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                          THE PEARL OF INDIA


                                  BY

                          MATURIN M. BALLOU



              From India and the Golden Chersonese,
              And utmost Indian Isle Taprobanes.

                                              MILTON



                            SECOND EDITION




                         BOSTON AND NEW YORK

                    HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY

                    The Riverside Press, Cambridge

                                 1895




                           Copyright, 1894,

                        BY MATURIN M. BALLOU.

       *       *       *       *       *




PREFACE.


That many readers evince a growing satisfaction in contemplating
foreign lands through the eyes of experienced travelers, the favor
shown to previous books by the author of these pages abundantly
testifies. Mutual profit is therefore the outcome of such a work; both
the author and reader are gratified.

It is a pleasure to depict scenes which have afforded so much
gratification to the writer, for enjoyment is redoubled by being
shared,--"joy was born a twin." The undersigned has often been asked
both personally and by letter, "Of all the places you have seen and
written about, which do you consider of the most interest, and which
do you recommend me to visit?" This is a very difficult question to
answer, because individual tastes differ so widely. It is safe to say
no point presents more varied attractions to the observant traveler,
more thoroughly and picturesquely exhibits equatorial life, or
addresses itself more directly to the delicate appreciation of the
artist, botanist, antiquarian, general scientist, and sportsman, than
does Ceylon, gem of the Orient. There are few attractive places in the
East which are so accessible, or which may be said to offer more
reasonable assurance of safety and good health to the stranger, than
this fabled isle of Arabian story. The climate is equable and most
delightful; though the temperature is exceptionally high, it is, in
fact, perpetual summer, varied only by the rains of the monsoon months
of May and June, October and November. The tropical heat near the
coast is trying to northern visitors, but one can always find a
refuge, within a day's journey, up in the hills of the central
province, where it is so cool at most seasons of the year as to render
a fire necessary after sunset. In the matter of expense, this route is
as economical as the average of land and sea travel in any direction.
The cost of living in Ceylon is quite as moderate as in Southern
Europe, and now that the island is so generally traversed by railways
and excellent government roads, there is very little hardship to be
encountered in visiting its remotest districts.

                                                   M. M. B.

       *       *       *       *       *




CONTENTS.


CHAPTER I.

Introductory.--Coming from the Eastward.--Interesting Ocean
Phenomena.--Denizens of the Sea.--Bird Travelers.--Delusive Mirage.--A
Thrilling Adventure.--Prompt Seamanship.--A Struggle for Life.--Dust
of the Sea.--A Dangerous Wreck.--Night Watches.--Sighting the Island
of Ceylon.--Adam's Peak, among the Clouds.--A Beautiful
Shore.--Steamers and Sailing Ships.--Curious Native Boats.--Singhalese
Pedlers.--A Catamaran.--Tempting of Providence.--An Author's Position     1


CHAPTER II.

A Classic Island.--Topographical Position.--Maldive Islands.--Lands rising
out of the Sea.--Size of Ceylon.--Latitude and Longitude.--A Link of a
Powerful Chain.--Important British Station.--"Mountain of the Holy
Foot."--Remarkable Mountain View.--Queer Speculations.--Insect Life in the
Island.--Acknowledged Gem of the Orient.--Wild Elephants.--In Olden
Times.--Far-Reaching Historic Connections.--Arboreal and Floral
Beauties.--Perennial Vegetation.--The Feathered Tribe                    19


CHAPTER III.

The Wearisome Tropics.--Waterspouts.--Climatic Conditions.--Length of
Days.--A Land Rich in Prehistoric Monuments.--History and Fable.--Last
King of Ceylon.--Ancient Ruins.--Aged Cave-Temples.--Gigantic Stone
Statue of Buddha.--French Vandals--A Native Chronicle.--Once the Seat
of a Great Empire.--System of Irrigation.--Mysterious Disappearance of
a Nation.--Ruins of a Vast City.--Departed Glory.--The Brazen
Palace.--Asiatic Extravagance.--Ruined Monument                          44


CHAPTER IV.

Oriental Dagobas.--Ancient City of Pollonarua.--Laid out like our Modern
Capitals.--Unexplored Ruins.--Elaborate Stone Carvings.--Colossal Stone
Figure.--The "Buried Cities."--The Singhalese not a Progressive
People.--Modern History of Ceylon.--Captured by the English.--The
"Resplendent Island."--Commercial Prosperity.--Increasing Foreign
Population.--Under English Rule.--Native Soldiers.--Christian Sects and
Churches.--Roman Catholic Church.--Expulsion of the Jesuits              71


CHAPTER V.

Food of the People.--Rice Cultivation.--Vast Artificial Lakes.--The
Stone Tanks of Aden.--Parched Australia.--Coffee Culture.--Severe
Reverses among Planters.--Tea Culture.--Cinchona Plantations.--Heavy
Exportation of Tea.--Cacao Culture.--A Coffee Plantation
described.--Domesticated Snakes.--The Cinnamon-Tree.--Cinnamon Gardens a
Disappointment.--Picturesque Dwellings.--Forest Lands.--The Ceylon
Jungle.--Native Cabinet Woods.--Night in a Tropical Forest.--Rhododendrons
                                                                         89


CHAPTER VI.

Arboreal King of the Forest.--The Palm Family.--Over-Generous Nature
and her Liberal Provisions.--Product of the Cocoanut-Tree.--The
Wide-Spreading Banian.--Excellent Public Roads.--Aquatic Birds and
Plants.--Native Fruit Trees.--The Mangosteen.--Spice-Bearing
Trees.--Treatment of Women.--Singhalese Rural Life.--Physical
Character of Tamil Men.--Tree Climbing.--Native Children.--Numerical
Relation of the Sexes.--Caste as respected in Ceylon.--Tattooing the
Human Body                                                              112


CHAPTER VII.

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
                                                                        131


CHAPTER VIII.

Colombo, Capital of Ceylon.--Harbor Facilities.--The
Breakwater.--Exposed to Epidemics.--Experiences on
Landing.--Hump-Backed Cattle.--Grand Oriental Hotel.--Singhalese
Waiters.--Galle Face Hotel.--An Unusual Scene.--Number of
Inhabitants.--Black Town the Native Quarters.--Domestic
Scenes.--Monkeys.--Evil Odors.--Humble Homes.--The
Banana-Tree.--Native Temples and Priestly Customs.--Vegetables and
Fruits.--Woman's Instinct.--Street Scenes in the Pettah.--Fish Market
                                                                        144


CHAPTER IX.

The English Part of Colombo.--Army Reserves.--Ceylon an Independent
Colony.--"A Paternal Despotism."--Educational Facilities.--Buddhism
versus Christianity.--Public Buildings.--The Museum.--Domestic
Dwellings.--Suburb of Colpetty.--The Lake of Colombo.--A Popular
Driveway.--A Sunset Scene.--Excursion to the Kalani Temple.--The
Jinrikisha.--Current Diseases.--Native Jugglers.--Hypnotism.--Houdin,
the French Magician, astonishes the Natives.--The Thieving Crows        166


CHAPTER X.

Birds on the Rampage.--Familiar Nuisances.--Silver-Spoon Thieves.--Doctrine
of Metempsychosis.--Various Nationalities forming the Population.--Common
Languages.--Tamils are the Wage-Earners.--The Singhalese Proper are
Agriculturists.--Queer Belief in Demons.--Propitiation!--The
Veddahs.--Attacking Wild Elephants.--Serpent Worship.--Polyandry.--Native
Singhalese Women.--Dress of Both Sexes.--Streets of Colombo on a Gala
Day.--An English Four-in-Hand.--Mount Lavonia                           186


CHAPTER XI.

The Ancient Capital of Kandy.--An Artificial Lake.--The Great River of
Ceylon.--Site of the Capital of the Central Province.--On the Way from
Colombo to Kandy.--The Tiny Musk-Deer.--The Wild Boar.--Native
Cabins.--From the Railway Car Windows.--The Lotus.--Destructive White
Ants and their Enemies.--Wild Animals.--The Mother of Twins.--A Little
Waif.--A Zigzag Railway.--An Expensive Road to build.--"Sensation
Rock" with an Evil History.--Grand Alpine Scenery                       206


CHAPTER XII.

Historical Kandy.--Importance of Good Roads.--Native
Population.--Temple of Buddha's Tooth.--The Old Palace.--Governor's
House.--Great Resort of Pilgrims.--Interior of the Temple.--The Humbug
of Relics.--Priests of the Yellow Robe.--A Sacred Bo-Tree.--Diabolical
Services in the Ancient Temple.--Regular Heathen Powwow.--Singhalese
Music.--Emulating Midnight Tomcats.--Chronic Beggary.--The Old
Parisian Woman with Wooden Legs.--A Buddhist Rock-Temple                225


CHAPTER XIII.

Ceylon the Mecca of Buddhism.--The Drives about Kandy.--Fruit of the
Cashew.--Domestic Prison of Arabi Pasha.--"Egypt for the
Egyptians."--Hillside Bungalows.--Kandy Hotels at a Discount.--The
Famous Botanical Garden of Ceylon.--India-Rubber-Trees, Bamboos, and
Flying Foxes.--Dangerous Reptiles in the Garden.--The Boa
Constrictor.--Success of Peruvian-Bark Raising.--Vicious Land
Leeches.--The Burrowing and Tormenting Tick.--Where Sugar comes from
in Ceylon                                                               241


CHAPTER XIV.

Fifty Miles into Central Ceylon.--Gorgeous Scenic Effects.--Gampola.--The
Singhalese Saratoga.--A Grand Waterfall.--Haunts of the Wild
Elephants.--Something about these Huge Beasts.--European Hunters
restricted.--An Indian Experience.--Elephants as Farm Laborers in Place of
Oxen.--Tame Elephants as Decoys.--Elephant Taming.--Highest Mountain on the
Island.--Pilgrims who ascend Adam's Peak.--Nuera-Ellia as a Sanitarium.--A
Hill Garden                                                             258


CHAPTER XV.

Port of Trincomalee.--A Remarkable Harbor.--How to get
there.--Nelson's Eulogium.--Curious and Beautiful Shells.--Pearl
Oysters.--Process of Pearl Fishing.--What are Pearls and which are
most valued?--Profit to Government.--A Remarkable Pearl.--Tippo Sahib
and Cleopatra.--The Singhalese not Sailors.--Ancient Ruins,--Hot
Springs near Trincomalee.--"Temple of a Thousand Columns."--Valuable
Supply of Ship Timber.--Salt Manufactures.--Tenacity of Life in the
Shark                                                                   272


CHAPTER XVI.

Point de Galle.--An Ancient Port, now mostly deserted.--Dangerous
Harbor.--Environs of the City a Tropical Garden.--Paradise of Ferns and
Orchids.--Neptune's Gardens.--Tides of the Ocean.--Severe
Penalties.--Floating Islands of Seaweed.--Fable, like History, repeats
itself.--Chewing the Betelnut.--An Asiatic Habit.--All Nations seek Some
Stimulant.--Soil near Galle.--Cinnamon Stones.--Diamonds.--Workers in
Tortoise-Shell.--Millions of Fruitful Palms.--Sanitary Conditions of Galle
                                                                        292


CHAPTER XVII.

Dondra Head.--"The City of the Gods."--A Vast Temple.--A Statue of Solid
Gold.--A Famous Rock-Temple.--Buddhist Monastery.--Caltura and its
Distilleries.--Edible Bird's Nests.--Basket-Making.--The
Kaluganga.--Cinnamon Gardens.--"The City of Gems."--A Magnificent
Ruby.--The True Cat's-Eye.--Vast Riches hidden in the Mountains.--Plumbago
Mining.--Iron Ore.--Kaolin.--Gem Cutting.--Native Swindlers.--Demoralizing
Effect of Gem Digging                                                   307


CHAPTER XVIII.

Circumnavigating the Island.--Batticaloa, Capital of the Eastern
Province.--Rice Culture.--Fish Shooting.--Point Pedro.--Jaffna.--Northern
Province.--Oriental Bazaars.--Milk ignored.--The Clear Sea and White, Sandy
Bottom.--American Missionaries.--A Medical Bureau.--Self-Respect a Lost
Virtue.--Snake-Temples.--Ramisseram.--Adam's Bridge.--A Huge Hindu
Temple.--Island of Manaar.--Aripo.--The Port of Negombo.--Tamil
Coolies.--Homeward Bound.--A Farewell View                              323

       *       *       *       *       *




THE PEARL OF INDIA.

CHAPTER I.

     Introductory.--Coming from the Eastward.--Interesting Ocean
     Phenomena.--Denizens of the Sea.--Bird Travelers.--Delusive
     Mirage.--A Thrilling Adventure.--Prompt Seamanship.--A
     Struggle for Life.--Dust of the Sea.--A Dangerous
     Wreck.--Night Watches.--Sighting the Island of
     Ceylon.--Adam's Peak, among the Clouds.--A Beautiful
     Shore.--Steamers and Sailing Ships.--Curious Native
     Boats.--Singhalese Pedlers.--A Catamaran.--Tempting of
     Providence.--An Author's Position.


After a pleasant sojourn in China and Japan, with Ceylon as his
objective point, the author came westward by way of the Malacca
Straits, crossing the Indian Ocean on a line of about the eighth
degree of north latitude. It is a lonely expanse of water, in
traversing which plenty of time was found for meditation. The
equatorial rains, though brief, were at times so profuse during the
voyage as to suggest the possibility of a second universal flood, and
also the advantage which might accrue from being web-footed; but the
air was mostly soft and balmy, the nights were gloriously serene and
bright. The transparency of the atmosphere magnified to dazzling
proportions the constellations which looked down so serenely upon us,
while the moon seemed to have taken a position vastly nearer to the
earth than is its wont at the north. The phosphorescent waves tossed
glowing gems, like fire-opals, about the ship's hull, while setting
our long wake ablaze with flashing light, and producing a Milky Way as
luminous as that above in the blue ether. All phosphorescent matter
requires friction to infuse it with light, and so the thoroughly
impregnated waters were churned into liquid fire by our vigorous and
swift-revolving propeller. What millions upon millions of animalcules,
and these again multiplied, must contribute to produce this aquatic
illumination. During the day, large turtles, schools of dolphins,
flying-fish, occasional water snakes, together with whole shoals of
jelly-fish, were encountered on the widespread tropical sea. At times,
myriads of the fairy-like nautilus floated past in gossamer frames,
while in savage contrast, voracious man-eating sharks followed the
ship close upon either quarter, in eager watchfulness for human prey.
How terribly significant is the upright dorsal fin of this creature,
seen just above the surface of the water, indicating the hideous,
slate-colored body which glides swiftly and stealthily below!

Hovering over and about the tall masts upon untiring pinions, a score
of white-winged, graceful marine birds persistently kept us company
day after day. They joined the ship off the coast of Sumatra, as we
left the entrance to the Malacca Straits, introducing themselves at
first with noisy vehemence and piercing cries, as if to assert their
presence and purpose, a proceeding which was not again repeated. What
became of these handsome feathered creatures at night we never knew,
and it was found that the oldest seaman was equally ignorant. If they
slept upon the waves, they must have overtaken us with arrowy
swiftness at the break of day. They were undoubtedly able to do this,
as they outstripped us in speed at any moment when they chose to do
so, sailing through the air far ahead and all around the rapid,
steady-going ship. However early one came on deck, they were sure to
be in sight, glancing hither and thither upon the invisible air
currents without any apparent exertion. It was the very poetry of
motion. We came finally to look upon these tireless fellow travelers
with no small degree of interest, and should really have regretted
their absence. It is always a pleasing diversion to watch them, to
count and see that their full number is still present, and to delight
in their free and graceful movements.

During the period of their presumed nightly rest upon the heaving
bosom of the sea, our vessel must necessarily pass over a distance of
many leagues, far, far beyond the power of human sight. How marvelous,
therefore, must be the instinct which guides them unerringly to resume
our company with the earliest rays of the morning light. When, in the
arid desert, the exhausted camel sinks at last in its tracks to die,
and is finally left by the rest of the caravan, no other object is
visible in the widespread expanse, even down to the very verge of the
horizon. Scarcely is the poor creature unloaded, however, and left to
perish upon the sand, before there will appear in the far-away sky a
cloud of vultures, at first mere specks in the blue atmosphere,
swooping with lightning speed towards the dying animal, whose bones
they immediately strip with terrific voraciousness. One who has
witnessed this scene can never forget it. The vultures strain and tear
at the carcass, swallowing great pieces of hide and flesh, until at
last, when they are completely gorged, they can only rise a few feet
from the earth, to sink again exhausted upon their feet. Hours must
transpire before they can again soar any distance upon the wing, after
their gluttonous repast.

The sea in this region of the Indian Ocean teems with animal life, the
curiously shaped finny tribe often exhibiting colors as gay and vivid
as those of the birds and flowers in the low latitudes.

