Experiences between Colombo and Point de Galle.--Dangers of
Encountering Reptiles.--Marvelous Ant Houses.--Insect
Architects.--Curious Bird's Nests.--Flamingoes at
Rest.--Variety of the Crane Family.--Wild
Pea-Fowls.--Buddha's Prohibition.--Peculiar
Wood-Notes.--Mingling of Fruit and Timber Trees.--Fatal
Parasitic Vines.--Stillness of the Forest.--Superstitions of
the Natives.--Snake Bites.--Railway Facilities.
Amid all the charms of this interesting, palm-embowered route between
Colombo and Galle, there are some serious drawbacks to be encountered,
which as a faithful chronicler the author must not forget to mention.
All mundane enjoyments are qualified. One meets inevitably with an
aggressive army of beetles, ants, land leeches, dragon-flies,
cock-chafers, locusts, wasps, ticks, and vicious spiders, these last
endowed with an immense superfluity of hairy legs, while the
omnipresent and persistent mosquito exhibits unwonted activity.
Indeed, ants, mosquitoes, and sand-flies literally feast upon the
wayfarer, until the entire surface of his face and limbs becomes
excoriated. How the natives with their exposed bodies exist under such
circumstances is a mystery. The redundancy of insect and reptile life
is wonderful in equatorial regions, but as regards the mosquito, where
is this pest not encountered? The author has met and suffered from
them at the far north on the very glaciers of Alaska during the short
summer months, and in the extreme south near the Antarctic Circle, in
the East and in the West, on sea and on land. Of course they are
perennial here like the foliage, and viciously tormenting.
We often heard stories of fatal bites from scorpions, centipedes,
cobras, and other reptiles, but our own experience goes to show that
they are naturally inclined to avoid human beings. It is true that
repulsive insects and reptiles are to be looked out for. One is
careful to examine his shoes before putting them on in the morning,
and to take a few precautions of that sort. Cleanly houses do not
harbor them, though they do sometimes annoy the traveler in the public
rest-houses where he is often compelled to pass the night.
In the thickly wooded districts, the ants' nests are pyramidal in
form, and five feet high, being constructed with even more uniformity
than human hands could produce. Inside, they are divided into broad
passageways, square halls, and store-rooms, to produce which
divisions, so as to make them both accessible and convenient for the
purpose designed, requires mental calculation, the possession of which
we hardly accord to insects. Mere instinct could not insure such
results as are here exhibited. Ants, like bees, live in thoroughly
organized communities, and are found by naturalists to be divided into
laborers, soldiers, and food providers, all presided over by a
recognized chief in authority. On a warm, dry morning, any attentive
observer may see the white ants in the neighborhood of their hills
bringing out their eggs to warm them in the direct rays of the sun. In
proper time, before the dew falls, they are carefully returned to
their original place of deposit. The natives understand that there
will be no rain when the instinct--or reason if you will--of these
minute creatures leads them to expose their eggs to the influence of
the sun's rays. As barometers, these little insects surpass the most
accurate instrument which human intelligence can construct.
The interminable feuds and furious wars of the ant tribe are a curious
study in the tropics, where they would be an intolerable pest were
their numbers not daily reduced by various destructive agencies. It is
a provision of nature among animals and insects that a war of
extermination is constantly in progress among them. The stouter animal
preys upon the weaker. Birds, beasts, insects, and fishes, all are
cannibals in one sense. Just so among the barbaric tribes of Africa,
New Zealand, the Fiji Islands, Australia, etc.: the natives, since
time was young until very lately, have made war upon each other when
their food supply ran low, in order to secure prisoners, whom they
roasted and ate.
