Return to England—Visit Cornwall _en route_ to Ceylon for Two Happy
Years.
February 1870.—In the next few months I paid a multitude of visits to
kinsfolk and friends in London and many counties—from Dover, Canterbury,
Rochester, and Cuckfield in the south, to Yorkshire, Northumberland,
Perthshire, and Banff in the north.
The most out-of-the-common thing that my diary records is that on
Sunday, 27th March, I went in the morning to Eaton Chapel, where the
Rev. Samuel Minton[54] preached very ably on the command, “That ye sin
not. But if any man sin, we have an Advocate.” In the afternoon I walked
to St. James’s, Piccadilly, to hear the celebrated Canon Liddon. The
church was densely crowded, and all sat riveted, while _for an hour and
forty minutes_ he spoke on “Desire, when it hath conceived, bringeth
forth Sin, and Sin ... bringeth forth Death.” It was highly
intellectual, and very deep; but so eloquent that no one seemed to feel
it long—not even I, whose capacity as a patient hearer, especially in
the afternoon, is so limited!
In May I went to Birdsall (which is about two hours by rail and road
from York, its post-town) to pay my first visit to Lord and Lady
Middleton, whose eldest son, Digby Willoughby, had married my niece,
Eisa Gordon-Cumming, while I was in India.[55] So that numerous brothers
and sisters and cousins and aunts formed a large company of warm-hearted
kinsfolk ready to welcome me also.
There for the first time I found myself in a real hunting family, the
father of which was Master of his own foxhounds, and, with one
exception, every son and daughter took to hunting as naturally as ducks
take to the water. And another novelty to me was the family devotion to
silky white fox-terriers, of which every one had his or her own
particular idol.
For my own part, I find my affections invariably incline to rough
animals in preference to smooth ones. I do admire beautiful collies (I
once loved one—_i.e._ a grand Himalayan sheep-dog which was given to me
as a puppy in Ramnee Forest, and which accompanied us home, and was the
children’s gentlest playfellow), and I like some Skye terriers, Shetland
ponies, young donkeys, picturesque, wide-horned Highland cattle, and
splendid cart horses, but I do not find myself touched by well-bred
cows, or an endless succession of faultlessly-groomed hunters in stalls,
and packs of glossy hounds, still less by trembling little smooth
terriers. What a confession! But Birdsall was and is a paradise for all
manner of pets—rough as well as smooth.
That autumn, I paid another delightful visit to the Middletons at
Applecross, their beautiful home and deer-forest in Ross-shire—beautiful
in itself and commanding a most lovely view of the great Skye hills,
from which it is only separated by a narrow strip of sea. It is,
however, wide enough often to prove a sea of separation which
occasionally prevents steamers from calling, so that guests who have for
hours been waiting to embark at 1 or 2 P.M., are forcibly detained. Many
come and go in their own yachts, the only access by land being a very
long drive over “the Balloch,” which is a tremendously steep ascent and
descent. Some rash guests recently resolved to come on their motor, and
after many hours, during which their arrival was anxiously awaited, they
arrived on foot exhausted, the motor having stuck half-way.
But once Applecross is reached, it is quite an ideal Highland home, with
an exquisite garden. Specially delightful to me was its luxuriant hedge
of _gloire de Dijon_ roses, for, in common with Lord Byron, I do love
all yellow and orange roses; which to pink ones seem to me to hold in
the flower-world the same relations as savouries do to sweets in regard
to food—most sweets and pink roses being to me alike comparatively
uninteresting.
I now found my brother William and his wife (Bill and Alexa) settled at
Auchintoul—the home which for the next twenty years was destined to
prove such a true family centre for us all.
But I do not purpose touching further on domestic matters, so will pass
on to the autumn of 1872, when an invitation from the “beloved parson”
of our dear old Altyre days—then Bishop of Colombo—to pay him and Mrs.
Jermyn a long visit in Ceylon, led to my going thither, and remaining
for two delightful years in that beautiful isle.
The start was unpropitious. We embarked on board the _Hindoo_, a very
large, quite new steamer, but one which could not face such terrible
weather as we encountered in the English Channel. We embarked at
Tilbury, and for a week we battled with the storm; then in trying to
make Plymouth harbour to take up other passengers, our steering-gear
gave way, and we lay all night off the Eddystone rocks, firing rockets,
burning blue fire and other signals of distress, which were fully
understood on shore, but the storm was so furious that it was impossible
to send us succour, and if any tug could have ventured out, what could
she have done to aid such an unwieldy giant?