Some strange and puzzling phenomena of nature were occasionally
witnessed. Now and again the whole ship's company were deluded by a
mirage; we seemed to be approaching land, though it was never reached,
and at the moment when we should fairly make out its bearings, it
faded slowly into thin air. So realistic were these appearances, often
repeated, that some passengers were curious enough to consult the
captain's sailing-charts to see if certain islands or shoals were not
laid down in or near the course we were steering. The nights were the
most enjoyable, so full of a delicious sense of repose, the stillness
broken only by the great heart-beats of the huge engine which formed
our motive power. The soft and refulgent atmosphere invited one to
linger on deck rather than to seek the close confinement of a
stateroom below, and thus many hours were passed in a half-dreaming,
half-conscious condition, while reviewing the varied experiences of
the past few months of travel. Tableaux of Japanese life and scenery,
bewitchingly attractive and enjoyable adventures in tea-houses, gay
excursions in jinrikishas, together with unique temples and huge
statues of Shinto deities, passed in endless procession before the
mind's eye. The oddities and the local color in Shanghai, Hongkong,
and Canton; the soothing motion of palanquins; the sloping-eyed,
yellow complexioned and pig-tailed people of China; a devastating
cyclone encountered in the Yellow Sea, and the wondrous sunset which
followed it; the gyrating waterspout which was seen off the Gulf of
Siam, a not infrequent experience where so many active currents of
wind and water meet; the many living pictures well-remembered of the
islands of the Malay Archipelago engraven upon the brain at Singapore,
Borneo, Sumatra, Penang, and Java, the latter containing more active
and extinct volcanoes than any other known region,--all these seemed
very real, though only silently rehearsed in dreamland.

Soon after leaving the straits and gaining the broad ocean, a brief
but heavy gale of wind was encountered, which created for some hours a
most boisterous sea. On the morning after the storm, a foremast hand
was sent over the starboard bow to make fast some gearing which had
become loosened by the gale. Almost immediately afterward, the cry of
"Man overboard!" rang fore and aft the ship. A wide-awake passenger
who happened to be standing near the taffrail instantly took a knife
from his pocket, and cutting loose a life-buoy which was fastened to
the starboard quarter ratline, promptly threw it towards the man in
the water as he floated away from the ship. The sailor saw it, and
being a good swimmer struck out for and reached it. A moment later, it
was seen that he had succeeded in thrusting his head and arms through
the opening of the sustaining buoy. In the mean time, the captain at
the sound of the ominous cry sprang up the ladder leading to the
bridge, and took personal charge of the ship, sending the first
officer, whose watch it happened to be, to superintend the lowering of
a quarter-boat to rescue the unfortunate seaman if possible. There was
no flurry, no confusion among the crew. Not a word was spoken except
by the officers. The silence of discipline was supreme. A sailor was
promptly ordered into the shrouds to keep run of the man, who was soon
out of sight from the deck, so rough was the intervening water. The
quarter-boat was lowered from the davits, and was afloat in less than
three minutes after the order was issued, with six stout seamen at the
oars and the first officer in the stern. What a mere cockle-shell it
appeared in that angry sea, one moment low down in the trough, and the
next upon the summit of the waves towering above the deck of the ship.
Nothing of less importance than the saving of a human life would have
warranted the launching of a boat in such a wild condition of the
waves. The sailor who had been sent into the shrouds was ordered to
point constantly toward the man in the water, so that those in the
boat might know in what direction to steer.

"Give way, men, give way with a will!" said the officer, and the oars
bent to the muscular power of the crew.

The ship had been under a twelve-knot headway when the accident
happened, and the man, supported by the buoy, was already a mile or
more to leeward. Then occurred a singular and inopportune
circumstance, which was for a moment the cause of dangerous delay. The
sturdy seaman who pulled the stroke oar of the boat just launched was
seen to falter, cease rowing, and suddenly to bend forward, as though
he were paralyzed. The excitement of the moment completely unmanned
him. His heart for an instant ceased to beat. The first officer
comprehended the situation instantly. Seamen are trained to
promptness; so off came his coat, the tiller was thrust into the
half-fainting sailor's hand, accompanied by a brief command,--he could
steer if he could not pull,--and the officer bent his own stout arms
and body to the stroke oar. There was no time for words,--the stake
was a human life. One or two of the anxious passengers whispered the
word "Shark!" Where were those tiger-fish at this critical moment? The
boat made slow but steady headway towards the distant seaman, while he
at the tiller steered as was indicated by the man stationed high up in
the ship's shrouds. Upon reaching the bridge and relieving the officer
on duty, the captain, while issuing his other orders, had coolly rung
down to the engine-room,--"Stand by! Slow down! Stop her! Back her!"
with a brief interval between each signal. Then, stepping to the
starboard end of the bridge, he waved his handkerchief to the fast
disappearing seaman to let him know that his commander was at his post
and would do his best to save him. The big hull, in response to her
reversed propeller, after a few moments of tremulous indecision, began
to move stern foremost. Several passengers ascended the rigging to
keep the boat in view, for it too was lost to sight from the deck. It
struggled stoutly with the angry sea, which seemed loath to give up
its victim. Those in the shrouds gazed eagerly, and almost held their
breath. The steamer drew very slowly nearer to the man in the water,
as well as to the boat. By and by, after a period of terrible
suspense, the man in the water was seen to be seized by his messmates
and drawn into the boat, which was then turned toward the ship. It was
a long and severe struggle still, to contend successfully with the
high sea which was running, but the boat was finally brought on the
lee side of the vessel, the stout ropes were made fast to the
ring-bolts in its stem and stern, and with all on board it was quickly
run up to the davits. The rescued man and his brave deliverers were
received on board with three hearty cheers, and the big ship, once
more under a full head of steam, took her course westward.

Prompt action, cool courage, and good seamanship saved the life of the
imperiled sailor. There was more than one grateful heart on board
which was relieved by a silent prayer of thanksgiving.

Some of our lady passengers complained of being seriously annoyed by
sea-dust, which at first thought seems ridiculous. Dust at sea! But
there is nevertheless an impalpable collection of salt matter or dry
spray, so to speak, which rises at times from the ocean, especially in
these latitudes, causing the eyes to smart, and giving a distinct
saline flavor to the lips, while it is so penetrating as to thoroughly
impregnate one's clothing. When the sun shines, this deposit seems to
be less abundant, but like the dew, it affects those most who are
exposed to the night air. The "dust" of the sea is very real, as any
experienced sailor will testify.

Our voyage was not without several eventful occurrences. On the
second day after the storm, the lookout reported some object ahead
lying almost directly in our course. At first it looked like a huge
whale, the dark body well out of water, or like the top of a sunken
rock; but as we rapidly approached, it was made out to be the hull of
a large ship, keel uppermost. It might have proved to be a fatal
encounter, had we run upon it in the night. A sharp lookout, together
with the sun shining upon the object, revealed it, but being so near
the color of the sea and having no top-hamper in sight, it could not
have been discovered at any considerable distance at night. Probably
half-sunken vessels have been ere this the cause of other and equally
fatal wrecks. The size and character of the one we had encountered
could only be surmised. The name, even, could not be made out. It
appeared to be a sailing craft of eighteen hundred or two thousand
tons, which had "turned turtle," as sailors term it, perhaps in the
storm which we had so lately encountered. The air retained in the hull
when it capsized evidently served to keep it afloat. Our steamer was
stopped within a safe distance, and a boat was lowered and sent in
charge of an officer to examine the hull, with orders to cut a hole in
the bottom. This would naturally cause the very dangerous obstruction
to sink. It was slow work to cut an opening in the stout bottom with
an axe, but when it was finally accomplished and an aperture two feet
square was made, the downward pressure of the huge structure forced
out the air and water with tremendous power, like a monster whale
spouting. It was now plain enough what had kept the hull afloat, for
as this confined air rushed out, producing a noise like escaping
steam, the dark mass began slowly to settle, so that before our boat
had returned and was fairly secured at the davits, it had sunk below
the surface of the waves, which washed over it for a few moments, as
though it were a coral reef. Then it suddenly disappeared altogether.
These treacherous seas have been well named the graveyard of commerce.
The mystery of the wreck, so far as we know, was never solved.
Doubtless all hands perished together when the vessel capsized.

Of course, such an experience sets one to speculating upon the
possibilities which it involves. Sometimes a terrible sense of
loneliness comes over the voyager upon the ocean, notwithstanding the
ship and its immediate surroundings, when he realizes the immense
space covered by the wilderness of the sea. It is not so much fear as
it is awe inspiring.

The passengers watched the captain with great interest daily, as he
went through the formula of recording the ship's course. Any incident
at sea is eagerly seized upon to vary the monotony. As is well known,
the commander of a ship corrects his time by the observation of the
sun at meridian, thus specifying his position upon the waste of
waters, and enabling him to mark upon the chart his exact latitude
and longitude. The process is a mystery to the average traveler, but
its simplicity will delight him, if he once takes the trouble to
understand it.

It was a bright December morning when we made the island of Ceylon.
Not a cloud was seen breaking the intense atmospheric blue that
overhung the vast expanse. Many of the passengers, on retiring the
night previous, left word with the steward to be called at an early
hour in anticipation of our sighting the land. The sea had been quite
calm for the last two days, and the nights sublime. A few of us found
it sufficiently restful to remain on deck amid such surroundings,
gazing idly among the clustering stars, so far away, and watching for
the first view of the shore. Thus the night passed, and the big red
globe of the sun came up out of the sea to the eastward, as though it
had been sleeping submerged there since it bade us good-night in the
west at twilight. Adam's Peak, in the shape of a perfect cone, had
been in view from the deck since the break of day, half lost in the
far-away sky. In clear weather, this famous elevation can be seen
sixty miles off the shore of the island. The height of the mountain,
and its looming form, at first produces the effect of a mountain
rising abruptly from out of the perfect level of the waves, but we
were now rapidly approaching the land, and just as the steward's bell
summoned us to breakfast, the lighthouse on the end of the breakwater
of Colombo came dimly into view. The first meal of the day, usually
partaken of at sea with such hearty zest, was neglected by most of the
passengers that morning. A welcome and absorbing sight was before us.
We had last been on land at Penang, which was now left thirteen
hundred miles astern. All were weary of the sea, and in a favorable
mood to fully enjoy the gentle land breeze which came to us laden with
the fragrance of flowers distilled from a wilderness of bloom.
Tropical luxuriance and languor reigned supreme. What a summer world
it was, beautiful beyond expression! The sunshine had not yet asserted
its oppressive power, and the island was seen at its best. An artistic
eye could not but delight in the lavish display of well-defined color
which was presented in the azure sky, the deep green of the
vegetation, the pale blue of the shoal water, and the snow-white
feathery spray combing over the stout granite coping of the
breakwater. As we came nearer to the influence of the shore, the air
was tinctured with rank odors, and the water was heavy with yellow
seaweed, while the hoarse murmurs of the contentious waves sounded
their mournful anthem. No matter how calm the outer sea may be, the
large green rollers of the ocean break with great force when they meet
with any abrupt impediment on the shore. One does not readily forget
such an impressive moment. It remains a joy forever.

It is curious how sensitive the judgment is to external influences.
Nothing is more likely to produce a fixed and unfavorable impression
of a new place than to approach it beneath a cheerless, cloud-darkened
sky, while bored by some personal annoyance. On the contrary, if one
is introduced to a fresh locality under cheerful auspices, while
Nature herself is in a happy mood, he unconsciously reflects a similar
spirit, and is heartily prepossessed in its favor. It was only
necessary to observe one's companions to see this fully illustrated.
There were a few disaffected ones to whom the world seemed all awry,
but the majority felt the inspiration and joyousness of the scene.

It was now clear enough that Adam's Peak ("Mount of the Holy Foot"),
which had seemed a short time since to rise abruptly from the very
bottom of the sea, was really situated far inland, dominating a whole
family of lesser elevations, and having many miles of low,
thick-wooded country lying between it and the ocean. As we rounded the
lighthouse, half a dozen European steamships came into view, riding at
their moorings, making a brief call here on their way east or west,
together with a considerable fleet of small coasting crafts, and a
long line of idle catamarans, drawn up upon the shelving beach.
Besides these, there were a couple of full-rigged European sailing
ships, presenting a strong contrast to the mammoth steamers with their
invisible motive power. One of the ships was getting under weigh,
bound for Australia. A number of her busy crew were aloft, engaged in
setting sail after sail, and covering the ample yards with canvas
wings, while the capstan bars were manned by others getting up the
anchor, their hearty and melodious nautical refrain coming clearly to
our ears across the intervening waters.

No sooner had our ship come to anchor than it was surrounded by a
score and more of curious native boats, which are called on this coast
catamarans (_katter maran_, "tied tree"). The true catamaran is to be
seen all along the east coast of India, consisting of three or four
trunks of trees bound together with thongs. These contrivances form
the rude floats which are used by the Coromandel fishermen, and hence
the name. A few of the boatmen who were permitted to come on board
vociferously importuned the new-comers for a job, or pressed great
bargains upon us in the shape of fresh fruit, Brummagem stones,
curiously ornamented boxes of shells, and toy carvings in ivory and
ebony, the latter mostly representing elephants and Chinese idols.
Altogether there was a perfect babel of tongues adding to the
confusion incident upon the landing of passengers and baggage. There
was much handshaking, while many hasty but hearty farewells were
spoken, for it must be remembered that the good ship, after leaving a
few of the cabin passengers safely on shore and taking on board a
supply of coals, would continue her voyage toward far-away England.

The queerly constructed boats to which we have referred consist of a
rudely dug-out tree trunk, fifteen or twenty feet long, having planks
of wood fastened to the sides lengthwise, to form gunwales and afford
some protection from the water. No nails are used in their
construction, the woodwork being securely lashed--we might say
sewed--together with Ceylon cordage, made from the fibrous bark of the
palm. An outrigger, consisting of a solid log of wood, is fastened
alongside six or eight feet away, by means of two arched poles of
stout, well-seasoned bamboo. The outrigger, which is about half the
length of the boat, prevents the possibility of overturning it, but
without this attachment so narrow a craft--less than twenty-four
inches in width--would not remain in an upright position, if occupied,
even in a perfectly calm sea. The outrigger is always kept to
windward, and as these canoes have both ends constructed alike, they
sail equally well either way. The mast and single sail, being
portable, are easily shifted from one end to the other, or adjusted to
suit. The similarity of these rude boats to those one sees throughout
the Eastern Archipelago shows us whence the idea was probably
borrowed. Some of the larger canoes are over forty feet in length, but
none are wide enough for two persons to sit abreast in them.

In these apparently frail floats the natives go fearlessly twenty
miles to sea in almost any weather short of a gale, to catch
deep-water fish, and it is a very rare occurrence to hear of any
serious mishap befalling a catamaran, or its hardy navigators. A
European, upon finding himself in one of these "floating scarecrows,"
according to the remark of a fellow passenger after reaching the
shore, "feels as if he were recklessly tempting Providence; and though
he may not be drowned, still he deserves to be." They are wretchedly
uncomfortable, these awkward boats, for one not accustomed to them,
but experience demonstrates that they are quite safe. As to the
natives, they tumble recklessly about in a catamaran, holding on like
monkeys, both with hands and feet.

Some of the passengers were observant enough to watch the handsome
birds which followed us a thousand miles and more across the sea, even
into the harbor of Colombo. There were others of the same species
flying about near the shore, but we fancied it possible to select our
special fellow travelers, as they still kept near to the ship's masts,
though she was now at anchor. Food was thrown to them from the cook's
galley, and that important functionary declared that when the ship
resumed her voyage, on the following day, the flock of gulls would
follow it as closely as heretofore, even through the Suez Canal and
the Mediterranean Sea, until the far-away English coast was reached.

Thus much we have said by way of introduction, and having now landed
on this "utmost Indian isle," let us endeavor to intelligently depict
its unique characteristics, together with its past and present story,
for the entertainment and information of the patient reader.

The author who sits down to write upon a given subject is generally so
full of his theme that he must constantly put on the brakes, as it
were, to curb his fancy. He is never thanked for what he omits from
his pages, though there is so much which he might but does not
express, lest his readers should feel bored by a detailed account of
that which, with the added charm of time and place, may have had
unwonted interest for himself. It is to be feared that words rarely
convey the real spirit of what most fascinates the eye, and whatever
they do not help the reader to see, like glass, they darken.




CHAPTER II.

     A Classic Island.--Topographical Position.--Maldive
     Islands.--Lands rising out of the Sea.--Size of
     Ceylon.--Latitude and Longitude.--A Link of a Powerful
     Chain.--Important British Station.--"Mountain of the Holy
     Foot."--Remarkable Mountain View.--Queer
     Speculations.--Insect Life in the Island.--Acknowledged Gem
     of the Orient.--Wild Elephants.--In Olden
     Times.--Far-Reaching Historic Connections.--Arboreal and
     Floral Beauties.--Perennial Vegetation.--The Feathered
     Tribe.


Ceylon, the Lanka Dwipe, "resplendent island," of the Hindus, the
fabled isle of the Arabian Nights, and appropriately called the "Pearl
of India" by the English, who are its present masters, is separated
from the southern extremity of the continent by the Gulf of Manaar.
Were it not that a shallow watercourse of about fifty miles in width
intervenes, the island would be a peninsula. As it is, a barrier to
navigation known as Adam's Bridge, consisting of several ledges of
parallel rocks, nearly forms a connection with the mainland. Aided by
coral growth and the sand deposit of the ceaseless current setting
into the Strait of Manaar from the long reach of the Coromandel coast,
this may in the course of time be consummated. The tendency is
certainly in that direction, notwithstanding a system of dredging
which has been adopted by the English government, enabling vessels
which do not draw over ten feet of water to pass through the strait,
and thus avoid the necessity of doubling the island at its southern
extremity. Ceylon,--the Serendib of the Arabs,--is the gem of the
Indian Ocean, an intimate acquaintance with which fully sustains the
delightful promise it suggests to the stranger who beholds it for the
first time as he approaches the low-lying, palm-lined shore. Indeed,
it might appropriately be called the Isle of Palms, so interminable is
the array of cocoanut-trees which fringe the beach.

