satisfied with echoes, and in
this matter-of-fact age people look to those who fill ostensible posts
and draw bona fide salaries; and if these men hold the appointments, no
matter under what system, they become the deserved objects of either
praise or censure.
Thus it may appear too much to say that Sir G. Anderson is liable for
the mismanagement of the colony in toto--for the total neglect of the
public roads. It may appear too much to say, When you came to the
colony you found the roads in good order: they are now impassable;
communication is actually cut off from places of importance. This is
your fault, these are the fruits of your imbecility; your answer to our
petitions for repairs was, "There is no money;" and yet at the close of
the year you proclaimed and boasted of a saving of twenty-seven
thousand pounds in the treasury! This seems a fearful contradiction;
and the whole public received it as such. The governor may complain
that the public expect too much; the public may complain that the
governor does too little.
Upon these satisfactory terms, governors and their dependants bow each
other out, the colony being a kind of opera stall, a reserved seat for
the governor during the performance of five acts (as we will term his
five years of office); and the fifth act, as usual in tragedies,
exposes the whole plot of the preceding four, and winds up with the
customary disasters.
Now the question is, how long this age of misrule will last.
Every one complains, and still every one endures. Each man has a
grievance, but no man has a remedy. Still, the absurdity of our
colonial appointments is such that if steps were purposely taken to
ensure the destruction of the colonies, they could not have been more
certain.
We will commence with a new governor dealt out to a colony. We will
simply call him a governor, not troubling ourselves with his
qualifications, as of course they have not been considered at the
Colonial Office. He may be an upright, clear-headed, indefatigable
man, in the prime of life, or he may be old, crotchety, pigheaded, and
mentally and physically incapable. He may be either; it does not much
matter, as he can only remain for five years, at which time his term
expires.
We will suppose that the crotchety old gentleman arrives first. The
public will be in a delightful perplexity as to what the new governor
will do--whether he will carry out the views of his predecessor, or
whether he will upset everything that has been done in the past five
years; all is uncertainty. The only thing known positively is, that,
good or bad, he will pocket seven thousand a year![1]
His term of government will be chequered by many disappointments to the
public, and, if he has any feeling at all, by many heartburnings to
himself. Physically incapable of much exertion, he will be unable to
travel over so wild a country as Ceylon. A good governor in a little
island may be a very bad governor in a large island, as a good
cab-driver might make a bad four-in hand man; thus our old governor
would have no practical knowledge of the country, but would depend upon
prejudiced accounts for his information. Thus he would never arrive at
any correct information; he would receive all testimony with doubt,
considering that each had some personal motive in offering advice, and
one tongue would thus nullify the other until he should at length come
to the conclusion of David in his haste, "that all men are liars," and
turn a deaf ear to all. This would enable him to pass the rest of his
term without any active blunders, and he might vary the passive
monotony of his existence by a system of contradiction to all advice
gratis. A little careful pruning of expenses during the last two years
of his term might give a semblance of increase of revenue over
expenditure, to gain a smile from the Colonial Office. On his return
the colony would be left with neglected roads, consequent upon the
withdrawal of the necessary funds.
This incubus at length removed from the colony, may be succeeded by a
governor of the first class.
He arrives; finds everything radically wrong; the great arteries of the
country (the roads) in disorder; a large outlay required to repair
them. Thus his first necessary act begins by an outlay at a time when
all outlay is considered equivalent to crime. This gains him a frown
from the Colonial Office. Conscious of right, however, he steers his
own course; he travels over the whole country, views its features
personally, judges of its requirements and resources, gathers advice
from capable persons, forms his own opinion, and acts accordingly.
We will allow two years of indefatigable research to have passed over
our model governor; by that time, and not before, he may have become
thoroughly conversant with the colony in all its bearings. He has
comprehended the vast natural capabilities, he has formed his plans
methodically for the improvement of the country; not by any rash and
speculative outlay, but, step by step, he hopes to secure the
advancement of his schemes.