She had sprung various leaks, and had four feet of water in her hold.
The lower fires in the engine-room were extinct, and had the water risen
seven inches higher, the upper fires must have been quenched, and we
must have foundered. As it was, the combined efforts of the
donkey-engine and of “all hands at the pump” kept us afloat till
morning, when the gale moderated, and it became possible to rig up some
sort of steering-gear and to turn the ship’s head and run into Plymouth
harbour.
Of course no one on board had dreamt of sleeping that night, as we all
knew that we might founder at any moment. The fine old captain (Kerr)
allowed me to sit on deck in a corner of the wheel-house, and I
certainly never spent a more interesting night. It was all far too
exciting to leave any room for fear.
After the storm came a great calm, and a clear blue sky. It seemed
incredible that we had spent a night in such imminent danger, and yet
landed on a peaceful Advent Sunday morning, 1st December, and went to
St. Andrew’s Church like all the other folk who had slept in their quiet
beds. How vividly I remember that fine old church, and the quaint
dresses of an ancient charity school.
Of course the _Hindoo_ could go no further. She cost her owners £10,000
ere she could recommence her sea-going life, which was brief. Strange to
say, eight years later (in the first week of March 1880), when I had
just embarked in New York harbour on board the ss. _Montana_, and was on
the point of sailing for England, the ss. _Alexandria_ came into port,
having on board the passengers of the _Hindoo_, whom she had rescued
just ere, on 22nd February, that ill-fated vessel foundered in
mid-ocean! She had encountered a furious gale, and for a week was
gradually sinking, funnel, cook-house, and all her ten boats swept away,
and three officers washed overboard, when she was sighted by the
_Alexandria_, which succeeded in saving her crew and passengers,
fifty-three in all. On reaching New York, the five passengers were at
once transferred to the _Montana_, which thus carried the FIRST and LAST
passengers of the _Hindoo_.
Which of us was Jonah I cannot venture to say, but after a most
prosperous voyage, when we were fully expecting to breakfast at
Liverpool, we were awakened by a crash, followed by the alarming cry of
“All hands on deck!” and quickly realised that in a dead calm, but dense
fog, we had run right on to the cliffs opposite Holyhead, and lay in a
most critical position with our bows high on the rocks.
Once more we fired signals of distress, which were distinctly heard at
Holyhead; but for some inexplicable reason no one came to our assistance
for many hours—not till a party of women and children had been rowed to
Holyhead in a boat so leaky as to be more dangerous than the ship they
had left. As I had all my precious portfolios on board, I had ventured
to crave the captain’s permission to stick to the ship, which he allowed
me to do at my own risk, and in the course of the afternoon I had the
satisfaction of seeing them and myself safely transferred to a seaworthy
tug, which took us to Liverpool.
To return to Plymouth and the _Hindoo_. Her owners soon perceived that
it would be necessary for them to charter two smaller vessels, and
divide our large body of passengers into an Indian and a Ceylon party.
Till these could be got ready, we were each allowed ten shillings and
sixpence a day, and were left to our own devices.
To me this was obviously the chance of a lifetime in which to visit
Cornwall, and especially my great-grandmother’s estate of Penrose, near
Helston, and the wonderful Loe-pool. Emily Sage, who shared my cabin on
the _Hindoo_, resolved to accompany me, and Reginald Wickham thought he
could not do better than escort us. And so our enforced detention led to
a most interesting fortnight in Cornwall, and another in Devonshire,
till on 30th December we embarked on board the _Othello_, and, after a
very pleasant voyage, reached Colombo on 5th February 1873.
Our various adventures had so thoroughly shaken us all together, that we
had become an exceedingly friendly party, and were henceforward known in
Ceylon as the “Hindoo-Othellos,” who invariably drew together, just like
boys from the same public school. That voyage resulted in at least three
weddings, including that of the young couple whom I chaperoned in
Cornwall, from whom, after a lapse of thirty-one years, I have just
received a joint Christmas letter, reminding me of those happy weeks,
and telling with gladness of their soldier and schoolboy sons.