Judging solely from its present appearance and its geographical
position, it would seem to have been a portion of the mainland at some
former period, though there are many able writers who do not accept
this idea, reminding us that animals, birds, insects, and reptiles
which are quite unknown on the continent of India exist in this
island. There are no hyenas, tigers, wolves, or foxes here, though
there are plenty of these creatures just across the Strait of Manaar.
As an argument this is not of so much importance, however, as might at
first appear, since there are so many well-known instances of a like
character. The dissimilitude of Sumatra and Java, separated by only a
narrow channel, occurs to us, as well as that of Madagascar, but
narrowly divided from the neighboring continent. So able a writer on
physical geography as Sir J. E. Tennent believes that Ceylon is not a
dismembered portion of India, but a distinct formation, perhaps part
of a continent which has long since disappeared. In this suggestive
opinion Professor Owen also agrees with him.

The Maldive Islands, situated five hundred miles west of Ceylon, are a
group of seventeen coral islets containing a vast number of cocoanut
palms, and are rich in varied tropical vegetation. They have a
population of thirty thousand Mohammedans, ruled by an hereditary
sultan, who pays yearly tribute to the present government of Ceylon in
recognition of his dependency.

Legend informs us that two thousand years and more before Christ,
multitudes of isles were attached to the kingdom of Lanka (Ceylon),
which were suddenly overwhelmed by the sea. At the time of the great
catastrophe, it is represented that the splendid capital city of
Sri-Lanka-Pura, which stood to the westward of any part of the present
island, was engulfed, and disappeared forever. The Portuguese, on
their arrival in Ceylon in the sixteenth century, found the natives
fully believing in the traditions of its former extent, and its
partial submersion. This is duly recorded by the Portuguese writers of
that period. The substance of this legend is also to be found in the
Mahawanso, or native chronicles of the island.

So far as the flora and fauna of Ceylon are concerned, it resembles
the islands of the Malay group lying far to the eastward, much more
than it does the land which is situated so near to it at the north.
Geologists tell us that the island has for ages past been slowly
rising from the ocean level, and we know that well-preserved marine
shells are found in masses at a considerable elevation, ten miles
inland, both in the north and the south of Ceylon, and especially in
the foot-hills of the central mountain, or Kandian range, as it is
called, near Ratnapura. When we pause to consider for a moment the
possible age of these marine deposits, preconceived and popular ideas
of the time which has passed since the creation of the world are
utterly nullified. That the process of rising above sea level has been
progressing for ages is undoubtedly true, as in the instance of Norway
and Sweden, where careful measurements have been recorded, from time
to time, during a period of three hundred years, clearly demonstrating
that the land of those countries is steadily rising, while the
adjacent sea subsides. In some other instances the process is directly
reversed, the land obviously, though slowly, sinking, and the ocean
rising. This is a well-known operation, not confined to any one
portion of the globe. At the ancient town of Pozzuoli, on the shore of
the Bay of Naples, there is a solid marble pavement once belonging to
a pagan temple, built between two and three thousand years ago. The
temple was doubtless originally founded on the dry land, but this
indestructible floor is between nine and ten feet below the level of
the sea at this writing.

Ceylon is peculiar in its shape, resembling a cone, the smaller end
nearest to the continent which lies so close to it. This northern
portion of the island is a flat, narrow peninsula with a sandy soil,
but which by proper management is made to yield certain crops fairly
well. The western and southern coasts are low and densely wooded,
having many small bays and picturesque indentations, while the eastern
side is characterized by a bold and precipitous shore, quite
inaccessible from the sea, yet affording one or two excellent harbors
and several indifferent ones. The important and much-praised port of
Trincomalee is on this side of the island, where several open
roadsteads are commercially available for coasting vessels, so built,
like most oriental water-craft, that they can be drawn up on the beach
in rough weather. The coast is blockaded on the northwest by
numberless rocks, shoals, and sandbanks, impeding navigation, though
the island can be circumnavigated, as already indicated, by means of
the Paumben Pass, between Ramisseram and the continent. The north and
northwest coasts are especially low and flat, undoubtedly formed by
ages of sand deposits brought down from the north by the ceaseless
currents and lodged upon coral formations as a foundation. In area,
Ceylon is more than three times the size of Massachusetts, containing
twenty-five thousand square miles. The circuit of the island by water
is calculated to be about seven hundred miles. In Pliny's time he made
the circumference four times that distance. The latest statistics give
it a population of three millions, which is a sparse occupancy for so
extensive a territory, and one whose natural resources are sufficient
for the support of that number of people many times multiplied. Taken
as a whole, the island is perhaps the most thinly inhabited spot in
the Orient, though it is the largest and most important of what are
known as the crown colonies of the British Empire. Its number of
people is annually on the increase, as shown by the English Colonial
Blue Book,--an indisputable evidence of material prosperity. The
extensive ruins of ancient cities existing in the interior show that
there must have been in the past at least thrice the present number of
people upon the island, while some authorities place the possible
aggregate much higher than we have named, basing their calculation
upon the extraordinary size and number of the "buried cities," one of
which is reputed to have contained three million inhabitants, and over
four hundred thousand organized fighting men, whose weapons were bows,
arrows, and spears.

For the sake of completeness, it may be mentioned that the
geographical situation of Ceylon is between the sixth and tenth
degrees of north latitude, Point de Galle, in the extreme south, being
six degrees from the equator, and Point Pedro, in the farthest north,
a trifle less than ten. Dondra Head is a few miles farther southward,
and actually forms the extreme point of the island in that direction,
but Point de Galle, so much better known, is generally named to
represent the position. In the olden time, the former was a more
popular resort than the latter, a fact which some grand ruins clearly
establish; indeed, Dondra was the site of the Singhalese capital
during a part of the seventh century. A substantial and costly
lighthouse has lately been erected here by the English government.

By turning for a moment to any good modern map, the reader will
greatly facilitate the ready understanding of these pages.

Lying thus just off the southern point of India, at the entrance of
the Bay of Bengal, Ceylon stands, as we have intimated, in the same
relation to it that Madagascar does to Africa, forming a link of the
powerful chain of fortified outposts which England has shrewdly
established to maintain an open route to her Indian possessions. This
cordon, beginning at Gibraltar, extends to Malta, Aden, Ceylon,
Penang, Singapore, and Hongkong, thus dominating the southern coast of
Asia, and insuring the maintenance of British power in the East. Of
those named, Ceylon is the most central British military garrison.
Colombo, the capital, is situated nine hundred miles from Bombay, six
hundred from Madras, fourteen hundred from Calcutta, and sixteen
hundred from Singapore. With all these places it has constant steam
communication. Sir Henry Ward, then governor of Ceylon, sent an entire
infantry regiment to Calcutta at one day's notice, when the outbreak
known as the Indian mutiny occurred in 1857. These troops were the
first reinforcement to arrive on the scene at that critical period.
Touching the matter of home connection, Colombo is nearly seven
thousand miles from England by way of the Suez Canal, which is the
most direct route. As we proceed with our story of Ceylon, the
relevance of these statistics will become more apparent.

The surface of the island is picturesquely diversified by hills,
valleys, and plains. Its highest mountain, Pidarutalagalla, exceeds
eight thousand feet, while its most famous one, Adam's Peak, rises a
little over seven thousand feet above sea level. This is a lonely
elevation, springing abruptly into a sharp cone from the bosom of the
low hills which surround it, and from out of a wilderness of tropical
jungle. Few mountains of its height require more persistent effort to
reach the apex. Serious and even fatal accidents have many times
occurred among the pilgrim hosts, who have been drawn hither from
great distances for the purpose of prostrating themselves before the
alleged footprint. The ascent from the Maskeliya side is much easier
than that known as the "Pilgrim's Path" from Ratnapura, but the latter
is considered to be the proper one by which the truly devout should
seek the holy spot. Upon its summit ceaseless prayers and praises have
ascended for thousands of years. Is it an instinct of man, one pauses
to ask, which leads him to ascend such a height that he may seem to
be a little nearer to the God he worships? Besides the daily visitors
in the month of April, crowds of pilgrims from thousands of miles away
in northern India, Persia, and Arabia come hither annually to bow down
before a crude indentation of the rocky summit. The natives have a
legend that Buddha ascended to Heaven from this mountain, but other
religionists substitute the name of Adam; hence the designation which
it bears. There is an irregular cavity in the rock supposed to have
been made by Buddha's or Adam's foot, whichever may best accord with
the pilgrim's faith. But surely the foot of nothing less than a human
giant or an elephant would be nearly so large as this misshapen,
so-called footprint. It is curious how far zealous fanatics will go in
the line of self-deception, and out of what flimsy material fictitious
legends can be constructed. Dreamy orientals ascend this mountain
solely for devotional purposes, but the western traveler comes up
hither with infinite labor to enjoy the grand view from such an
elevation, and to see the sun rise in all its glory. He comes also to
witness a remarkable natural phenomenon, which once seen is never
forgotten. As the sun rises in the east, there suddenly appears upon
the western sky the vast reflex of the peak, as clearly defined as
though a second and precisely similar mountain were actually there.
Through the shadow, which seems to have some peculiar telescopic
effect upon the atmosphere, one sees Colombo distinctly, though it is
nearly fifty miles away. As the sun rises higher, the great mysterious
shadow fades slowly away like a ghostly phantom, growing less and less
distinct, until presently the west is also suffused with the waking
and regal glow of the morning.

Then is spread out before the view a scene of inspiration, rich in
contrasting effects and remarkable for its variety of lovely tints.
One may search half a lifetime without discovering anything to equal
its combined charms. The mountain stretching east and west, the
verdant plains, the picturesque tea and coffee plantations, the groves
of oranges, palms, bananas, and other tropical fruits, are as distinct
to the view as though within an arrow's shot. What a charming picture
to frame and hang within one's memory.

According to the priests, four Buddhas have visited the peak. The
first was there B. C. 3001, the second B. C. 2099, the third B. C.
1014, and the fourth, Gautama, B. C. 577.

Adam's Peak is by actual measurement the fifth elevation in point of
altitude among a list of one hundred and fifty mountains varying from
three thousand to seven thousand feet in height. It is doubtful if the
existence of so well-defined and extensive a mountain range in this
equatorial island is generally realized. One would like to know what
could have been the primary and real inducement for selecting this
spot as a sanctuary. The Buddhists think that the miraculous
impression of Buddha's foot has made the place sacred; the Hindus
revere it as being marked by the foot of Siva; the Mohammedan
considers it holy as bearing the footprint of Adam; and so on. How
came Hindus, Buddhists, and Mohammedans alike to attribute special
sanctity to this particular mountain? Such unanimity of sentiment
among widely differing sects must have had its rise, it would seem, in
some legitimate cause, and not in the mere chance selection of a
shrine.

A late writer upon the subject of Adam's Peak refers to the fact that
in the Septuagint, the word "Serendib" is found in Genesis viii. 4,
instead of Ararat, as being the place where Noah's ark rested after
the deluge! Serendib, it should be remembered, is the Arabian name of
Ceylon. One thing is quite certain, Asiatics of all creeds join each
other in a profound veneration for this bold and striking mountain.
Marco Polo, the famous Venetian traveler who wrote seven centuries
ago, spoke of the peak as containing the tomb, not the footmark, of
Adam. The Mohammedans, ever ready with a poetical legend, still
declare that when Adam and Eve were driven out of Paradise, they were
sent to Ceylon to console them for their banishment.

In order that a story or legend should touch the credulity of, and
become current among, oriental people, there are two grand essentials:
it must be sufficiently marvelous and ridiculously extravagant.

The author recommends the ascent of Adam's Peak to any member of the
Alpine Club who is ambitious to achieve a laborious climb heavenward.
There are few mountains only seven thousand four hundred feet in
height which present such difficulties as this, when approached from
Ratnapura.

The huge iron chains which aid the pilgrims to ascend the almost
vertical path are relics of so great antiquity that in the legends of
Mohammedans they are associated with the name of Alexander the Great.
The marvel is, how even iron could so have withstood the wear of ages,
thus exposed to atmospheric influences.

The mountains of Ceylon cover about one sixth of its area, rising in
the centre of the middle province, and extending nearly across the
island from coast to coast. The southern portion is in all respects
the most attractive, though a thousand years ago the northern part of
the island was the most populous and the most highly civilized. At the
north, there are still to be seen the ruins of cities whose size and
riches were once marvelous. Unknown agencies, together with civil wars
and foreign invasions, have destroyed these ancient capitals and
turned the neighboring highly cultivated lands into a wilderness.
To-day it is the region south of the ancient Kingdom of Kandy--a
kingdom no more--which most invites the stranger, rendered beautiful
by an endless succession of musical streams, waterfalls, mirror-like
lakes, palm groves, and flowery labyrinths,--the very realization of a
tropical dream. This region, dense with forests of palms, rich in
fruit trees, gorgeous in flowers, is the paradise of fireflies;
phosphorescent clouds of these little fairy-like torch-bearers
illumine the night at all seasons, reveling beneath the shadow of
feathery bamboos and broad-leaved bread-fruit trees. Here they sport,
contrasting their pyrotechnic display with the emerald lamps of the
glow-worms. In the daytime, radiant, sun-loving butterflies on
gossamer wings fill the atmosphere with flashing prismatic hues, the
harlequin-like parrot and the royal-plumed peacock completing the
outdoor carnival of colors.

The great green-winged ornithoptera, prince of the butterfly tribe,
rivaling the humming-bird in size, is nearly as abundant as at
Singapore, a living gem, measuring six niches across the extended
wings,--the giant of its species. Enthusiastic naturalists give
fabulous sums for specimens of this beautiful creature, much to the
amazement of the simple natives, who have been familiar with it all
their lives. The appearance of this lovely insect tribe in Ceylon is
gorgeous, in their yellow satin, black velvet, and steel-blue costumes
of gossamer texture, daintily spotted with white, green, crimson, and
ruby red. These frail beauties are as various in form as in hues,
still a perfect harmony of order is always observed. At certain
seasons of the year and at uniform intervals, migration of myriads of
butterflies takes place in Ceylon, but whence they come in such
countless numbers, or whither they go, no one seems to know. When on
the wing, these delicate creatures make marvelous progress against the
northeast monsoon, though they are of such frail construction that one
would think the slightest puff of wind must dismember their bodies.
Where there are so many blossoms and odorous flowers, Nature did not
forget also to supply myriads of the delightful little humming-birds,
which are seen, with breasts and throats of gold and purple, stealing
their sweets all day long, yet leaving enough for the innumerable wild
honey bees, and to flavor the air with exquisite odors. Ceylon has
been called the happy hunting-ground of naturalists, for collectors
are overwhelmed by the number, beauty, and variety of specimens which
present themselves, and which are easily secured.

A resident told the author of a lady friend who was an enthusiastic
naturalist and skillful preserver of specimens, and who visited the
island solely to gather examples of this fairy-like creature. She was
absent from England five months, three of which were passed in the
neighborhood of and at Colombo, Point de Galle, and Kandy. Our
informant said that the lady not only added vastly to her own
priceless collection, but she realized from those she sold to others a
sufficient sum to pay the expense of her visit to Ceylon. Every one
might not expect to do this, but the person referred to was a
professional in her line of occupation, and produced finished,
artistic results.

It has been the author's privilege to visit nearly all parts of the
world, not omitting the principal islands in both hemispheres, north
and south of the equator. With this experience, he does not hesitate
to place Ceylon in the first rank for natural riches and
attractiveness, and, next to Malta, in the same relative position as
regards its far-reaching and interesting historical associations. In
the exuberance of its vegetation, the productiveness of its glorious
palms, the abundance of its luscious fruits,--including that seductive
apple of the East, the mangosteen,--and the fascinating beauty of its
variegated flora, it is not surpassed by any island or continent on
the globe. A spirit of romance is engendered by the very name of
Ceylon, the chosen field of oriental fable, recalling its mighty
ruins, its unique native gems, its tribes of peculiar people, its
mysterious jungles, its array of brilliantly colored birds, and its
huge wild animals inviting the spirited hunter to deeds of daring and
adventure. A simple statement of statistical facts will emphasize this
last reference. The printed records show that, during the five years
ending in 1862, sixteen hundred wild elephants were ensnared, and
sufficiently tamed to be exported to India. In accomplishing the
capture of these, about two hundred are believed to have been killed
by the bullets of the hunters, besides others which escaped while so
seriously wounded that they must have died in their nearly
inaccessible haunts. Since the date named, such wholesale slaughter
has been prohibited by government. Comparatively few are now exported
yearly, and the only market for them is India, if we except a limited
demand from European zoölogical gardens, and American circuses and
traveling menageries.

At one time, not many years ago, the English authorities paid a reward
for the killing of elephants. The fact is, they had become so numerous
and destructive, especially in the rice-fields at harvest time, that
it was absolutely necessary to reduce the number of the wild ones. A
reward of ten shillings was therefore offered and paid for each tail
brought to the official headquarters. These animals, at that time, had
long been undisturbed, and were consequently less shy; while now, on
the report of a gun, all the wild elephants within hearing, impelled
by an intelligence bought by experience, rush for the depths of the
jungle, which is quite inaccessible to human beings. They are mostly
magnificent and wary creatures. No white ones are ever seen here,
though they are so abundant in Siam. The elephants are measured, in
Ceylon, at the shoulders, and a full-grown male stands usually about
nine feet in height at this point, rather under than over. The largest
elephants on the island are said to haunt the country about the
ancient ruins of Pollanarua, where there are some almost impassable
forests. The fever-haunted jungles have no terrors for these huge
creatures, which seemingly enjoy entire immunity from all the ills
attendant upon such surroundings. In its native wilds, no one ever saw
an elephant ill from natural causes. When death threatens them from
old age or the wounds of the huntsmen, they retire and hide
themselves, to die.