In these thick woods along the coast, curious nests of unfamiliar
birds also catch the eye, securely fixed among the pendulous orchids
and creeping ferns. All is so new to a northerner that he is on the
watch for every typical object which may present itself. He does not
fail to mark the nest of the tailor-bird, the little creature which
ingeniously sews leaves together to suit its purpose, and that of the
weaver-bird with its tunnel-like entrance; both are common in the
district which we are describing. The nest of the grosbeak is
remarkable, being two feet long, and composed of finely woven grass as
strong as the texture of common straw hats. It is shaped like an
elongated pear, and suspended at the extreme end of a branch, swinging
back and forth in the wind. The entrance is at the bottom, so as to
render the nest secure against the attacks of snakes, monkeys, and
other enemies. Sometimes a score of these nests are seen in the same
tree. There is also a species of wasp whose architectural proclivities
are displayed in the building of stout, pendant nests five feet in
length. Low down among the undergrowth, say five feet from the earth,
there are colonies of spiders, whose webs are nearly as strong as
pack-thread, absolutely barring the way in some places among the dense
wood. Coming upon an open glade, a wild peacock is seen. He exhibits
no fear of our presence, but flaunts his feathery splendors with all
the self-sufficiency of conscious beauty. Farther on, we see pretty
specimens of the bird of paradise. Now the land becomes low and
marshy, and a broad lake glistens in the sun. Here are plenty of
water-rail, blue kingfishes, and metallic dragon-flies, the latter
skimming over the still water, daintily touching the surface now and
again. Hereabouts the woods and open glades are crowded with bird
life. Storks, cranes, ibises, herons, pelicans, and flamingoes abound
in the low, wet grounds, marshaling themselves in long files, like
trained bodies of men, along the shore of the fresh-water ponds. The
flamingo is called the English soldier-bird by the natives because of
its habits, and its pink epaulets, which tip the body joints of its
otherwise snow-white wings.
The effect is indeed ludicrous when a dozen or more flamingoes, each
standing quietly upon one leg, with its head folded beneath its wing,
seem to be sleeping in that manner. A wide-awake sentinel is always
posted in a commanding position to give warning should an enemy
approach. If the cautionary signal is given, all rise in the air
together, and flying low, trail their long, stilt-like legs stretched
far behind them. The legs of the wading species of birds are not
graceful appendages. Most of the feathered tribe have a decorous way
of gathering their limbs up close to their bodies when they launch
upon the wing. This would, however, be obviously impossible in the
long-legged tribe to which we have referred. The varieties of the
crane family are almost numberless, from the largest, which stands
five feet in height, down to others not taller than a duck. The
water-pheasant, white as the paper upon which we are writing, is a
little beauty about the size of a dove, and may often be seen standing
upon the broad lotus leaves pecking at the seeds. Do they, too, like
human lotus-eaters, seek oblivion and exaltation through the subtle
narcotic thus imbibed?
Now and again we come upon a bevy of pea-fowls quietly feeding among
the ferns, plump and beautiful creatures, mottled with white spots
upon a glossy, slate-colored ground, and nearly as large as our
average domestic fowls. In some parts of Ceylon, they are found in
very large numbers, and as the natives do not disturb them, they are
comparatively tame. We had our suspicions that an occasional
Singhalese stretched his conscience sufficiently to kill and devour a
pea-hen. Though according to his religious faith the Buddhist may not
himself sacrifice life, he may eat what has been killed by one of
another creed. "From the meanest insect up to man, thou shalt not
kill," says the first commandment of Buddha. It must be admitted that
the injunction is very closely heeded. The fact is, the natives do not
crave meat in this hot climate, and it is easy to see that with an
abundance of excellent fruit and vegetables, supplemented by an
occasional meal of fresh or salted fish, the diet of the common people
is wholesome and sufficient. As repeatedly shown, religious instinct
protects animal life among the Buddhists, but why an exception is made
in regard to fish, it is impossible to explain. We have met rigid
Buddhists, however, who would not eat fish,--conscientious men, to
whom the life in the sea was equally sacred with that found upon the
land.
As regards the meat brought from the forest and jungle by European
hunters, the average native has no compunction in eating of it, and is
the grateful recipient of boar or bear carcass for food purposes, as
he has not himself infringed upon the sacred injunction not to take
the life of any creature.