The next two years were one prolonged delight, each day being crammed
with matters of interest, and the very varied scenery of mountains or
sea-coast, rivers and lakes, temples and palaces, marvellous ruins of
pre-Christian cities in the depths of the great forests, stupendous
artificial tanks, gorgeously coloured foliage, and most picturesque men,
women, and children, Singhalese and Tamil, peasants and great
chiefs—each and all offered subjects so tempting to an artist that the
mere question of what to draw first was positively bewildering.
Not content with such sights as could easily be reached by ordinary
routes, the bishop most kindly arranged that his daughter and I should
accompany him on some of his visits to places most difficult of access.
One such tour was done entirely by water, passing from one calm lagoon
to another by means of connecting rivers and canals, where every turn
was a new vision of beauty.
The bishop’s “luxurious” house-boat was simply an ordinary rice
cargo-boat, cleaned and hung with white calico—so small that most people
would never have dreamt of sharing it with two unnecessary companions;
but, as I have often proved, “WHERE THERE IS HEART-ROOM THERE IS
HEARTH-ROOM,” and in truth those two companions did most thoroughly
enjoy the expedition thus unselfishly made possible for them.
Another was a riding-trip through the great forests to visit some
Vedas—the wild aborigines, a few of whom were just beginning to be
slightly tamed and semi-Christian. Thus incidentally we camped among the
wonderful ruins of the city of Pollanarua, and of the great tanks which
in bygone ages irrigated vast tracts of country, now arid thorny jungle,
except where in recent years British engineers have restored some of
these ancient works.
Long, delightful visits to the Commander of the Forces and the Governor,
_i.e._ General and Mrs. Kenny, and Mr.[56] and Mrs. Gregory (the latter
at Government House, Kandy and Queen’s Cottage, Nuwara-Eliya), blended
gay society life with many beautiful expeditions. Alas! the most
interesting of all, which was a very carefully organised three weeks’
journey from Kandy to the pre-Christian city of Anaradhapura, in the
heart of the Isle, and back to Kandy, involving a good deal of riding,
proved too much for a delicate constitution, and Mrs. Gregory became
very ill from what proved to be an internal development of dysentery,
and a week after reaching her beautiful home in Kandy, she passed away
on 28th June 1873.
Such an event naturally cast a sad gloom over the Isle—she was so truly
sympathetic and considerate for every one. For myself I proved, as I
have often done before, how soothing are long days of solitary
sketching, alone with beautiful nature; and at that time I found
peculiarly lovely subjects among the huge bamboo clumps overhanging the
beautiful river Gangarowa, on whose banks I was the guest of the
proprietors, Mr. and Mrs. Horsford, most kind friends.
Then another long, restful visit to a very popular fellow-passenger, who
had come out with us to marry her own love, Tom Farr. Their sweet nest,
Oolanakanda, was perched very high on the majestic Allegalla Peak, at
the foot of a mighty crag, and overlooking a billowy sea of mountain
ranges. Few houses command so vast a view, far above the misty valleys,
and the wonderful stillness of the mountains brought a sense of peace.
From there we could see in the far distance the other great mountain of
Ceylon, known to us as “Adam’s Peak,” but to the Singhalese as the “Sri
Pada,” or Mount of the Holy Foot, because of an impression, six feet in
length, on the extreme summit of that lofty peak, which is reverenced by
millions of the human race as that of whatever saintly person they most
revere. The Buddhists believe it to have been the footprint of Buddha,
the Mohammedans of Adam, the Sivites of Siva, while the Roman Catholic
Christians suppose it to have been that of St. Thomas.
All these sects alike make pilgrimage to that sacred summit, truly
climbing “the steep ascent to heaven.” It is very steep, and a toilsome
expedition, and at that time I could only hear of two white women who
had ever attempted it, but as both had accomplished it, and one was Lady
Robinson (afterwards Lady Rosmead), I refused to be scared by accounts
of its difficulty, whereupon half a dozen stalwart planters undertook to
be my escort, and well we were rewarded.