The charms of this island were well known in past ages. It is no new
discovery of our day, as the earliest writers celebrated the pearls
and gems of "Taprobane," and ornaments composed of its precious stones
decked Asiatic queens of beauty twice ten hundred years ago. Ancient
thrones were beautified by its sparkling sapphires, and the products
of its spice-fields rendered fragrant the fires which burned upon the
altars of pagan gods. The Greeks called it the "land of the hyacinth
and the ruby." Primitive nomenclature is not only poetically
descriptive, but is nearly always appropriate.

The island is very ancient in its historical relations. Its most
famous capital is supposed to have been in its prime five or six
hundred years before the Christian era, while some of its crumbling
monuments belong to a much earlier age. It is confidently believed by
many students of history to be the Ophir of the Hebrews; and the fact
that it still abounds in rubies, sapphires, amethysts, garnets, and
other precious stones, seems, in a degree, to corroborate this
supposition. An intelligent estimate as to the aggregate value of the
gems exported from Ceylon during the long past places it at so
enormous a figure that we decline to give it in this connection,
though fully realizing that the yield has been going on
uninterruptedly for a period of two or three thousand years. But aside
from this very attractive feature, it is, as a whole, the most
beautiful island of the East, producing many other gems besides those
of a mineral nature. "It is truly impossible to exaggerate the natural
beauty of Ceylon," says the author of "The Light of Asia," and adds:
"The island is, in fact, one prodigious garden, where the forces of
nature almost oppress and tyrannize the mind, so strong and lavish is
the vegetation." Marco Polo, who visited it in the thirteenth century,
said that it was the choicest island of its size on the earth; and
though, in the dim light of such information as was obtainable in his
day, he made some grotesquely incorrect statements relating to the
country, he was most certainly right in this superlative praise. He
adds that the territory of Ceylon was much larger in former times than
in his day, a great part of it having crumbled away and sunk into the
sea. This is an important conclusion, with which our modern
geographers are very ready to agree, though conjecture only can say to
what extent it may have occurred.

As already mentioned, the arboreal and floral display is glorious
beyond expression, forming a very paradise for botanists. Nature
seems in this latitude to revel in blossoms of novel and fascinating
species. Moisture and heat seek here an outlet to expand their
fructifying powers. Situated in the path of the two monsoons, the
southwest from the Indian Ocean, and the northeast from the Bay of
Bengal, there is hardly a month of the year without more or less rain
in Ceylon; vegetation is therefore always green and leafage luxuriant.
In the jungle, large and brilliant flowers are seen blooming upon tall
trees, while the eye is attracted by others very sweet and tiny in the
prolific undergrowth, nestling among creepers and climbing ferns. In
fact, the flora is endless in variety and intoxicating in fragrance.
Perfume and bloom run riot everywhere. It would be vain to attempt an
enumeration of the myriad examples, but memory is quick to recall the
charming pitcher plant, the lotus,--its flower eight inches in
diameter,--the yellow jessamine, the gorgeous magnolia, with
innumerable orchids in their perfection of form and color, not
forgetting the orange-hued gloriosa, and the beautiful vine bearing
the wild passion-flower. There is also the large pearl-hued
convolvulus which blossoms only at night, known in Ceylon as "the moon
flower," and conspicuous through the dimness by its radiant whiteness.
Many of the orchids exhibit a most singular similitude to animals and
beautiful birds in their unspeakable and sweet variety. At first
sight, a collection of them strikes one like a bevy of gorgeous
butterflies and humming-birds, flitting among the green leaves. It
seems as if Nature had created them in one of her happiest and most
frolicsome moods,--"so true it is," says Macaulay, "that Nature has
caprices which Art cannot imitate." Occasionally the senses are
charmed by the fragrant, yellow-flowered champac, held sacred by the
Hindus, from the wood of which the small images of Buddha are carved
for the temples. Here, too, we have the odorous frangipane, the flower
which Columbus found in such abundance on first landing in Cuba. Was
it indigenous, one would like to know, in both of these tropical
islands so very far apart? It is a tall plant, with few branches
except at the top, but having fleshy shoots with a broad-spread,
single leaf. The sensitive plant, which is such a delicate house
ornament with us, fairly enamels the earth in this island, growing
wild from Adam's Peak to Point de Galle, multiplying its dainty,
bell-like pink blossoms, mingled with the delicate feathery acacia.
Growing so exposed, and in weed-like abundance, it is natural to
suppose that it would become hardened, as it were, to rough usage; but
it is not so, as it retains all its native properties, in exaggerated
form, if possible. Our puny little hothouse specimens are not more
delicate or sensitive to the human touch than is this Ceylon mimosa.
It is the most impressible of all known plants, and is appropriately
named. Curious experiments prove this. If a person will fix his eyes
upon a special branch and slowly approach it, the plant is seen
gradually to wilt and shrink within itself, as it were, before it is
touched by the observer's hand. It is endowed with an inexplicable
intelligence or instinct, and what appears to be a dread as regards
rude contact with human beings. A few years since, the author was at
Cereto, in the island of Cuba, where he was the guest of an English
physician who was also a coffee planter. While sitting with the family
on the broad piazza which formed the front of the bungalow, a thrifty
sensitive plant was recognized and made the subject of remark. The
doctor called his young daughter of eleven years from the house.

"Lena," said he, "go and kiss the mimosa."

The child did so, laughing gleefully, and came away. The plant gave no
token of shrinking from contact with the pretty child!

"Now," said our host, "will you touch the plant?"

Rising to do so, we approached it with one hand extended, and before
it had come fairly in contact, the nearest spray and leaves wilted
visibly.

"The plant knows the child," said the doctor, "but you are a
stranger."

It was a puzzling experience, which seemed to endow the mimosa with
human intelligence.

One brings away especially a vivid memory of the brilliant scarlet and
golden bloom which covers the flamboyer so densely as almost to hide
from view its foliage of velvet green. Only in far-away, mid-ocean
Hawaii does the traveler see this gorgeous tree so perfectly
developed.

The former superintendent of the Royal Botanical Gardens near Kandy,
whither we shall take the reader in due time, is a scientific
botanist, and an enthusiast in his profession. He tells us that he
classified nearly three thousand indigenous plants, which is double
the flora of Great Britain, and about one tenth of all the species in
the world yet described. Thirty of these are declared to be found only
upon this island. If correct, this is certainly a very remarkable
fact, and forms an additional incentive for exploration on the part of
naturalists.

Any reader of these pages who can conveniently visit Cambridge, Mass.,
should not fail to enjoy the unique and comprehensive collection of
specimens representing the flora of Ceylon, now in the Agassiz Museum.
The material is glass, although it seems to be wax, but so perfectly
has the work been done, under direction of Professor George L.
Goodale, of Harvard College, as to be indeed realistic. We have called
this collection unique, and it is absolutely so. Bostonians can find
no more charming local attraction with which to entertain appreciative
visitors from abroad than this in the department of botany at the
institution named.

There is a constant unvarying aspect of green pervading the scenery of
Ceylon, owing to the perennial nature of the vegetation. The trees do
not shed their leaves at any fixed period of the year. The ripe and
withered foliage drops off, but it is promptly replaced by new and
delicate leaves, whose exquisite hues when first expanding rival the
blossoms themselves in beauty of color. If fruit is plucked, a flower
quickly follows and another cluster ripens,--Nature is inexhaustible.
There is no winter interval or sleep for the vegetation, no period of
the sere and yellow leaf, as with us in the colder north. The fruits
and flowers are ever present, yet there is a certain resemblance to
spring and autumn, as we are accustomed to see them. The shrubs and
trees are decked more or less with young fresh leaves at all times,
while the ground is strewn with those in a state of decay which have
ripened and faded out of life. The latter with us are the harbingers
of winter, the former coming only with the opening spring. Thus it is
that we call it the reign of eternal summer, for all out-of-doors
seems like a conservatory of choice flowers and birds of dazzling
hues. Although these highly colored creatures of the feathered tribe,
like the butterflies, are almost innumerable, one is forced to admit
that there are few sweet songsters among them. Paroquets in mottled
green, practicing their dainty ways, present themselves in flocks,
lighting upon the nearest bushes and branches with a winning
fearlessness and confidence. They will slip quietly away if one
attempts to catch them, but when taken young they are easily
domesticated, accommodating themselves to human associations with the
utmost facility, and though they are left free to seek the woods and
jungle when they choose, they are sure to return voluntarily to the
cabins of the natives, to be fed and petted by human hands.

One variety of the green paroquet has a curious rose-colored ring
about its neck, like the turtle-dove, so delicate and uniform as to
seem almost artificial. The natives call it the love-bird. The
youthful Singhalese women, like those of Japan, take great pains in
the arrangement of their ebon-black hair. It was a unique and very
pretty sight observed one day in the native district of Colombo, when
a pair of live paroquets' heads, forming the apex to a native woman's
abundant coil, were seen coquettishly twisting and turning hither and
thither. The little beauties were quite content, perched up there amid
their mistress' wealth of tresses. They were hardly confined, though
their bodies were laid cosily beneath the braids as though resting in
their native nest. What a field this tropical isle would have been for
Audubon!

One often sees hovering about the gardens and bungalows a little bird
as large as an English sparrow, called the Ceylon bird of paradise,
but which does not deserve that name. It has a black head, a
neutral-tinted body, and a long tail, five times the length of its
body, consisting of pure white feathers. Its only marked peculiarity,
so far as is apparent, consists in its singular and disproportionate
tail. It has a little fretful, discordant twitter, but no connected
notes. The Singhalese name for the bird escapes us at this writing.

Ornithologists make out a list of over three hundred distinct species
of birds in Ceylon, among which the largest variety is found in the
parrot family, very nearly equaled by the wading and aquatic tribes.




CHAPTER III.

     The Wearisome Tropics.--Waterspouts.--Climatic
     Conditions.--Length of Days.--A Land Rich in Prehistoric
     Monuments.--History and Fable.--Last King of
     Ceylon.--Ancient Ruins.--Aged Cave Temples.--Gigantic Stone
     Statue of Buddha.--French Vandals.--A Native
     Chronicle.--Once the Seat of a Great Empire.--System of
     Irrigation.--Mysterious Disappearance of a Nation.--Ruins of
     a Vast City.--Departed Glory.--The Brazen Palace.--Asiatic
     Extravagance.--Ruined Monument.


The author had been expressing a sense of hearty appreciation, on a
certain occasion, in a domestic circle at Colombo, as to the perennial
character of the vegetation, together with the endless variety of
fruits and flowers in this favored land, but it appeared that those
who had adopted it as their home did not find it to be absolute
perfection. There is no terrestrial paradise; there was never a golden
age; both of these figures of speech are born of poetical license: but
to the traveler who recalled for a moment the ice-bound aspect and
chilling snow of his New England home which must have prevailed at
that moment, the contrast which surrounded him here had a magic charm.

"It seems almost like heresy to say so," remarked the cultured and
amiable wife of our host, an English official, "but one does sometimes
weary of the sameness in the verdure of the tropics, lovely as it is,
while remembering with a sigh the beautiful, varying autumn and the
joyous springtime of more northern regions. Here we are always upon a
dead level, so to speak; no contrasts present themselves. Eternal
summer palls upon one. Perpetual youth in the vegetable kingdom," she
added, "seems as unnatural and undesirable as it would be in human
life. We have no winter, spring, or autumn in our Ceylon calendar."

The equable and fruitful climate of the island is not produced, as is
the case upon the west coast of California, by the influence of the
ocean. There the Kurosiwo or Japanese current, which closely follows
the trend of the land like a mighty river, with a constant temperature
resembling the Gulf Stream of the Atlantic, and a width of five
hundred miles, makes a semi-tropical climate of a latitude which is
often Arctic farther inland. Its equatorial situation alone endows
Ceylon with endless summer.

It is curious to observe how the nature of some plants and trees is
changed by transplanting them hither, and the same is also remarked of
the average individual who has come from other less genial lands to
settle in an equatorial climate. If it proves to be a healthy one, he
takes very kindly to the delightful do-nothing of such a region,
together with its lazy, sensuous enjoyments, losing in a large degree
the energy and ambition naturally developed among the people of the
north. The moral is obvious. He who runs may read. It requires a
colder clime, with a soil not too willing, to awaken human energy, and
to place man at his best. Luxury enervates; necessitous labor
strengthens.

Fruit-bearing trees transplanted from the United States, such as
peach, cherry, and pear trees, have in many instances ceased to
produce fruit, and have become partial evergreens. Experiments with
grapevines from northern climates have met with similar results. In
nearly the same latitude, however, though in opposite hemispheres, the
transplanting of some fruit trees, and especially of the vine, seems
to impart fresh life and fruitfulness. Those brought from France and
Italy put on new vigor when they are domesticated on the Pacific coast
of this continent; while the mission grapevine and others native in
California, exported thence to the countries named, flourish
marvelously and produce abundantly. At this writing, news comes to us
of the partial failure of the grape crop in some of the vineyards of
southern France, and also that, following out the results of late
experiences, the old vines are to be replaced by the introduction of
California varieties. The grapevine does not seem adapted to tropical
climes. It is not a perennial growth, but must enjoy its long winter
rest in order to thrive. Even in mild, equable southern California,
its fruit-bearing branches are cut back annually to the main stalk,
where the principal life is stored. The new branches of the mission
grape, as it is called in this region, produce bunches of the
luscious fruit yearly, which often weigh four and five pounds each;
but as we have said, the new growth is cut away every year after
fruiting.

Checking the vagrant inclination of pen and brain to travel afield,
let us turn to matters more relative to the expressed purpose of these
pages.

The island of Ceylon is favorably situated outside the region of the
cyclones which so frequently prevail in the Bay of Bengal and the
neighboring ocean, while it is also free from the hurricanes of the
Mauritius Sea and the volcanic outbursts of the Eastern Archipelago.
There is no evidence of seismic disturbance in this region, either
past or present. One does not leave waterspouts entirely behind in the
Gulf of Siam, on reaching the shore of this island. Just before the
season of the monsoons, they appear sometimes off this coast. They are
never, however, of a fierce, whirlwind character, so as to cause any
serious harm.

As regards climatic conditions, the coolest season of the year is
during the prevalence of the southwest monsoons, or from the end of
April to the end of October. The northeast monsoon is of shorter
duration, prevailing during November, December, January, and February.
Both these periods are ushered in by heavy thunder-storms and a
liberal downpour of rain. The reader who has never experienced an
equatorial land-storm has no conception of the fury of the elements
under such circumstances. The continued blaze of the fiery lightning
and the deafening crash which echoes through the skies are beyond
description. Timid people try to hide themselves in the dark corners
of the bungalows, while even the natives and animals often become
tremulous with fear. It must be admitted that fatal accidents are
frequent enough during these thunder-storms to keep an apprehension of
danger constantly alive. In the mountain regions about Kandy and
Ratnapura, where the echoes supplement the grand electric discharges,
the deafening noise and reverberation can only be compared to the
quick, sharp, detonating reports of heavy artillery. The monsoons
occur with the utmost regularity, both here and over a large portion
of the neighboring continent, and they are so regular that their
arrival can be calculated upon nearly to a day. Electrical phenomena,
thunder and lightning, are, as just intimated, often very grand. So,
also, is the prevalence of optical displays, such as rainbows and
mirage. As to moonlight nights and their dazzling exhibitions, like
those of the tropical regions generally, words are inadequate to
express their splendor, at once so brilliant and so calm.

The climate is very much like that of Java, humid and hot, especially
in the southern portion nearest to the coast; it is, however,
considerably more moderate than that of the mainland of India.
Although so very warm, it is equable; one is aware of what to expect
and can prepare for it. Occasional frosts occur in the highlands, but
snow is unknown even on the mountain tops. The length of days, owing
to the proximity to the equator, does not vary more than one hour, the
sun setting at Colombo at about six o'clock all the year round. At
Dondra Head, the extreme southern point of Ceylon, the difference
between the longest and shortest day of the year is only forty
minutes.