This is a work of time; he has much to do. The country is in an
uncivilized state; he sees the vestiges of past grandeur around him,
and his views embrace a wide field for the renewal of former
prosperity. Tanks must be repaired, canals reopened, emigration of
Chinese and Malabars encouraged, forests and jungles cleared, barren
land brought into fertility. The work of years is before him, but the
expiration of his term draws near. Time is precious, but nevertheless
he must refer his schemes to the Colonial Office. What do they know of
Ceylon? To them his plans seem visionary; at all events they will
require an outlay. A correspondence ensues--that hateful
correspondence! This ensures delay. Time flies; the expiration of his
term draws near. Even his sanguine temperament has ceased to hope; his
plans are not even commenced, to work out which would require years; he
never could see them realized, and his successor might neglect them and
lay the onus of the failure upon him, the originator, or claim the
merit of their success.
So much for a five years' term of governorship, the absurdity of which
is superlative. It is so entirely contrary to the system of management
in private affairs that it is difficult to imagine the cause that could
have given rise to such a regulation. In matters great or small, the
capability of the manager is the first consideration; and if this be
proved, the value of the man is enhanced accordingly; no employer would
lose him.
But in colonial governments the system is directly opposite, for no
sooner does the governor become competent than he is withdrawn and
transferred to another sphere. Thus every colony is like a farm held
on a short lease, which effectually debars it from improvement, as the
same feeling which actuates the individual in neglecting the future,
because he will not personally enjoy the fruits of his labor, must in
some degree fetter the enterprise of a five years' governor. He is
little better than the Lord Mayor, who flutters proudly for a year, and
then drops his borrowed feathers in his moulting season.
Why should not governors serve an apprenticeship for five years as
colonial secretaries to the colonies they are destined for, if five
years is still to be the limited term of their office? This would
ensure a knowledge of the colony at a secretary's salary, and render
them fit for both the office and salary of governor when called upon;
whereas, by the present system, they at once receive a governor's
salary before they understand their duties.
In casually regarding the present picture of Ceylon, it is hard to say
which point has been most neglected; but a short residence in the
island will afford a fair sample of government inactivity in the want
of education among the people.
Upon this subject more might be said than lies in my province to dwell
upon; nevertheless, after fifty years' possession of the Kandian
districts, this want is so glaring that I cannot withhold a few remarks
upon the subject, as I consider the ignorant state of the native
population a complete check to the advancement of the colony.
In commencing this subject, I must assume that the conquerors of
territory are responsible for the moral welfare of the inhabitants;
therefore our responsibility increases with our conquests. A mighty
onus thus rests upon Great Britain, which few consider when they glory
in the boast, "that the sun never sets upon her dominions."
This thought leads us to a comparison of power between ourselves and
other countries, and we trace the small spot upon the world's map which
marks our little island, and in every sphere we gaze with wonder at our
vast possessions. This is a picture of the present. What will the
future be in these days of advancement? It were vain to hazard a
conjecture; but we can look back upon the past, and build upon this
foundation our future hopes.
When the pomps and luxuries of Eastern cities spread throughout Ceylon,
and millions of inhabitants fed on her fertility, when the hands of her
artists chiseled the figures of her gods from the rude rock, when her
vessels, laden with ivory and spices, traded with the West, what were
we? A forest-covered country, peopled by a fierce race of savages clad
in skins, bowing before druidical idolatry, paddling along our shores
in frames of wickerwork and hide.
The ancient deities of Ceylon are in the same spots, unchanged; the
stones of the Druids stand unmoved; but what has become of the nations?
Those of the East have faded away and their strength has perished.
Their ships are crumbled; the rude canoe glides over their waves; the
spices grow wild in their jungles; and, unshorn and unclad, the
inhabitants wander on the face of the land.