We spent a perfectly clear moonlight night on that wondrous summit, and
had the rare good-fortune, both at sunset and sunrise, to see the
extraordinary perfectly triangular blue shadow falling from the base of
the mountain to the horizon, exactly as I subsequently saw a similar
triangle cast by Fujiyama, the equally sacred mountain of Japan. I think
there can be little doubt that to these simple nature-worshippers this
mysterious and unaccountable natural phenomenon must have been the
original cause which led them to venerate these lofty peaks.
Not that the shape of the mountain is in any way responsible for the
sharply defined, geometric form of the shadow. I am told that the same
thing is sometimes seen from Pike’s Peak in the United States, which has
a rounded summit; but whether the Indian tribes there reverenced either
the mountain or its shadow, no one seems to have inquired.
The size of the footprint is well in keeping with that of the so-called
“holy tooth,” reverenced by many millions of Buddhists as that of their
founder, but which is probably that of a crocodile, and fully two inches
in length. The original small tooth was burnt by the Portuguese
conquerors. So then it was revealed to a devout priest that if he looked
in a certain spot on the lake he would find it again in a lotus blossom.
He accordingly sought, and found this treasure, which is so jealously
guarded that it is only shown when the great temple at Kandy is in
special need of funds, and then devout pilgrims from afar crowd to
worship it. Fortunately for me, one of these rare exhibitions occurred
while I was at Kandy, and I passed among the worshippers so often that
at length I secured in the palm of my hand a perfectly accurate
representation of the revered ivory.
There is a very gorgeous annual “Perehera,” when the tooth is supposed
to be carried round the city on a splendidly caparisoned elephant,
escorted by many other elephants, and by all the Singhalese chiefs in
their strange costume; but that is altogether a fraud, as the tooth is
never really taken outside of its own secure part of the temple, and
only an empty shrine receives the homage of the multitudes.
But I must not suffer myself to wander off into memories of beautiful
Ceylon and of the many hospitable homes to which I was so heartily
welcomed in all parts of the isle. I brought away several hundred very
careful paintings of exceeding interest, which (together with many in
other British colonies) were borrowed and framed for exhibition by the
representatives of these colonies at the great Indian and colonial
exhibitions in London, Glasgow, and elsewhere.
All the most interesting details of my wanderings are recorded in _Two
Happy Years in Ceylon_, now published in a one-volume edition by Messrs.
Chatto and Windus, London. On its blue cover is depicted a Talipat
palm-tree in blossom, showing the stupendous crown of white feather-like
blossom, rising to a height of from twenty to twenty-five feet above the
tree, an effort which occurs but once, after the palm has lived about
forty years; it then produces an amazing weight of nuts, each the size
of a small apple, but useless, and dies of exhaustion. Its gigantic
leaves sometimes measure twenty-five feet from the base of the
leaf-stalk to the outer rim of the leaf.
I am glad to say that this book also was most cordially received by
critics and the public, as also by the many religious denominations, to
whose overlapping work I had occasion frequently to refer.
I returned to Britain in the end of July 1874, and (accompanied by
Ceylon portfolios) paid such a round of visits in England and Scotland,
and got through so much writing, sketching, and other work, as fairly
takes my breath away even to think of, now that I have reached the later
stage, physical and mental, as described by Longfellow:
“The young heart, hot and restless,
And the old, subdued and low.”
Perhaps the pleasantest of all these visits was one to Inveraray, where
Duchess Elizabeth still reigned in all her beauty and charm, surrounded
by a large number of her sons and daughters, and where Princess Louise
showed me many of her own excellent works of art. The Duke was always
keenly interested in any new ideas or illustrations of antiquities or
natural phenomena, and on this occasion my very careful drawings of the
pre-Christian “jungle” cities, and, above all, the triangular shadow of
the Sri Pada, gave him special pleasure.
This he requited by himself taking me for several of his favourite long
drives, which compelled me to confess that Ceylon itself could produce
nothing more exquisite than Inveraray’s cadmium and burnt
sienna-coloured beech-trees, fairy-like golden birches, and profusion of
scarlet rowan-berries, with a sea-loch as blue as the autumn sky, and
wild Highland cattle of every shade of sienna and ochre, nibbling the
brilliantly yellow sea-weed that fringes the loch. After a prolonged
sojourn among large-leaved, luxuriant tropical foliage, the greatest
charm of British woods lies in the smallest leaves, and the graceful
Highland birches excel above all others.