This interesting island is rich in prehistoric monuments, Buddhist
temples, and lofty dagobas, some of which were originally over three
hundred feet in height, exceeding that of the Cathedral of Notre Dame,
in Paris, by sixty feet. This, be it remembered, was representative of
a civilization which existed upon an island of the Indian Ocean
between two and three thousand years ago. The lofty, gorgeous colored,
and eccentric temples which the traveler regards with such curious
interest in India belong to a much more modern period. They are
structures which have been raised oftentimes upon the site of former
heathen shrines. So in Rome, many of the churches which we visit
to-day and accredit with great antiquity are rebuilt upon edifices
formerly dedicated to strange gods. Some remain intact, like the
Temple of Hercules and the Pantheon. These Ceylon dagobas are only one
class of monuments, and are to be considered in connection with other
vestiges of vast public structures, the origin and purpose of which
have been lost sight of in the lapse of ages. Slabs of granite
engraven with half-effaced inscriptions in Pali, and in unknown
characters, are still found, mystifying the most learned antiquarians,
while the significance of others has been made plain by means of
commendable patience and scholarly acquirements. What an object lesson
is here presented, attesting the evanescence of all mundane power and
glory. Here are evidences of vast and costly enterprises, such as the
rearing of grand monuments whose legitimate object can only be
conjectured, and the names of whose builders are forgotten. The annals
of the Singhalese, to whom we are not accustomed to give much credit
as a literary people, yet afford consecutive historical data for
twenty-four centuries back, though, as in most oriental countries, the
records of their past combine truth and fable almost indiscriminately,
so that it is often difficult to distinguish one from the other. These
Eastern writers had a royal mode of assertion, much more impressive
than convincing; as regards the general fidelity of these annals,
however, there is no reasonable doubt, after allowing for what may be
termed poetical license of expression. We may well ask ourselves how
many lands can, like Ceylon, tell so much of their past history in
authentic records verified by enduring monuments. As is well known, we
in America go back only about four centuries before the trail of
history is lost. To be sure, conjecture is abundant enough, but
conjecture is not history.

Compared with the probable age of the globe, how quickly history fades
into fable! Agassiz thought this to be the oldest country of which we
have any reliable knowledge. The Western mound builders were
undoubtedly a distinctive race, yet who can tell their story? The
mysteries of Yucatan are unsolved. There was a civilization once
existing in Peru whose history is to us a blank. Of the origin of the
Sphinx, older than the Pyramids, what do we really know? On Easter
Island, in the South Pacific, are indestructible evidences of an
ancient people, who possessed a written language so old that no one
can decipher its admirably graven characters. Where did that island
come from, and what became of its people? Were they and their country
submerged, like another Atlantis, and is this island the apex of a
mountain range left above the devouring ocean to tell the tale? This
is not a wild supposition. It has been suggested and declared possible
by more than one astute and scholarly writer upon physical geography.
As to antiquity, the monuments of Egypt enable us to trace back the
history of civilized man only six thousand years, though all
intelligent archæologists know that the earth must have been inhabited
by human beings an infinite number of years prior to that period.
Philology and geology are sufficient to prove this.

Singhalese annals record in detail the reign of one hundred and sixty
sovereigns during a period extending from the conquest of the island,
B. C. 543, by Wijaya, a prince from northern India, to the deposition
of Wikram Raja Sinka by the English in 1815. This was the last king of
Kandy, the then native capital of Ceylon. Sufficient is recorded of
the personal character of Wijaya, the early conqueror of the island,
to prove his utter barbarity, so that we are naturally led still more
to wonder whence came the artists--for artists they were--who designed
and built such cities as Anuradhapura and Pollonarua, the first of
which was probably founded during his reign. Either the Singhalese as
a race must have retrograded in a most marvelous manner, while other
nationalities were in the line of progress, or foreign artists and
builders must have been imported to rear such grand and beautiful
capitals in this Indian isle. Does the reader realize that our best
architects to-day go back for suggestions to the elaborate and elegant
ornamentations which prevailed at this period in stone columns and
lofty façades? Though scarred by warfare with the ages, these still
form rare and choice object lessons to the appreciative artist.

Among the remarkable evidences of great antiquity in Ceylon, we recall
the elaborate cave-temples of Dambula, hewn out of the primitive rock,
and which have existed at least two thousand years, representing an
infinite amount of patient labor, which must have been executed with
tools admirably adapted to the purpose assigned. The principal
temple--there are four of them--was dedicated to Buddha, whose creed
is still the prevailing faith of Asia,--a doctrine ages older than our
so-called Christian religion. The entrance to the principal
cave-temple is elaborately carved in the solid stone, and is
wonderfully well-preserved. The design is harmonious with the purpose,
presenting a score or more of figures in bas-relief, with
embellishments appropriate to the Buddhist faith. Two mammoth figures,
one on either side, represent, probably, guardian spirits or gods.
Just within, there is an altar with a sitting figure of Buddha,
opposite the entrance. It is interesting to note the ornamental
entrance to the temple, as exhibiting the degree of artistic
appreciation which existed here in Ceylon between two and three
thousand years ago. This largest temple is one hundred and eighty feet
long, eighty wide, and twenty-five high, a gloomy vault at best,
containing a gigantic recumbent stone statue of Buddha, forty-seven
feet in length, the head resting on the right hand, indicating repose,
one of the favorite positions in which the prophet is usually
represented in the temples of Ceylon. The chambers or halls, which are
hollowed out of the rock, are reached by long flights of stone steps.
Each temple is most grotesquely painted with scenes supposed to
represent the past history of the island. In the first of the caves is
the immense statue already spoken of. In the others are those of
ancient kings in heroic size, but not nearly so large as that of
Buddha. On the several walls are rudely-painted tournament scenes,
elephant hunts, and half-effaced battle pictures. Some of the
apartments have iron-grated windows, and were evidently places of
confinement for political prisoners, some time in the far past. An old
Buddhist priest is in charge, grumpy, reticent, and apparently
dissatisfied with himself and the world generally. In the first and
largest of the stone chambers of this huge rock at Dambula, besides
the large recumbent figure of Buddha, there is a statue of Vishnu,
held especially sacred, and before which solemn oaths in litigated
cases were administered, without any other recourse for settlement.
This was when one of the parties agreed to abide by the solemn oath of
the other, to be given in specified form before this statue of Vishnu.
It is a rudely executed figure in granite, as indeed are all the
statues of the period. In the second chamber or temple there are half
a hundred statues of Buddha, besides representatives in stone of
various heathen gods, painted in yellow, blue, and white robes, but
why the multiplicity of Buddhas it would be difficult to divine. In
front of the cave-temples is a flourishing boo-tree, and a small grove
of cocoanut palms which have grown to a great size. As usual,
centuries of age are claimed for the first-named tree. Round about the
plain, among the rude, wild vegetable growth, a peculiar cactus is
seen, a familiar acquaintance, first met with on the plains of Mexico.
Its thick leaves form also its branches, each leaf being attached to
its neighbor endwise, like links of a chain, and being bordered by a
bright yellow ruffle of profuse blossoms. These cave-temples of
Dambula are cut in a solitary mass of rock, rising from the otherwise
level plain to about five hundred feet in height and four times that
in length. This is undoubtedly the most remarkable group of
cave-temples upon the island.

One is vividly reminded by these peculiar and enduring structures of a
similar famous place of Hindu worship cut out of the solid rock on the
island of Elephanta in the outer harbor of Bombay, and also of those
found at Ellora and Carlee, in India proper. These three Buddhist
temples are known to have been in existence for about twenty
centuries, and are very similar in design. The elaborate sculptures in
bas-relief which decorate them are almost identical in character, but
they have little or no artistic merit, being in fact as crude as
Chinese or Japanese idols, mere caricatures as seen from a modern
point of view, and yet they are clearly the result of a distinctive
purpose. As to depicting the human figure with any regard to its
anatomy, that was not understood by these artists, any more than are
the laws of perspective by the Chinese or Japanese of to-day. So in
ancient Egyptian sculpture, an approximation to the true outline of
the human figure is all that is attempted. The stone pillars and
figures at Elephanta, so venerable from age and association, were
nearly destroyed by French cannon-balls, the guns being brought on
shore at considerable trouble, and maliciously directed, for this
purpose. It seemed to be a fixed principle with the soldiers of the
first Napoleon to purloin everything of value which was portable in
the countries they invaded, and what they could not steal and carry
away, with true barbaric instinct they destroyed. Churches, charitable
institutions, hospitals, were all alike looted by these French
vandals. Even tombs were invaded by them in their rapacity, as at
Granada, where the leaden coffins in the royal vaults were pried open
with bayonets in search of treasures supposed to have been buried with
the bodies. At Seville, they broke open the coffin of Murillo, wherein
finding nothing of commercial value, they scattered the ashes of the
great master in art to the wind. It will also be remembered that
Marshal Soult--to his lasting disgrace be it recorded--treated the
ashes of Cervantes in a similar manner; a most petty and disgraceful
meanness for a marshal of France to be guilty of.

The Mahawanso, "Genealogy of the Great," a native chronicle, contains
a history of the several dynasties which have controlled the island
from B. C. 543 down to A. D. 1758. This unique and remarkable
Singhalese book is a metrical chronicle written in Pali verse, and
forms what is universally received as an authentic and most invaluable
record of the national history of Ceylon. A scholarly translation of
the same is now extant in English. Pali, as the reader doubtless
knows, is a dead language founded upon the Sanscrit, though Buddhists
claim that it is the original of all tongues. This is an assumption
easily disproved by Egyptian inscriptions dating back over six
thousand years. The island, under its Sanskrit name of Lanka, is also
the subject of a mythical poem of the Hindus, and its conquest by Rama
is the theme of the Ramayana, doubtless one of the most ancient epics
in existence. The Mahawanso, though the oldest, is by no means the
only Singhalese chronicle of a historic character. It was designed by
a priest named Mahanamo, who compiled the early portion, commencing
five centuries and more before Christ, and bringing it down to the
year 301 of our era. After this it was continued by able successors,
who carried on the original plan of the beginner to the period when
the English took forcible possession of Ceylon. There are several
comprehensive manuscripts devoted to native history, written upon
talipot palm-leaf, carefully preserved in the museum at Colombo.

Besides these important records there is abundant evidence of a
tangible character to show that there once existed upon this island a
great and powerful empire in a condition of advanced civilization.
The gigantic remains of palaces and temples tell us this. There are
also evidences of a system of irrigation which was remarkably perfect
in conception and consummation, though it must have been achieved by
the simplest means, that is, by the aid of no mechanical facilities
such as we possess. This system covered the face of the country, north
and south, like a network. Immense lakes were formed by damming the
natural outlets of the mountain streams at the mouth of extensive
valleys, and that was all that was artificial about them. Nature had
prepared the way; still, the amount of labor involved in the practical
application of the principle was enormous. The remains of these great
reservoirs thus created are objects of admiration to our modern
engineers, not only for the boldness and magnificence of their
construction, but also for the beneficence of their purpose. The
marvelous ruins of these reservoirs are the proudest and most
significant monuments which remain of the former greatness of this
country. No constructions for a similar purpose found in any part of
the world have ever surpassed them. So long as they were in repair and
fully operative, the people of Ceylon had no occasion to go abroad for
rice upon which to subsist. The grand supply of water for the
distributing tanks was conducted from the distant mountains, through
dense forests, across broad ravines, and around the sides of
intervening hills, by stout channel-ways miles and miles in length. No
considerable population could have been supported in a country
subject to prolonged droughts without the aid of some such fertilizing
agency, and no other system would have been so well adapted to the
raising of the staple grain of the island. Most of these artificial
lakes are now in ruins, overgrown with jungle grass, and in some
instances by heavy forests.

No one can truly say what caused the decadence of the several ancient
capitals now lying in the dust, leaving only a blank memorial of their
former existence. It is a puzzling question as to what could have
swept a population of millions from the face of the globe and left no
clearer record of their occupancy and departure. When there is pointed
out to the traveler in Japan a location where a big and populous city
once stood, but which is now only a series of thrifty grain-fields, no
great surprise is felt. Japanese houses are only constructed, as a
rule, of bamboo frames with tissue coverings, but the ruined cities of
Ceylon were built of stone and brick, presumedly indestructible except
by some great and general catastrophe. The ruins of Anuradhapura show
that in mediæval times it must have been a city containing a vast
concourse of people. We know that it was recognized as the capital of
Ceylon from three to four hundred years prior to the birth of Christ
down to the year 770 of the present era. It has been justly called the
Palmyra of Ceylon, and was contemporary with Babylon and Nineveh. It
was a royal city, wherein ninety kings reigned in succession, and its
dimensions exceeded the present area of London. What a grand and
imperial metropolis it must have been in its pristine glory! At a time
when England was still in a condition of barbarism, this capital of an
island in the Indian Ocean was at the zenith of its prosperity,
enjoying luxuries which argued a high condition of civilization. The
reason for selecting this plain in the heart of the country as a
suitable location for its capital is not obvious, except that from the
earliest ages the spot has been sacred to the votaries of Buddha. Its
site is near the centre of the great plain which occupies the northern
portion of the island, about one hundred miles from Kandy, and three
hundred feet above the level of the sea.

Here, amid tall trees and thick undergrowth, are scattered hundreds,
nay, thousands of stone columns, huge monoliths, granite statues,
fragments of grand palaces, and elaborate public buildings, which once
adorned broad and level thoroughfares, while the surrounding country
exhibited a wide expanse of rice-fields irrigated by numberless
canals, together with all the beauty of cultivated tropical
vegetation. The early chronicles tell us of the surprising loveliness
of this region round about the ancient metropolis, the brilliancy of
its native jewels, the fertility of its carefully nurtured soil, its
magnificent palms, the abundance of its fruits, the sagacity of its
elephants, and the constant fragrance of its spice-laden atmosphere.

Anuradhapura! how little we of the nineteenth century have even heard
of its people, who built temples of stone and palaces of marble,--a
nation which lived for twenty centuries in oriental splendor; a city
which was rich, populous, and famous, long before Rome had risen to
power; a capital which achieved such ambitious architectural results
only to sink at last suddenly and mysteriously into oblivion. What the
possible purpose could have been in creating such a singular page in
the annals of history as the building and peopling of a giant
metropolis on this Indian island, whose accomplished mission
illustrates only the mutability of all terrestrial things, only that
inscrutable Wisdom which rules the universe can answer.

Except the mountain range which so nearly divides the island at its
centre, and the spurs which it throws out at intervals, there are few
elevations worthy of notice in Ceylon. One, known as Mihintale, about
a thousand feet in height, dominates the ruins of the ancient city
just described, and is so perpendicular that to reach its summit one
must avail himself of the artificial steps cut in the solid rock.
These stones, smoothed and indented by centuries of use, are said to
have been thus worn by thousands and thousands of pilgrims, who
ascended to the shrine above upon their knees. This notable hill,
which almost deserves the name of mountain, was fortified by the
aborigines in the olden time, as shown by irregular lines of
defensive works in stone, whose dismantled and disintegrated condition
testifies to their antiquity. On the summit stands a shrine, showing
that it was held to be a sacred spot from the earliest ages, probably
long before the date when the now mouldering capital was founded. The
view afforded on either hand from the apex of the mount embraces the
far-away ocean, and the nearer sea of undulating forests and groves of
palms, clad in the exquisite verdure of the tropics.

Anuradhapura was the largest city in the island, and is confidently
asserted to have contained, in its prime, three million people, over
four hundred thousand of whom were fighting-men. But there were
others, considerable in size and importance, which existed during the
period of its prosperity. The records show that this ancient
metropolis was fifty-two miles in circumference, or sixteen miles
across in a straight line from the north to the south gate, covering
two hundred and fifty-six square miles! What have we in modern times
to equal these ruins in spaciousness? Perhaps some deduction should be
made from such remarkable figures. Of course, the reader will
understand that the area here given was not actually covered by solid
blocks of dwellings. Private residences were generally surrounded by
small but elaborate gardens. There was ample air space about the
temples, palaces, and public buildings, together with large open
commons for military parades, for public baths, for elephant fights,
for political forums, and market-places. Spaciousness and elegance
were the characteristics of this ancient Singhalese metropolis, this
grand city of the plains, where one stands to-day surrounded by
centuries of tangible history. The eye rests upon miles and miles of
broken stone statues of bulls, elephants, sarcophagi, and heavy
capitals of granite columns, many of whose delicate, artistic capitals
and designs are still intact.

All oriental narrative is tinctured with exaggeration, but Sir James
Emerson Tennent, so long officially connected with the island, and
personally familiar with the ruins of Anuradhapura, says no one who
visits the place to-day can doubt that Ceylon, in the zenith of its
prosperity, contained ten times its present population; and as he
wrote this in 1859, when the aggregate was about one million, he
wished to signify that the number of inhabitants, at the period to
which he referred, was probably ten millions. The same writer tells us
that this density of population must have been preserved through many
centuries, in spite of revolutions and invasions, in order to produce
the results, the ruins of which are still visible to all observers.

That the people of Anuradhapura were early and skillful workers in
brass, iron, and glass, articles unearthed among these ruins
abundantly testify. Further explorations and excavations will
doubtless result in valuable information. Five or six feet of earth,
upon an average, must be removed before the process of uncovering can
be said to have fairly commenced, so that the prospective labor of
exhumation is simply immense. Still, almost every year brings some new
enthusiast to the front, whose time and money are freely devoted to
this object until his ardor is appeased, and he leaves the field to
some one else. A steadily sustained effort, aided and directed by the
government, might accomplish something worth recording, but such
desultory and spasmodic attempts are of very little account. At
Pompeii, where, by persistent effort, a whole city has been unearthed,
we see what such exhumation signifies, though the circumstances are
not precisely similar, the one having been suddenly covered by an
eruption of the neighboring volcano, while the other yielded to the
wear of time and the effect of foreign invasions. A score of cities,
however, like Pompeii would not cover the area once occupied by this
vanished metropolis.