As we wend our way among the thick vegetation and shadowy trees, the
wood-pigeon's soothing, droning notes fall upon the ear like the
melody of a human mother lulling her infant babe to sleep. Now and
again the jungle-cock shouts his defiant reveille in a startling
fashion, breaking the almost solemn silence. The unpleasant squeak of
the flying-frog occasionally grates upon the senses, a creature so
called on account of its remarkable ability of springing from one tree
to another. It is of a rich, light green color, and very poisonous.
The author had never heard of this creature until it introduced itself
by means of the unpleasant croaking sound which it sends forth, very
similar to that produced by the action of a rusty door-hinge.
While noting these things, it was for the first time learned that the
peacock is a most destructive enemy of the snake tribe, to which
reptiles he has an inveterate antipathy,--why or wherefore, no one
knows. He pecks out the snake's eyes, in spite of his fangs. The
favorite food of this gorgeous bird is said to be the white ant, which
so abounds here; a happy provision, whereby the multiplying of this
insect pest is in a measure checked. One is prone to query what the
white ant was created for. Perhaps it was to eradicate some mightier
and unknown curse. _Quien sabe?_
The white ants are the most extraordinary creatures of the formican
tribe. Their dwellings are more than a thousand times higher than
themselves; were human beings to construct their edifices upon the
same relative scale, we should live in houses six thousand feet in
height. These ants are like small white slugs in appearance, and are
said to be delicious eating. Certain low castes in Ceylon use them as
articles of food. A veracious modern writer describes them as tasting
like sugared cream and white almonds. One could get accustomed to
these things, no doubt, but gnawing hunger would have to be the
accompanying sauce to tempt most Europeans to even taste this peculiar
dish of the tropics. Are not snails sold in Paris and London as a
table luxury? Much travel has cured the author of fastidiousness in
regard to food, but he draws the line at snails, ants, and
caterpillars.
There are many peculiarities which strike one in a tropical forest,
affording strong contrasts to ours of the north, not only in the
nature of the products, but also in the seemingly incongruous
mingling of various species of trees. We have pine forests, oak
forests, cedar, birch, and maple woods; but in the low latitudes,
fruit and timber trees abide together in utmost harmony. It would be a
singular sight in New England if we were to find peach or apple trees
bearing after their kind among a forest of oaks, or cherry and plum
trees producing their fruit in a pine grove. In a Ceylon jungle, the
banian and the palm, the bread-fruit, banana, satinwood, calamander,
mango, and bamboo, tamarind, and ebony, mingle familiarly together.
This is a peculiarity born of the wonderful vegetable productiveness
of the equatorial regions, which seem to give indiscriminative birth
to fruits and flowers, wherever there is sufficient space to nourish
their roots and to expand the branches.
Each one of these tall forest trees, so various in species and so thrifty
in growth, serves to sustain some other vegetable life, mostly in the form
of creeping, clinging plants. Scarcely one is seen in the jungle without
its dependent of this nature, and many of them are rendered extremely
lovely by rich festoons of blossoms, which they bear in profusion,
reminding one of the clusters of blue and purple wistarias so common in our
country. A forest tree wreathed with golden allamandas, when seen for the
first time, is a new and never-to-be-forgotten revelation of beauty,
forming a towering mass of bloom. Nature is a charming decorator. Her sweet
combinations never outrage the most delicate, aesthetic taste; art may
imitate, but it cannot rival her. Orchids, ferns, and the most exquisite
mosses in myriads of shades abound, all struggling for space to expand
their gorgeous beauty, while blossoms of scarlet, lilac, and purest white
festoon the tallest stems. The loftiest forest trees are rarely without
examples of these often lovely parasites, adhering to and drawing life from
their abundant vitality. About some of the largest trees, plain, stout
vines, with rich leaves but bearing no flowers, are also seen entwined from
base to top, binding the trunk upon which they cling like a huge piece of
cordage or a ship's hawser. These vines, as they grow from year to year,
tighten their clasp upon the trunk of the tree, slowly but surely choking
it, until the circulation is stopped, so that it finally gives up the
struggle for existence, withers, and dies. In the mean time, the fatal vine
gradually takes the place of the original tree, fattening upon its decay,
itself, after the lapse of years, to be displaced in a similar manner. It
is an inevitable rule that the parasite shall finally end by throttling its
adversary, or rather we should say its victim, like the Indian Thug, who
embraces only to kill. Thus the process of death and renewal in the
vegetable kingdom goes on through the centuries in these lonely,
undisturbed wilds.