Is it "chance" that has worked this change? Where is the forest-covered
country and its savage race, its skin-clad warriors and their frail
coracles?
There, where the forest stood, from north to south and from east to
west, spreads a wide field of rich fertility. There, on those rivers
where the basket-boats once sailed, rise the taut spars of England's
navy. Where the rude hamlet rested on its banks in rural solitude, the
never-weary din of commerce rolls through the city of the world. The
locomotive rushes like a thunder-clap upon the rail; the steamer
ploughs against the adverse wind, and, rapid as the lightning, the
telegraph cripples time. The once savage land is the nucleus of the
arts and civilization. The nation that from time to time was
oppressed, invaded, conquered, but never subjected, still pressed
against the weight of adversity, and, as age after age rolled on, and
mightier woes and civil strife gathered upon her, still the germ of her
destiny, as it expanded, threw off her load, until she at length became
a nation envied and feared.
It was then that the powers of the world were armed against her, and
all Europe joined to tear the laurels from her crown, and fleets and
armies thronged from all points against the devoted land, and her old
enemy, the Gaul, hovered like his own eagle over the expected prey.
The thunder of the cannon shook the world, and blood tinged the waves
around the land, and war and tumult shrieked like a tempest over the
fair face of Nature; the din of battle smothered all sounds of peace,
and years passed on and thicker grew the gloom. It was then the innate
might of the old Briton roused itself to action and strained those
giant nerves which brought us victory. The struggle was past, and as
the smoke of battle cleared from the surface of the world, the flag of
England waved in triumph on the ocean, her fleets sat swan-like on the
waves, her standard floated on the strongholds of the universe, and far
and wide stretched the vast boundaries of her conquests.
Again I ask, is this the effect of "chance?" or is it the mighty will
of Omnipotence, which, choosing his instruments from the humbler ranks,
has snatched England from her lowly state, and has exalted her to be
the apostle of Christianity throughout the world?
Here lies her responsibility. The conquered nations are in her hands;
they have been subject to her for half a century, but they know neither
her language nor her religion.
How many millions of human beings of all creeds and colors does she
control? Are they or their descendants to embrace our faith?--that is,
I are we the divine instrument for accomplishing the vast change that
we expect by the universal acknowledgement of Christianity? or are
we--I pause before the suggestion--are we but another of those examples
of human insignificance, that, as from dust we rose, so to dust we
shall return? shall we be but another in the long list of nations whose
ruins rest upon the solitudes of Nature, like warnings to the proud
cities which triumph in their strength? Shall the traveler in future
ages place his foot upon the barren sod and exclaim, "Here stood their
great city!"
The inhabitants of Nineveh would have scoffed at such a supposition.
And yet they fell, and yet the desert sand shrouded their cities as the
autumn leaves fall on the faded flowers of summer.
To a fatalist it can matter but little whether a nation fulfills its
duty, or whether, by neglecting it, punishment should be drawn down
upon its head. According to his theory, neither good nor evil acts
would alter a predestined course of events. There are apparently
fatalist governments as well as individuals, which, absorbed in the
fancied prosperity of the present, legislate for temporal advantages
only.
Thus we see the most inconsistent and anomalous conditions imposed in
treaties with conquered powers; we see, for instance, in Ceylon, a
protection granted to the Buddhist religion, while flocks of
missionaries are sent out to convert the heathen. We even stretch the
point so far as to place a British sentinel on guard at the Buddhist
temple in Kandy, as though in mockery of our Protestant church a
hundred paces distant.
At the same time that we acknowledge and protect the Buddhist religion,
we pray that Christianity shall spread through the whole world; and we
appoint bishops to our colonies at the same time we neglect the
education of the inhabitants.
When I say we neglect the education I do not mean to infer that there
are no government schools, but that the education of the people,
instead of being one of the most important objects of the government,
is considered of so little moment that it is tantamount to neglected.