The ancient capital was named in honor of a certain prince, Anuradha,
by whom it was founded twenty-five centuries ago. A thousand years
since, this city was still populous, gay, and beautiful, with fragrant
gardens, thriving shops, proud dwellings, gilded palaces, lofty
temples, religious processions, and frequent displays of royal
pageants. The Singhalese chronicles are full of references to
agricultural prosperity, to ample herds, the breeding of cattle, and
the extensive culture of grain. They speak of women who were treated
with great deference, and of priestesses and queens who held high
places with honor. Rich furniture was used in the dwellings, and
costly textures for dress, these of course imported from other
countries. Though the inhabitants of Anuradhapura were not themselves
a maritime people, they were constantly visited by others from afar,
who brought with them rich goods to exchange for pearls and precious
stones. We know that Ceylon was rich in these at that period, even as
she is at the present time, and exported peacocks, apes, and ivory. In
the ancient Hebrew records, the names of these were the same as those
known at present to the natives in this island. To-day, mutability is
written upon its scattered and neglected ruins in a language all can
understand. Who can wonder that individuals perish and are forgotten,
when the entire population of a great, imperial metropolis thus
vanish, while their noblest and most enduring works crumble into dust?
The significance of such instances should humble the proudest mortal
who walks the earth. The spot where the Brazen Palace, so-called, once
stood in the ancient capital still shows scores of granite columns in
the shape of undressed monoliths, projecting about twelve feet above
the level of the ground, upon some of which there exist the remains of
elaborate capitals, closely resembling the Grecian Corinthian order.
This edifice, dating about two hundred years before Christ, was not
the royal residence, but a palace devoted to accommodation of the
priesthood, and was originally nine stories in height, covering a
square of ground measuring two hundred and thirty feet each way. "The
roof," according to native chronicles, "was of brass, and its great
hall, which was supported by golden pillars, also contained a throne
of solid ivory," though what the Buddhist priesthood required of a
"throne" we are not informed.

This description of the great hall with its golden pillars sounds
perhaps like an oriental exaggeration, but the people of those days
came originally from India, where such examples of extravagance were
by no means unknown during the Mogul dynasty. The probability is that
the Brazen Palace was in reality the royal residence. Speaking of
Indian extravagance, we all remember the peacock throne of the king of
Delhi,--a throne of solid gold, six feet long and four feet broad,
surmounted by a canopy of gold, and supported by twelve pillars
composed of the same precious material. The back of this costly
structure was made to represent a peacock with its tail-feathers
expanded, hence the name. The natural colors of the feathers were
closely imitated with rubies, sapphires, diamonds, and other precious
stones. The total value of the whole exceeded thirty million dollars.
The author has stood within this royal chamber at Delhi, but the
gorgeous throne has long since disappeared. Enough, however, still
remains to show what regal splendor must have existed in this
marvelous palace. These Mogul rulers used costly gems, gold and
silver, together with precious marbles and rarest stones, as freely as
modern potentates employ granite, combined with bricks and mortar. The
wealth of the then known world was in the possession of a very few
individuals, and the poor were all the poorer in comparison; despotism
was rampant, and royalty commanded at will the unpaid services of the
million.

Near the site of the Brazen Palace of Anuradhapura are several
dagobas, partially hidden by rank tropical verdure. One of these
peculiar structures was originally over four hundred feet in height,
antedating the Christian era by many years. Does the reader realize
what an amount of solid masonry such a structure represents? When we
say that this dagoba was nearly twice the height of Bunker Hill
Monument, and that it was three hundred and sixty feet in diameter at
the base, the comparison may aid the imagination. Verily, nothing but
the Egyptian pyramids compare in magnitude with these shrines of
Ceylon, while no modern engineering enterprise excels in immensity the
artificial lakes which were created upon her surface. One writer has
gone into a careful calculation regarding the structure, and says that
it contained material enough originally to build a wall ten feet high
from London to Edinburgh.

These peculiarly shaped dagobas are scattered all over the island,
each being the receptacle of some saintly relic. Tradition says they
are thus formed to resemble a bubble floating upon the water, but they
are really bell-shaped, and most of them have a low, ornamental spire.
Near the summit is the secret chamber wherein is deposited the sacred
treasure. Time effaces all mundane things. With the exception of the
Temple of the Tooth, at Kandy, no one can say what special relic any
one of these remarkable structures was originally designed to shelter.

Let us quote for the reader's edification an ancient native
description of this famous city of the plain when it was in its glory.
It is a literal translation from the original:--

"The magnificent city of Anuradhapura is refulgent from the numerous
temples and palaces whose golden pinnacles glitter in the sky. The sides of
its streets are strewed with black sand; they are spanned with arches
bearing flags of gold and silver; on either side are vessels of the same
precious metals, containing flowers; and in niches are statues holding
lamps of great value. In the streets are multitudes of people, armed with
bows and arrows; also men powerful as gods, who with their huge swords
could cut asunder a tusk elephant at one blow. Elephants, horses, carts,
and myriads of people are constantly passing and repassing. There are
jugglers, dancers, and musicians of various nations, whose chank shells and
other musical instruments are ornamented with gold. The distance from the
principal gate to the opposite gate is four gaws (sixteen miles); and from
the north gate to the south gate four gaws. The principal streets are Moon
Street, Great King Street, and Great Sandy Street. In Chandrawakkawidiya
are eleven thousand houses, many of them being two stories in height; the
smaller streets are innumerable. The palace has immense ranges of
buildings, some of two, others of three stories in height; and its
subterranean apartments are of great extent."

Sir J. E. Tennent gathers from various ancient sources, including the
veritable Mahawanso, that Anuradhapura, between four and five
centuries before Christ, contained the temples of various
religions,--"temples and palaces whose golden pinnacles glittered in
the sky,"--besides spacious public gardens and free baths, together
with almshouses and hospitals, in which animals as well as human
beings were tenderly cared for.

One king gave the "corn of a thousand fields" for the support of the
hospitals, another set aside a certain quantity of rice to feed the
squirrels which frequented the city gardens, while a third monarch
displayed his skill in treating the diseases of elephants, horses, and
domestic cattle. The streets were lined with grand shops and bazaars.
On festive occasions, barbers and dressers were stationed at each
entrance to the capital for the convenience of strangers who visited
the city. Public officials vied with each other in their patriotic
deeds designed for the public good.

In one corner of the widespread ruins of Anuradhapura there is now a
small village, with a Christian mission and school for the native
children. There are also a few bazaars, a post-office, telegraph
station, and a court house, which serve, by affording a strong
contrast to the former splendor which reigned here, to emphasize the
historic grandeur of the defunct capital.




CHAPTER IV.

     Oriental Dagobas.--Ancient City of Pollonarua.--Laid out
     like our Modern Capitals.--Unexplored Ruins.--Elaborate
     Stone Carvings.--Colossal Stone Figure.--The "Buried
     Cities."--The Singhalese not a Progressive People.--Modern
     History of Ceylon.--Captured by the English.--The
     "Resplendent Island."--Commercial Prosperity.--Increasing
     Foreign Population.--Under English Rule.--Native
     Soldiers.--Christian Sects and Churches.--Roman Catholic
     Church.--Expulsion of the Jesuits.


The very interesting and in many respects unique ruins of
Anuradhapura, like those pertaining to the city of Pollonarua, with
its curious and enormous mass of crumbling brick-work in the shape of
a dagoba surmounted by a temple, are supposed to have been thus
mouldering in the dust for more than six centuries. These dagobas,
doting with age, as we have shown, are relic shrines, like in purpose
to the pagodas of Burmah, which they somewhat resemble. Their
substantial outside finish must have given them very much the
appearance of being built of pure white marble. In dimensions they are
exceeded only by the pyramids of Ghizeh, but there is no genius or
architectural excellence evinced in the construction of either. Judged
by the light of our day, there is no legitimate reason for their
existence. Religious fanaticism gave birth to one, and personal pride
to the other. They neither subserve the purpose of utility nor of
beauty. As monuments of personal aggrandizement, or as individual
memorials, what total failures they have proved! Think for a single
moment of the vast contrast between either of the Egyptian pyramids,
or these bell-shaped dagobas, with their plain stuccoed coverings, and
that modern shrine and tomb combined,--the Taj Mahal of Agra. The
pyramids and dagobas are crude, barbaric embodiments of bulk and
imposing loftiness; the other is a realization in marble of a poetic
dream. The former are remarkable only for magnitude; the latter, for
its exquisite grace.

There is sufficient evidence still left us to show that the olden city
of Pollonarua was laid out in a perfectly systematic way, and built up
in the most regular manner. Its founders evidently started with a
well-perfected purpose. It was not a chance settlement of a few
cabins, which gradually increased hither and thither in various
directions until it assumed the proportions of a metropolis.
Notwithstanding the present confusion, the general features of its
topography are clearly discernible amid the mounds of mouldering
material. The main street from the principal entrance-gate continued
perfectly straight for four miles between royal palms to the opposite
extreme of the city, crossed at right angles in the centre by a
similar thoroughfare, thus forming two main streets, which terminated
at four great gates of entrance and exit to and from the
town,--north, east, south, and west. From these main streets radiated
lateral and smaller roadways, evidently occupied by humbler dwellings,
together with an occasional temple or other public building. The ruins
of what is known as the Treasure House of Pollonarua are unusually
interesting, as exhibiting some of the finest and best preserved
bas-reliefs to be found in Ceylon, and as showing also certain marked
peculiarities of skill in architecture which prevailed in
pre-Christian times. On either side of the principal thoroughfares of
the city were handsome and substantial dwellings, palaces, and sacred
temples. The latter, with their gorgeous gilded domes, were dedicated
to various pagan gods. Other spacious buildings and open areas were
devoted to pleasure entertainments for the masses of the people, not
unlike the modern idea of public gardens and outdoor theatres.

Here and there labyrinths of unexplored ruins are entirely hidden by
lofty, broad-limbed trees and a tangle of low, dense shrub, as though
the big city had been originally built in a forest. We pause, and gaze
thoughtfully at the desolation which speaks so emphatically in its
dumb way. It is the language in which the decline and fall of great
empires is written,--monuments of mutability.

    "Tully was not so eloquent as thee,
     Thou nameless column with the buried base."

It is not to be wondered at that learned European antiquarians make
pilgrimages hither to see with their own eyes what others have
graphically described, and to translate for themselves these
black-letter records of by-gone ages. We met at Pollonarua one
enthusiastic traveler who had neither eyes nor ears for anything else
but that which related to the almost forgotten past. The mouldering
ruins of Ceylon were food and drink to him, with which he gorged
himself to repletion. Each new student of antiquity who comes hither,
being informed of the progress of those who preceded him, takes up the
thread of discovery where they left it, and adds something to illumine
the darkness which enshrouds these sombre ruins.

It could not always have been peaceful in these populous cities of the
past, where strange gods and strange customs prevailed. The
imagination easily depicts dire tragedies and bloody conflicts which
must have drenched their broad avenues with blood. Such has been the
history of the world since the beginning of time.

The best-preserved construction amid all the ruins is a Buddhist
rock-temple, which, having been hewn out of the native stone, is still
intact, though supposed to date back three hundred years before our
era. It is only a small chamber about twenty feet square, containing
an altar and three stone figures of Buddha in different positions,
sitting, reclining, and standing. The entrance to the chamber is an
archway; on either side, inscriptions are engraven in the Pali
language, but these, we were informed, had never been translated. The
native rock, from which the small temple is cut, rises abruptly from
the level plain.

Anuradhapura, as wonderful in its way as Pompeii or Herculaneum, is
known as the ancient capital of Ceylon, and Pollonarua as the
mediæval, but even the former is antedated by other half-buried cities
in the island, that of Bintenne, for instance, which exhibits ruins of
great interest and of admitted antiquity. There is a dagoba here which
is spoken of by the former Dutch occupants of the island, in A. D.
1602, as being still in good preservation, surmounted by a gilded
dome, while its smooth, white exterior was quite unblemished. The wear
and tear of the centuries has not yet obliterated this monument.

These dagobas, shaped like half an eggshell, are very similar to the
topes of India proper. The interior consists of earth and sun-dried
clay, built about and rendered substantial with burned bricks and
tiles, the whole being coated on the exterior with a stone-like mortar
or chunam. The burned bricks which are found in the débris of the
"buried cities" have their form quite perfect, and were so well fired
when made that they still retain their sharpness and consistency. The
best examples of brick-work are to be found among the ruins of
Pollonarua, where the mortar that was originally used shows the
remains of the burned pearl-oyster shells from which it was made. The
principle of the true arch secured by its keystone does not seem to
have been understood by the people of that period in this island,
though what is called the false arch, produced by projecting one layer
of bricks beyond another, is clearly shown. The carving in stone was
carried to a high degree of excellence, and is still in good
preservation, as shown upon slabs, risers to steps, and on octangular
columns of graceful proportions. The entrance to some of the
cave-temples also exhibits ability in the carving of stone which is of
no mean quality, depicting innumerable single figures and many groups.
None of the Indian topes are more than half as large as these Ceylon
dagobas. The latter were solid, hemispherical masses, standing upon a
raised square platform of granite six or eight feet high, and
approached by broad stone steps. The incrustation of the dome-like
edifice was after the fashion of our modern stucco process, except
that it was very much more thickly laid on. The preparation consisted
of lime, cocoanut water, and the glutinous juice of a fruit which
grows upon the paragaha-tree. This compound was pure white when dried
and hardened, receiving a polish like glass, and was remarkable for
durability.

We were told of, but did not see, carved stone capitals and
elaborately draped monoliths, found among the ruins of Bintenne, which
represented early perfection in architecture as displayed in a region
now indeed barbaric, but where a civilization flourished in the far
past in all the pride and pomp of oriental grandeur. To-day, the
jackal and the panther, unmolested by man, prowl about the spot in
search of prey.

When the hosts who formed the population of these long-buried cities
disappeared we may not know, nor what fate befell them. There are many
intelligent theories about the matter, but very little positive
evidence. The most plausible supposition would seem to be that a
devastating famine must have been the fatal agent. Most of the works
which these people left behind them, except the bell-shaped and nearly
indestructible dagobas, are now covered with rank vegetation. The
first structure of this character erected at Anuradhapura is still
extant, and is believed by some writers to be one of the oldest
architectural monuments in India. With this conclusion we certainly
cannot agree, as the chronicles tell us it was raised by King Tissa,
at the close of the third century before Christ, over the collar-bone
of Buddha. The author has seen at Benares many sacred structures, some
in ruins, which are much more ancient. After all, these milestones of
the centuries afford us little data by which to unravel the mysteries
of the past in Ceylon. They are only isolated mementos, forming
disjointed links in the chain connecting us with by-gone ages, mute
but eloquent witnesses of a former and high degree of civilization.
The most erudite antiquarian finds no coherent or reliable history in
such crumbling monuments; generalities only can be deduced from them,
however suggestive and interesting they may prove.

Neither the ancient nor the modern Singhalese seem to have had any
distinctive order of architecture, though the variety which they
adopted was infinite. Here, among these half-defaced ruins, one
detects Egyptian, Greek, Roman, and Moorish inspirations, calculated
to puzzle the scientist as to their probable origin. The singular
conglomerates of our own day are not more confusing than some of the
best-preserved specimens to be found in these ruined cities of ancient
Ceylon.

Another notable object of antiquarian interest in the island is
recalled in this connection. It is that of a colossal, upright figure
of Buddha, a figure hewn out of the solid rock, to which it is still
attached, though it is statuesque and not in bas-relief, the original
material only furnishing its support at the back. This rude piece of
sculpture is fifty feet in height and otherwise duly proportioned,
vividly recalling the mammoth bronze statue of Dai-Butsu at Kamakura,
in Japan, which is nearly sixty feet in height, though it is
represented in a sitting position. Within this statue fifty people can
stand together, the interior being fitted like a chapel. As regards
antiquity, the Japanese figure is supposed to be but six centuries in
age, while that of Ceylon is surely three times as old, and probably
four. The great Singhalese statue is now in the jungle, which has
grown up about it during centuries of neglect, near to the great Tank
of Kalawera. The surrounding rocks were in ancient days turned into a
cave-temple with infinite labor, by hewing and excavating them into
chambers of suitable dimensions. Without excellent tools of steel and
iron, very nearly approaching in efficiency those of our own time,
this could not possibly have been accomplished.

The carved pillars, fluted, beveled, and spiral columns, mounds of
ruined masonry, crumbling flights of stone steps, ornamental fragments
of temples, and granite statues skillfully wrought which are scattered
in all directions throughout the jungle, in some instances overgrown
by tall trees, attest both departed greatness and far-reaching
antiquity. Broken bricks, tiles, and sculpture are so knit together by
snakelike tree-roots, while shaded by their lofty branches, as to form
one solid mass for hundreds of rods together, dotted here and there by
simple wild flowers which modestly rear their delicate petals and
perfume the air. One represents the tomb of decayed magnificence and
oriental luxury, the other is the sweet and simple emblem of Nature
undefiled. Thus she covers up the wrinkles of age with blooming
vegetation, screening the mouldering architecture of a forgotten race
beneath fresh arboreal and floral beauties. There still remain, though
partially buried beneath the earth, the suggestive memorials of a
prosperous and energetic people, who were once the possessors of this
beautiful Indian isle. These decaying monuments are at the same time
indisputable evidence of the high civilization which once existed
here, and also, sad to realize, of the deterioration of the Singhalese
as a people. However gradual may have been the decadence of the race
from the proud condition of their ancestors who built the "buried
cities," the contrast is so strong to-day as to seem singularly
abrupt, notwithstanding the intervening centuries.