The wonderful stillness which reigns in some portions of the dense
forests of Ceylon is such that one can hear the tick of the watch
which he carries,--a silence which presently becomes almost
oppressive, putting one on the very tiptoe of expectation as to what
startling outbreak may possibly happen. When a gentle breeze sweeps
past, the agitated leaves whisper to each other, while one strives to
understand what they say in their arboreal tongue. If, by chance, the
uncanny screech of the devil-bird is heard under such circumstances,
your native guides will quickly hide their eyes in their hands, for,
according to their credulous theories and superstitions, they believe
if they see a devil-bird it is the forerunner of all manner of
misfortunes, among other catastrophes signifying sure death to
themselves within a twelve-month. This feathered pariah is an owl-like
creature, and seldom puts in an appearance in the daytime. The natives
have a proverb expressing the idea that to meet with a white crow or a
straight cocoanut palm is equally unfortunate, but the fact is,
neither is ever seen. Many of the local axioms, and there are myriads
of them, are of a similar character, pronouncing a penalty as sure to
follow upon a supposed, but really impossible, occurrence.
The growth of parasitic vines, to which we have referred, is not by
any means confined to Ceylon. It is observable to a certain extent on
the St. John's River, in Florida, and the neighboring wooded
districts. The author has seen similar instances in the forests of the
King's Country, as it is called, in New Zealand, where the native
tribes maintain a quasi independence, though they are really subject
to England. Here the development of the destructive vines is very
pronounced and curious. After ascending a tree by means of an
anaconda-like embrace, the vine continues to stretch out its length so
as to clasp the branches of the next nearest tree, descending its
trunk by the entwining process to the base. Thence it proceeds to
climb the next nearest stem, and so on, until the woods are rendered
impassable by this insidious, swift-growing vegetable cordage,
forming, with the undergrowth, a jungle only penetrable by wild
animals.
It is in such jungles in Ceylon that poisonous reptiles do much
abound, especially where the land is of a marshy nature, and these
places are always avoided, even by the Singhalese themselves. Local
statistics show that a hundred and fifty natives, on an average, lose
their lives annually by snake-bites. Few white people are thus
sacrificed, they being naturally less exposed. The native, inland, has
no covering for his feet and legs, while the Europeans are always
protected in these parts of the body, so that if attacked, the
poisonous fangs of the serpent rarely penetrate the skin. The bite of
a cobra is said to be harmless if given through woolen clothing, as
the texture absorbs the virus, besides which the fangs of the reptile
under such circumstances are not liable to penetrate the skin of a
white person.
In connection with this typical route between Colombo and Galle, we
have spoken of the railway, which has for some time been gradually
stretching from the capital southward. Probably before these pages
reach the public eye, this long-needed road will be in running order
between the two cities, passing through Mount Lavonia,--the
comparatively cool and pleasant summer resort,--Morotto, Panadura,
Kalatura, Bentola,--famous for its oysters and as being the half-way
station,--and so on, through the several shore settlements to Galle.
This will doubtless prove as profitable a road as that between Colombo
and Kandy, which paid its entire first cost out of the profits in a
few years after its completion, besides making good its full interest
account. It should be added that there was no "watering" of the stock
after our American style, a shamefully deceptive and dishonest system,
which has made so many millionaires richer, and the average citizen
poorer, in our own country.
The study of tropical flora and fauna is intensely interesting to a
lover of nature. Let us not, however, presume too far upon the
reader's patience, but hasten to tell him of Colombo, the capital of
this Indian isle, together with its people and its attractive
surroundings.