There are various opinions as to the amount of learning which
constitutes education, and at some of the government schools the native
children are crammed with useless nonsense, which, by raising them
above their natural position, totally unfits them for their proper
sphere. This is what the government calls education; and the same time
and expense thus employed in teaching a few would educate treble the
number in plain English. It is too absurd to hear the arguments in
favor of mathematics, geography, etc., etc., for the native children,
when a large proportion of our own population in Great Britain can
neither read nor write.
The great desideratum in native education is a thorough knowledge of
the English tongue, which naturally is the first stone for any
superstructure of more extended learning. This brings them within the
reach of the missionary, not only in conversation, but it enables them
to benefit by books, which are otherwise useless. It lessens the
distance between the white man and the black, and an acquaintance with
the English language engenders a taste for English habits. The first
dawn of civilization commences with a knowledge of our language. The
native immediately adopts some English customs and ideas, and drops a
corresponding number of his own. In fact, he is a soil fit to work up
on, instead of being a barren rock as hitherto, firm in his own
ignorance and prejudices.
In the education of the rising native generation lies the hope of
ultimate conversion. You may as well try to turn pitch into snow as to
eradicate the dark stain of heathenism from the present race. Nothing
can be done with them; they must be abandoned like the barren fig-tree,
and the more attention bestowed upon the young shoots.
But, unfortunately, this is a popular error, and, like all such, one
full of prejudice. Abandon the present race! Methinks I hear the cry
from Exeter Hall. But the good people at home have no idea to what an
extent they are at present, and always have been, abandoned. Where the
children who can be educated with success are neglected at the present
day, it may be imagined that the parents have been but little cared
for; thus, in advocating their abandonment, it is simply proposing an
extra amount of attention to be bestowed upon the next generation.
There are many large districts of Ceylon where no schools of any kind
are established. In the Ouva country, which is one of the most
populous, I have had applications from the natives, begging me to
interest myself in obtaining some arrangement of the kind. Throngs of
natives applied, describing the forlorn condition of their district,
all being not only anxious to send their children to some place where
they could learn free of expense, but offering to pay a weekly stipend
in return. "They are growing up as ignorant as our young buffaloes,"
was a remark made by one of the headmen of the villages, and this
within twelve miles of Newera Ellia.
Now, leaving out the question of policy in endeavoring to make the
language of our own country the common tongue of a conquered colony, it
must be admitted that, simply as a question of duty, it is incumbent
upon the government to do all in its power for the moral advancement of
the native population. It is known that the knowledge of our language
is the first step necessary to this advancement, and nevertheless it is
left undone; the population is therefore neglected.
I have already adverted to the useless system in the government schools
of forcing a superabundant amount of knowledge into the children's
brains, and thereby raising them above their position. A contrasting
example of good common-sense education has recently been given by the
Rev. Mr. Thurston (who is indefatigable in his profession) in the
formulation of an industrial school at Colombo.
This is precisely the kind of education which is required; and it has
already been attended with results most beneficial on its limited scale.
This school is conducted on the principle that the time of every boy
shall not only be of service to himself, but shall likewise tend to the
support of the establishment. The children are accordingly instructed
in such pursuits as shall be the means of earning a livelihood in
future years: some are taught a trade, others are employed in the
cultivation of gardens, and subsequently in the preparation of a
variety of produce. Among others, the preparation of tapioca from the
root of the manioc has recently been attended with great success. In
fact, they are engaged during their leisure hours in a variety of
experiments, all of which tend to an industrial turn of mind,
benefiting not only the lad and the school, but also the government, by
preparing for the future men who will be serviceable and industrious in
their station.
Here is a lesson for the government which, if carried out on an
extensive scale, would work a greater change in the colony within the
next twenty years than all the preaching of the last fifty.