Fifty years ago, it was only at the risk of one's life that these
famous ruins of Ceylon could be reached. Such expeditions were not
even attempted without a strong escort and governmental aid. Hostile
native tribes and equally fatal malarial influences, together with
almost impassable forests and unbridged rivers, were all arrayed
against the curious visitor. This is now changed so that enterprising
travelers can with but little trouble enjoy a view of some of the most
extraordinary monuments to be found in the East, and which are of much
more than ordinary archæologic and artistic interest.

In this neighborhood, at Vigitapora, are the ruins of a city, once a
royal residence, which is more ancient than Anuradhapura. This place
was a populous centre five hundred years before the Christian era, of
which there seems to be little if any record preserved, even in the
comprehensive pages of that national text-book, the Mahawanso.

The native tribes of Ceylon cannot be said to form a progressive race,
even under the advantages which modern civilization affords them.
Their present condition is one of dormancy. Those who form the rising
generation, after enjoying school advantages to a certain degree, on
arriving at the age of responsibility lapse, with some exceptions,
into the condition of their parents. Thus many of our Western Indians,
who in youth have been educated in schools presided over by the
whites, return finally to their native surroundings, promptly adopting
from choice the barbaric methods and rude life of their roaming
tribes. There is a certain wild instinct which it seems almost
impossible to eradicate. A few native Singhalese have availed
themselves of the opportunities freely extended to them, and have
risen to position and influence both with their own race and the
European population. There are also descendants of English fathers and
native mothers, who, after enjoying special advantages, have developed
into intelligent manhood, and who form a recognized element of the
community. A native Singhalese is, or was very lately, judge of the
supreme court of Ceylon, while the offices of attorney-general and
government solicitor were, and we believe still are, filled by
natives. Others of the same race are respected as county judges,
magistrates, and leading barristers.

So far as current history can be relied upon, we find that Ceylon was,
from five hundred years and more before the Christian era up to the
time of its annexation to Great Britain, the almost constant victim of
foreign and civil wars. Indeed, this seems to have been the chronic
condition of the world at that period. The Portuguese first and the
Dutch afterward took possession of the island, the latter being
finally expelled by the English, who promptly fortified and have held
it ever since.

The rapacity, bigotry, and cruelty which characterized the rule of the
Portuguese in Ceylon forms one of the darkest pages in the history of
European colonization. An eminent writer upon the period says very
tersely and truly that these people first appeared in the Indian Ocean
in the threefold character of merchants, missionaries, and pirates,
more fully illustrating the last named than the other two occupations.
No other nation save Spain has written its autobiography in such
glaring letters of blood.

When Ceylon was first acquired by the English, it was placed in the
hands of the East India Company, being so intimately connected with
India proper, of which that organization held control. In 1798,
however, it became a possession of the English crown, and was
confirmed to Great Britain by the Treaty of Amiens. The dominion of
the Portuguese and the Dutch lasted for nearly the same length of
time, each holding the island for about one hundred and forty years,
both periods being characterized by innumerable conflicts with the
natives and with foreign invaders. The Portuguese, and especially the
Dutch, left lasting memorials of their occupancy in the form of
fortifications, churches, stone dwellings, and the like, which were so
well built as to be still serviceable.

The rich pearl fisheries, and the native product of choice, much
coveted gems, were constant allurements for the possession of the
"resplendent island," causing the surrounding powers to regard it as a
vast treasure house, upon whose possessors they cast envious eyes. On
taking the island, as already intimated, England adopted prompt and
efficient measures to fortify her possession in such a manner that no
one has since cared to dispute her claim. In such matters the English
have always pursued an omnivorous policy. No spot of land seems too
small or too insignificant to tempt their cupidity, and none too large
for their capacious maw,--India, for example.

As in the instance of Malta, also under British rule for so many
years, Ceylon has thriven and prospered wonderfully, that is to say in
a commercial point of view, which after all is the conventional test.
Would that the same commendation might apply to the moral and
educational condition of the Singhalese! However, where peace and
plenty, together with seeming content, prevail, let us not seek for
hidden troubles. The island is to-day indisputably a most flourishing
agricultural colony, self-supporting, except as regards the military
establishment maintained by the home government, which expense is not
justly chargeable to Ceylon, whose peaceable inhabitants require no
military force to keep them in subjection. The simplest police
organization accomplishes this, though in former times, under
insufferable tyranny of petty princes and foreign invaders, the
Singhalese proved that they could fight for, and hold their own
against considerable odds. Unless outrageously oppressed, they are of
too peaceable a nature to arouse themselves to open rebellion.

A simple glance at the situation shows great progress throughout the
island since it came into the possession of Great Britain. Barbarous
habits and institutions have been gradually reformed; taxes which were
formerly exhaustive have been greatly modified, and in many instances
entirely removed; from a condition of slavery, the masses have been
made free, now enjoying entire personal liberty; the districts of the
interior, heretofore inaccessible, have been open to easy and safe
travel; compulsory labor has been abolished; education has been
brought within the reach of all; large sections of territory have been
drained, and brought from an unhealthy condition to one of comparative
salubrity; mild and just laws are in operation; civil wars and foreign
invasions have ceased, and a peaceful condition of every-day life is
established. Such are some of the great improvements which have
accrued under English rule. This statement is made as a simple matter
of fact, not as an argument that England has a legitimate right on the
island, any more than she has in India. But the prosperity of the
Singhalese is no less a fact, and very pleasant to record.

The population of the island has more than doubled under the present
dynasty, while its marketable products have quadrupled. A few
pertinent facts occur to us in this connection which must surely
interest the general reader.

There are now about three hundred miles of railway in operation on the
island, and nearly as many more projected. To supplement this means of
transportation there are a hundred and seventy-five miles of organized
canal service, a legacy inherited from the Dutch. There are two
hundred and fifty post-offices, besides forty telegraphic stations, in
connection with which are sixteen hundred miles of telegraphic wire in
position. In this march of progress the interests of education have
not been entirely forgotten, and upon the whole, the Singhalese have
very little to complain of as regards the government under which they
live. Fate, however, has decreed that this people, as a nationality,
shall gradually pass away and be forgotten, like other aboriginal
races. The Alaska Indians are not more surely dying out than are these
Singhalese. The most sensitive matter with them and with nearly all
orientals is touching the sacredness of their religious rites. With
these the English government never interferes, neither here nor in
India proper. As we have shown, the orientals are a peaceable race,
and will submit to a considerable degree of arbitrary rule touching
their political relations, but the moment their religious convictions
and ceremonies are interfered with, they become frenzied.

It will be remembered that the great Indian mutiny, which occurred in
1857, was at first incited in the ranks of the natives at Cawnpore and
elsewhere by what was thought to be an intentional insult to their
religious convictions.

The English, soon after establishing themselves in Ceylon, tried the
experiment of forming a battalion of infantry, composed of the
natives. When being trained to service, it was nearly impossible, we
are told, to teach them not to fire away their ramrods as the real
missiles of destruction. There is a certain effeminacy inherent in all
rice-eating nations, and yet what did not the former people of this
island achieve in the building of great cities, grand palaces, and
temples of stone? It would almost seem as though the Singhalese of the
present day could not belong to the same race as the people who built
Anuradhapura before Christ was born.

Many of the prominent Christian sects have churches and missionary
establishments in the island. It has long been a popular missionary
field with several denominations, more particularly in the northern
part. The most numerous is that of the Roman Catholic Church, whose
leaders began their system of proselyting the natives as far back as
the first establishment of the Portuguese in Ceylon. The faith which
they presented addressed itself with all its theatrical effect to the
fancy of the ignorant Singhalese, especially as the cunning priests
took good care to mingle certain local Buddhistical ceremonies with
those which they introduced. There are shrines and temples in Ceylon,
in what are called Roman Catholic districts, where the images of
Buddha and the Virgin Mary both hold honored places. Is the worship of
one any more idolatrous than of the other? It has been well said that
the idol is the measure of the worshiper. People who never thought for
themselves were thus attracted. They formed a class whose very
ignorance made them easy converts. Had they been able or inclined to
reason upon the subject, it would not have been permitted. They had to
swallow the creed as a whole, at a single gulp, being approached with
the sword in one hand and the cross in the other.

Absolutism in faith is synonymous with ignorance. The right of inquiry
is the privilege of every human being, though it is denounced as
heretical by the Romish Church. Only falsehood fears investigation;
only chicanery dreads the light. The hateful Inquisition tried to
carry on its bloodthirsty practices here under Portuguese rule, but
was summarily driven out of Ceylon by the Dutch, with its vile
nunneries and its instruments of torture. So the French, during their
brief possession of the island of Malta, expelled a similar Jesuitical
crew from Valetta, not, however, before they had recorded their
diabolical deeds in letters of blood, now burning a "heretic," and now
mangling an intractable convert.




CHAPTER V.

     Food of the People.--Rice Cultivation.--Vast Artificial
     Lakes.--The Stone Tanks of Aden.--Parched Australia.--Coffee
     Culture.--Severe Reverses among Planters.--Tea
     Culture.--Cinchona Plantations.--Heavy Exportation of
     Tea.--Cacao Culture.--A Coffee Plantation
     described.--Domesticated Snakes.--The
     Cinnamon-Tree.--Cinnamon Gardens a
     Disappointment.--Picturesque Dwelling's.--Forest Lands.--The
     Ceylon Jungle.--Native Cabinet Woods.--Night in a Tropical
     Forest.--Rhododendrons.


The principal food of a nation is a most important factor, not only in
judging of its means of support, but also as regards the mental and
physical character of the people themselves. Rice has been the staple
product and support of Ceylon, as it has been of the population of
India and China, from time immemorial. There are to-day some eight
hundred thousand acres of land devoted to the raising of this cereal
upon the island; there should be twice that area devoted to the
purpose, to meet the imperative wants of the present population. The
unsuitability of the climate for ripening wheat is more than
compensated for by its prodigal yield of rice, producing two crops
annually, where water can be freely obtained. This grain is proven by
scientific experiment to contain more of the several essential
elements for support of the human body than any other which is grown.
As is well known, in cultivating rice, it requires to be flooded,
started in fact under water, after being first planted, and also to be
more than once submerged during its growth and ripening. To facilitate
the production of this nutritious grain, the great tanks already
referred to were originally built, in which to preserve, for
periodical use, the water which flows freely enough from the mountain
region during the rainy season, but when the dry period sets in, the
rivers become thread-like streams, fed only by a few inconsiderable
springs which exist in the hills. The oldest of these immense
reservoirs is believed to date back some centuries before Christ's
appearance upon earth, evincing by their construction a degree of
organized thrift and effective energy hardly equaled in our time.

The tanks not only saved the precious water from running to waste,
but, being tapped at suitable intervals, conducted it by sluiceways
and canals, distributing it to those localities where it was needed,
and at the exact time when it was wanted.

The chief article of native consumption should also be one of export
from a country so admirably adapted to its production. This is not now
the case; indeed, it is and has long been one of the principal imports
from India and elsewhere. It is estimated that every native adult who
can get it consumes a bushel of rice each month in the year. To the
Singhalese rice is what wheat is to the average American, namely, the
staff of life. To promote its cultivation, the English government
should repair the neglected tanks, great and small. There is evidence
sufficient to prove that Ceylon raised all she required of this staple
for home consumption when her agricultural masses could get the
necessary water. In some localities where the rain is plentiful, the
rice planter is dependent upon the natural supply; but in most parts
of the island its cultivation is not even attempted unless a certain
artificial supply of water is first secured by means of canals and
reservoirs, it being quite as necessary as the very seed itself. There
is one great advantage which the planters enjoy in Ceylon over most
other regions; that is, the abundance and cheapness of free labor
obtainable at any season of the year. Coolies by the thousand are
always ready to come hither from southern India at the harvest time.
As many come regularly as can get employment.

When the island was at the height of its prosperity, there were in its
various parts at least thirty tanks of enormous proportions, and about
seven hundred of all sizes. In the nineteenth century, we attain the
object of water preserves by building structures of granite, like the
Croton and Cochituate reservoirs of New York and Boston, not nearly so
large nor any more efficient than these of the time referred to. But
to do this we have all the appliances of powerful machinery and
labor-saving methods, while these Herculean results in Ceylon were
achieved by human hands alone. One system is the consummation of a
high state of civilization, and of well-paid skillful industry; the
other, like the enduring pyramids, was the outcome of a barbaric
period, and of forced manual labor. While examining one of the vast
embankments, built, like all others, partly of stone but mainly of
earth, to securely hold the artificial lake, the author was
accompanied by an intelligent native, who was a local official of the
government. It was natural to remark upon the achievement of so great
a work by primitive means. "Yes," said he, "every bushel of earth
which forms this broad embankment, extending for miles, was brought by
the single basketful from yonder mountain upon the heads of men and
women."

The remains of one of these capacious tanks which stimulated industry
and insured abundant crops in Ceylon so long ago is to be seen at
Kalawewa, near Dambula, already spoken of, and is known to have been
built fourteen centuries since. It was originally some forty miles in
circumference, covering seven square miles, with a depth of twenty
feet of water, and having an embankment of stone twelve miles long
laid in solid tiers, with the large blocks ingeniously secured
together. These tanks are found in a more or less ruinous condition
all over the island, but especially at the north, where they were more
required than in the southern portion. The conserving of water in
large quantities for agricultural and other necessary purposes was
naturally one of the earliest developed ideas of civilized people.
Aden, the important peninsula commanding the entrance of the Red Sea,
now held and fortified by England, is situated in a rainless zone, so
that the inhabitants see no fall of that invaluable element sometimes
for two years together, though when it does visit them it comes in
floods. The dependence here for the needed supply in the dry season is
upon enormous tanks hewn out of the solid rocks with infinite labor,
and connected with each other by a well-devised system. These tanks,
being cut in the solid rock, as we have said, are virtually
indestructible, and form the means of supply for the inhabitants
to-day, as they did thousands of years ago. The great antiquity of the
Aden water reservoirs renders them intensely interesting, since they
are believed to be as old as the most ancient monuments in existence
raised by the hand of man,--not excepting those of Egypt.

In entering the harbor of Aden, one passes through the dangerous
Strait of Bab-el-Mandeb, so called by the Arabs, and signifying the
"Gate of Tears," because it has proved so fatal to human life and to
commerce. The author well remembers, when passing this famous point,
seeing the tall masts of a big European steamship still standing above
the water of the strait. A few days previously, the vessel had been
swept by the treacherous currents upon some of the many sunken rocks,
and had instantly gone to the bottom with all her crew on board.

The water preserves of Ceylon are of all sizes, from widespread lakes
to mere ponds, designed to irrigate circumscribed districts. There was
a time when each town and village, at least all that lay to the north
of the mountain range which divides the island, had its reservoir. The
first one spoken of in this chapter was built by King Penduwasa, and
was restored by the English so late as 1867. It covers an area of over
three thousand acres, and is of inestimable value to the agricultural
interests of the district. It seems that as Egyptian monarchs were
wont to build pyramids to mark the glory of their several dynasties,
so the Kandian kings and earlier rulers of Ceylon each sought to excel
his predecessor by constructing larger tanks, thus elaborating the
means of irrigation and increasing the productiveness of the island.
Sixteen of these useful reservoirs are credited to one of the latest
kings of Kandy.

Could this grand and effective principle of irrigation be applied to
the plains of Australia, what a blessing it might prove. The
oft-recurring periods of drought, extending from Brisbane in the north
to Adelaide in the south, are now a fatal blight to agricultural
enterprise. The Murray River, which at certain seasons of the year is
navigable for nearly or quite one thousand miles, now runs to waste,
becoming a mere brook half the year; and sheep and cattle sometimes
die of thirst by thousands, so that many wealthy Englishmen engaged in
sheep-raising have been made paupers in a single season. It only
needs the construction of a series of water-saving tanks upon the
course of the Murray to successfully water millions of acres of
naturally fertile soil, and to insure the country against anything
like a water famine when the dry season sets in. Why the people who
are in authority ignore such simple facts is a standing marvel.

We have said that rice was the staple product of the island, and it is
still so; but it was not long ago that Ceylon was also famous for the
amount of excellent coffee which it produced and exported. For a
while, it seemed destined to rival all the rest of the world in this
important article. Its cultivation was begun here upon a large scale
in 1825, in the vicinity of Peradenia, where the soil and climate
proved to be so favorable that speculators came hither in large
numbers from great distances, but especially from England, to
establish plantations, though the coffee-tree is not indigenous to
Ceylon. Thousands of acres of forest and dense jungle were cleared and
burned over in the neighborhood of Kandy alone, at great expense and
labor, to prepare the ground for coffee planting. There was at one
time so much speculative energy evinced in this direction that nearly
every local government official was more or less engaged in it,
embarking therein all the money which he possessed or which he could
borrow. Well-engineered roads were opened into new and available
districts, while numerous substantial bridges were erected over
previously impassable streams, and thriving villages sprang up as if
by magic amid what was formerly wild and inaccessible jungle. In the
course of twenty years, the product had risen to so large an aggregate
figure as to astonish the commercial world, and the price of the berry
was consequently reduced in all the markets of Europe. Such good
fortune, it was finally discovered, was not destined to fall unalloyed
to the share of the Ceylon planters.

Some sacrifice must attend upon all such enterprises. In clearing the
forest lands for coffee planting, a most reckless waste was practiced
in Ceylon. Magnificent groves of valuable wood were cut down and
ruthlessly burned to ashes, among which were many of the precious
cabinet woods so highly prized all over the world. Among others were
some grand banian-trees, as we were told, which had a hundred great
stems and a thousand lesser ones. There are not many such trees as
these to be found in the known world.