Throughout Ceylon, in every district, there should be established one
school upon this principle for every hundred boys, and a small tract of
land granted to each. One should be attached to the botanical gardens
at Peredenia, and instruction should be given to enable every school to
perform its own experiments in agriculture. By this means, in the
course of a few years we should secure an educated and useful
population, in lieu of the present indolent and degraded race: an
improved system of cultivation, new products, a variety of trades, and,
in fact, a test of the capabilities of the country would be ensured,
without risk to the government, and to the ultimate prosperity of the
colony. Heathenism could not exist in such a state of affairs; it
would die out. Minds exalted by education upon such a system would
look with ridicule upon the vestiges of former idolatry, and the rocky
idols would remain without a worshiper, while a new generation flocked
to the Christian altar.
This is no visionary prospect. It has been satisfactorily proved that
the road to conversion to Christianity is through knowledge, and this
once attained, heathenism shrinks into the background. This knowledge
can only be gained by the young when such schools are established as I
have described.
Our missionaries should therefore devote their attention to this
object, and cease to war against the impossibility of adult conversion.
If one-third of the enormous sums hitherto expended with little or no
results upon missionary labor had been employed in the establishments
as proposed, our colonies would now possess a Christian population.
But are our missionaries capable? Here commences another question,
which again involves others in their turn, all of which, when answered,
thoroughly explain the stationary, if not retrograde, position of the
Protestant Church among the heathen.
What is the reader's conceived opinion of the duties and labors of a
missionary in a heathen land? Does he, or does he not imagine, as he
pays his subscription toward this object, that the devoted missionary
quits his native shores, like one of the apostles of old, to fight the
good fight? that he leaves all to follow "Him?" and that he wanders
forth in his zeal to propagate the gospel, penetrating into remote
parts, preaching to the natives, attending on the sick, living a life
of hardship and self-denial?
It is a considerable drawback to this belief in missionary labor when
it is known that the missionaries are not educated for the particular
colonies to which they are sent; upon arrival, they are totally
ignorant of the language of the natives, accordingly, they are
perfectly useless for the purpose of "propagating the gospel among the
heathen." Their mission should be that of instructing the young, and
for this purpose they should first be instructed themselves.
I do not wish to throw a shade upon the efforts of missionary labor; I
have no doubt that they use great exertions privately, which the public
on the spot do not observe; but taking this for granted as the case,
the total want of success in the result becomes the more deplorable. I
have also no doubt that the missionaries penetrate into the most remote
parts of Ceylon and preach the gospel. For many years I have traversed
the wildernesses of Ceylon at all hours and at all seasons. I have met
many strange things during my journeys, but I never recollect having
met a missionary. The bishop of Colombo is the only man I know who
travels out of the high road for this purpose; and he, both in this and
many other respects, offers an example which few appear to follow.
Nevertheless, although Protestant missionaries are so rare in the
jungles of the interior, and, if ever there, no vestige ever remains of
such a visit, still, in spots where it might be least expected, may be
seen the humble mud hut, surmounted by a cross, the certain trace of
some persevering priest of the Roman faith. These men display an
untiring zeal, and no point is too remote for their good offices.
Probably they are not so comfortable in their quarters in the towns as
the Protestant missionaries, and thus they have less hesitation in
leaving home.
The few converts that have been made are chiefly Roman Catholics, as
among the confusion arising from our multitudinous sects and schisms
the native is naturally bewildered. What with High Church, Low Church,
Baptists, Wesleyans, Presbyterians, etc., etc., etc., the ignorant
native is perfectly aghast at the variety of choice.
With the members of our Church in such a dislocated state, progression
cannot be expected by simple attempts at conversion; even were the
natives willing to embrace the true faith, they would have great
difficulty in finding it amidst the crowd of adverse opinions. Without
probing more deeply into these social wounds, I must take leave of the
missionary labors in Ceylon, trusting that ere long the eyes of the
government will be fixed upon the true light to guide the prosperity of
the island by framing an ordinance for the liberal education of the
people.
[1] [since reduced to five thousand pounds].