It is but a few years since that a nearly simultaneous blight attacked
most of the coffee plantations on the island, coming in the form of a
strange fungus, which choked the breathing pores of the leaves, and
thus rapidly exhausted the trees. The Ceylon planters were struck with
consternation for a period; years of uninterrupted good crops had
filled them with confidence, so they had annually, by liberal
expenditure, cleared more ground, spreading out their plantations in
all directions. Large sums of money were sent out from England by
individuals desirous to enter into so promising a speculation, and the
aggregate sum said to have been expended in this purpose is almost
incredible. But the blight proved to be of the most serious character,
and was so wholesale as to literally impoverish many previously rich
agriculturists who had embarked their all in the business. The island
is very rich in fungi, and this one which had so effectually blighted
the coffee plants was quite new to science. That which was for a time
so serious a pecuniary loss to this island proved to be of great
commercial advantage to Java and Brazil, whose production in the same
line was vastly stimulated thereby, while the coffee which they sent
to market realized more remunerative prices than when brought in
competition with that of Ceylon. Since this experience, a large number
of the planters have gradually turned their attention to raising tea,
together with the production of quinine from the cinchona-tree, and so
far as could be learned, they have met with good pecuniary success. An
intelligent resident of Colombo estimates that there are fifty
thousand acres of the last-named tree under profitable cultivation at
the present time. It is found that cinchona will thrive in the
mountain districts, considerably above the height at which coffee
ceases to be advantageously cultivated, while, unlike tea or coffee,
it requires no special care after it has been once fairly started. The
production of quinine, which has now reached mammoth proportions,
hardly keeps pace with the growing consumption of the drug by the
world at large. There was over one million dollars' worth of cinchona
bark exported in 1892 from Colombo.

The export of tea in 1890 rose to the considerable amount of
forty-seven million pounds, which aggregate we have evidence to show
has been since increased annually. The commercial importance of Ceylon
may be said to rest at the present time mainly upon the raising of
tea. The yield per acre is considerably larger than it is in India,
while the access to market is much better than it is at Assam or
Cachar. The Ceylon product is shipped in its natural condition, that
is to say, it is pure, while that of China and Japan is systematically
adulterated and artificially colored. There are about two thousand
plantations upon the island occupied for tea raising, averaging two
hundred acres each of rolling upland, and it is confidently believed
here that China and India will eventually be distanced by Ceylon in
the matter of supplying the markets of the world with tea. While
coffee cannot be cultivated successfully much higher than four
thousand feet above sea level in this island, tea thrives at almost
any height in this latitude, as it does in northern India, round about
Darjeeling. The only fear seems now to be that of over-production.
The last year's crop was estimated to slightly exceed eighty million
pounds, and its quality was so satisfactory as to command good prices
and a quick market.

There are several special advantages which tea culture possesses over
that of coffee; one is the ease with which the tea planter can get rid
of any pest which attacks his trees. The coffee plant gives, as a
rule, but one crop annually, the blossom season being narrowed to four
or five weeks, and if that fails because of bugs or disease of any
sort, the year's labor is in vain. In the cultivation of tea, there is
the chance of plucking leaves nearly every month of the year. If an
emergency arises, the planter has only to clear his bushes of every
leaf and, gathering the same, burn them. The insects are thus totally
destroyed, while the bushes are sure to produce a new covering of
verdure in a few weeks. There are to-day nearly three hundred thousand
acres devoted to tea culture in Ceylon.

The planters have been giving attention of late years to the raising
of cacao, the chocolate plant, and some large plantations have proved
to be very profitable, the demand being considerably beyond the
present supply. The article produced here stands as the best in the
London market, and commands the highest price. Over twenty thousand
hundredweight were exported from Colombo in 1892. That of the year
just past, we were assured, would show a considerable increase over
this amount.

Let it not be understood that coffee is no longer raised on the
island. The fact is that the blight spoken of seems to have in a
considerable degree exhausted itself, and many coffee planters are
again rejoicing over paying crops, as abundantly proven by the amount
of the berry which is still exported. It may be almost doubted if
there is any such thing as unmitigated evil; the brief though serious
blight of the coffee plant in Ceylon has proved to be a blessing in
disguise. Finite judgment is often delusive. Joseph's brethren, who
sold him into slavery, meant it unto evil, but God meant it unto good.
The equity of Providence has framed a never-failing law of
compensation, though we may not always possess sufficient intelligence
to see its application.

A coffee plantation is a charming sight at each stage of the ripening
process. Its dark green polished leaves are beautiful examples of
tropical foliage, and the white blossoms look like snowflakes gathered
in clusters about the tips of the branches, emitting a perfume not so
pronounced as, and yet not unlike, that of the tuberose. These odorous
flowers are short-lived and drop to the ground almost as quickly as
they come, being followed in due course by large crimson berries,
quite as ornamental as the flowers and nearly as large as the common
New England cherry. Within the pulp the double seeds are ripened which
form the coffee berry of commerce. The view of a thrifty plantation at
sunrise, when each spray is dripping with refreshing dew and every
little branch is diamond-capped, is lovely beyond expression.

A surprise awaited us on one occasion while visiting a coffee
plantation near Kandy. Seeing a snake over four feet in length moving
along unmolested on the path in front of the bungalow which was
occupied by the planter's family, it was quite impossible to suppress
an exclamation. Our host smiled pleasantly as he explained that the
creature was not only tolerated about the house, but that it was a
pet! It seems that these reptiles are often kept to kill and drive
away the coffee-rats, as they are called, a certain species of rodents
which are often alarmingly abundant on these estates, and terribly
destructive to the growing crops. They are twice the size of an
ordinary rat, such as is common with us. They feed upon birds,
blossoms, and ripe berries of the coffee to an unlimited extent, if
not interfered with. The snake is their natural enemy, and is more
destructive among them than a well-trained domestic cat would be. In
fact, these rats would be more than a match for an ordinary cat. So
the fer-de-lance is a great rat destroyer among the sugar plantations
of Martinique, a snake which is as poisonous as the cobra of Ceylon.
Does the reader remember that it was one of this species of West
Indian serpents which bit Josephine, the future empress of France,
when she was a mere child in her island home, and that her faithful
negro nurse saved the child's life by instantly drawing the poison
from the wound with her own lips? At Pará, in Brazil, the author has
seen young anacondas six and eight feet long also kept upon the
plantations as rat catchers. Any of these serpents make very little of
swallowing a rat which they have themselves caught, but they promptly
refuse such as have been killed by a trap or other means. The Ceylon
cobra cannot cope with the mongoose, whose safety in a conflict with
this reptile lies in its extraordinary activity. The mongoose avoids
the dash of the cobra and pins it by the back of the neck,
persistently maintaining its hold there, in spite of the creature's
contortions, until it succeeds in gnawing through and severing the
spine.

In Ceylon, ladies sometimes make a pet of the mongoose, and when taken
young and reared for this purpose, the soft little hairy creature
becomes as affectionate and lap-loving as the most tiny dog,
recognizing its mistress above all other persons, and following close
upon her footsteps. It looks innocent enough, but the cobra
instinctively dreads its presence, and with good reason, for the
encounter nine times in ten costs the reptile its life. The natives
say that when a continuous fight occurs between these creatures, if
the snake succeeds in fixing its fangs in the body of the mongoose,
the latter instantly retires and eats of some plant as a preventive to
the operation of the poison, and presently returns to renew the
conflict until it finally conquers. Though this is a universally
believed statement among the common people, we do not give it the
least credit.

One other important and staple product of the island should not be
forgotten. The cinnamon-tree is indigenous, and is largely cultivated
for the valuable bark which it yields. It is estimated that over
twenty thousand acres are systematically improved in the raising of
cinnamon-trees, a very ancient as well as profitable industry in
Ceylon, and one which was held as a monopoly by the Dutch government
for a century and more. The monopoly was also maintained by the
English, after they assumed control here, but this most unwarrantable
embargo has long since been abolished, and it is no longer a
restricted article. The tree is grown from the seed, begins to yield
at about its eighth year, and continues to do so for a century or
more. It does not require a rich soil, but thrives best in a low,
sandy plain. A soil in which scarcely anything else will grow except
chance weeds seems quite the thing for cinnamon, which, like the
cocoanut palm, thrives best near the salt water. In its natural state,
it grows to a height of thirty feet; under cultivation, it is pruned
down so as to remain at about ten feet or less. It is of the laurel
family, but is as hardy as the long-lived olive-tree. The author has
seen in southern Spain, near Malaga, orchards of the latter in which
were many trees which it was declared were several centuries old,
their gnarled and scraggy appearance certainly favoring the
statement.

The cinnamon gardens, as they are called, are generally musical with
the cooing of turtle-doves, whose plump condition is owing to free
living upon the nutritious purple berries of the spice-producing tree.
The birds are not interfered with, as the berries have no commercial
value, and it should be remembered that the natives do not kill birds
or animals for food. Sometimes English sportsmen go into the
plantations and get a bag of this palatable game, though it seems
cruel to shoot such, delicate and pretty creatures. Dove-pie,
however,--this between ourselves,--is by no means to be despised,
especially where, as in Ceylon, beef and mutton of a good quality are
so rare.

On the occasion of the author's first visit to Colombo, the Cinnamon
Gardens in the immediate suburbs were much lauded, and they were in
fact one of the first attractions to which strangers were introduced.
There was a pleasant promise in the very name, and we had anticipated
something not only beautiful to behold, but which would prove grateful
to all the senses. Disappointment was inevitable. Finally, when we
reached the grounds, it seemed hardly possible that the broad area of
low, scrubby jungle and thick undergrowth which bore this attractive
name could really be the Cinnamon Gardens of which so much poetical
fiction has been written. It seems rather an anomaly, but the fact is,
clove oil is not produced by the pungent spice whose name it bears,
but is extracted from the refuse of the cinnamon bark. The "gardens"
referred to were misnamed. There was no garden about them. It was
simply a plantation of thick-growing shrubbery, apparently much
neglected. The spacious area is now improved by picturesque European
residences, spacious domestic flower plants, and croquet grounds,
carpeted with velvety grass. Flourishing fruit trees and nodding palms
render the place attractive at this writing. While strolling or
driving through a cinnamon plantation,--and there are plenty of them
all over the island, especially in the south,--one seeks in vain to
detect the perfume derived from the spice so well known. It is not the
bloom nor the berry which creates this scent, but when the bark is
being gathered at the semi-annual harvest, the aroma is distinct
enough. The spice of commerce is the ground inner bark of the tree,
the branches of which are cut, peeled, and dried in the sun. The
harvests occur about Christmas and again in midsummer. By trimming the
smaller branches the productiveness of the main portion is improved,
and the pungency of the bark is increased. Cinnamon was the cassia of
the Jews and ancients. Probably Solomon's ships brought the
much-prized spice from this island. The consumers generally did not
know from whence it came, that was a royal secret, and much mystery
hung about the matter, while the cost was at that period so high as to
make it an exclusive article,--that is to say, it was only to be
afforded by the rich.

The uncleared woodland of the island is very extensive. The forests
must have been of much smaller area when the population was quadruple
its present aggregate, particularly in the north, where the extensive
ruins show how vast in numbers the population must have been. It is
estimated by good authority that there are two and a half million
acres of wild, thickly wooded country, which contain all the varieties
of trees peculiar to the equatorial regions. It is difficult to
overestimate the grandeur of the primeval forest of Ceylon, with its
solemn arches and avenues of evergreen, its majestic palms, and tall
tree-ferns shading silver lakelets. Every pond, large or small, is
sure to be the resort of tall wading-birds and waterfowls. Presently
we come upon a spot where the earth is flecked with golden sunlight,
shifting and evanescent, sifted, as it were, through the gently
vibrating leaves, softly gilding the sombre drapery of the forest.
There is nothing monotonous in a tropical wood; individual outlines
and coloring are in endless variety. The contrasts presented in a
circumscribed space are infinite, while a never-fading bloom
overspreads the whole. Now and again the eye takes in a ravishingly
beautiful effect through the deep-blue vistas stretching away into
mysterious depths. Pressing forward, we come upon a wilderness of
splendid trees, running up seventy or eighty feet towards the sky
without a branch, then spreading out into a glorious canopy of green.
Would that we could fully impress the reader with the unflagging
charm of an equatorial forest. "You will find something far greater in
the woods than you will find in books," said St. Bernard.

Professor Agassiz recorded the names of three hundred varieties of
trees growing in the area of one square mile in a Brazilian forest.
The same abundance and variety exist in Ceylon.

The beauty and value of the native woods of this island cannot fail
promptly to attract the notice and admiration of the stranger. The
calamander, ebony, and satinwood trees, familiar to us as choice
cabinet woods, are conspicuous and ornamental, besides which there are
in these forests many other valuable species. Externally, the
ebony-tree appears as though its trunk had been charred. Beneath the
bark, the wood is white as far as the heart, which is so black as to
have passed into a synonym. It is this inner portion which forms the
wood of commerce. The sura or tulip-tree produces a material of
extraordinary firmness of texture, reddish-brown in color. It bears a
yellow blossom similar in form to the tulip; hence its name. It is
known in botany as _Hibiscus populneus_, so called because it has the
leaf of the poplar and the flower of the hibiscus. The tamarind, most
majestic and beautiful, yields a red wood curiously mottled with black
spots, and when polished gives a glass-like surface, but it is too
valuable as a fruit-bearer to be freely used for manufacturing
purposes or for timber in building. The halmalille-tree gives the
most durable and useful substance next to the palm, and is specially
adapted to the manufacture of staves for casks; indeed, it is the only
wood known on the island which is considered suitable for this
purpose. Cooperage is an important industry and a growing one here, as
many thousands of casks are required annually in which to export
cocoanut oil, not to reckon those employed for storing and
transporting that most fiery liquor, Ceylon arrack. Considerable
quantities of this intoxicant find their way northward to the
continent of India.

The famous buoyant Madras surf-boats are built of this halmalille
wood, in the construction of which no nails are used. The several
parts are secured by stout leather thongs, the wood being literally
sewed together with that article and with cocoanut fibre, wrought into
stout, durable cordage. So great and peculiar is the incessant strain
upon these small craft employed in an open roadstead that nails will
not hold in such light constructions. A certain flexibility is
required, which is best obtained in the manner described.

One tree is particularly remembered as we write these lines, a
cotton-bearer, though the article it produces is only floss-like, and
too short in texture for spinning purposes. It is, however, very
generally used for stuffing sofas and chair cushions. This tree is
deciduous; the leaves do not appear until after the crimson blossoms
have quite covered the branches, producing a very peculiar and pretty
effect. When the blossoms fall, the neighboring grounds are carpeted
in varied scarlet figures, giving a novel and lovely covering,
surpassing the finest product of the looms. After the blossoms are
gone, the bright green leaves burst quickly forth in prodigal
abundance.

If one chances to be amid these shadows of the forest after nightfall,
the scene is totally changed as well as the prevailing sounds that
greet the ear. It is then that one hears the short, sharp bark of the
jackals, the weird howl of migrating families of flying-foxes, the
ceaseless hooting of several species of owls,--one of which is known
as the devil-bird because of its uncanny scream,--the croaking of
tree-toads and mammoth crickets, mingled with the frequent,
distressful cry of some other night bird whose name is unknown,--it is
heard but not seen. Through the vistas of the trees flashes of soft
light as if from a small torch catch the eye; if it is low and marshy
these are like moving balls of fire, doubtless caused by some electric
combinations. The dance of the fireflies amid the thick undergrowth is
confusing as well as fascinating. One seems to be in fairyland, and
looks about for the figure of a sylphid floating upon a gossamer
cloud, or a group of fairy revelers tripping upon the blossom-covered
ground. Is it all reality, we ask ourselves, or a dream from which we
shall presently awake?

The large, brilliant flower of the rhododendron is familiar to New
Englanders as growing upon a bush eight or ten feet high. It is
annually made quite a feature when in bloom in the Boston Public
Garden, but in Ceylon it is much more ambitious, forming forests by
itself, and growing to the proportions of a large tree, averaging from
forty to fifty feet in height. In the vicinity of Adam's Peak this
tree abounds, covering the abrupt sides of that famous elevation
almost to its rocky summit, where it is crowned by the small,
iron-chained Buddhist temple, thus fastened to secure it against the
fierce winds that sometimes sweep these heights.

The prevailing color of the flowers is scarlet, but there are
variations showing lovely shades of pink and cream colors. Those which
grow at the greatest altitude seem to differ somewhat from the others,
and are said to be peculiar to Ceylon, being sixty feet in height,
with trunks nearly two feet in diameter.

This is but one among many of the tall flowering trees upon the
island. The reader can easily imagine the beautiful effect of a broad
mountain side covered with gorgeous rhododendron-trees in full bloom,
so abundant that the very atmosphere seems to be scarlet with the
strong reflection of the flowers. Like the superb sunset of the north,
accompanied by the orange, scarlet, and fiery red of the twilight
glow, were this mountain of rhododendrons to be literally reproduced
by the painter's art, we should think it an exaggeration.

In the opening month of the year, this regal flower is in full bloom
on Adam's Peak, and so continues until July, when it takes its
winter's sleep. The green leaves of the species growing high up the
mountain are silver-lined, while those lower down are brown on the
under side. The former have also stouter stems, and are more stocky in
all respects. The latter, to a casual observer, are more delicate in
form and more beautiful in color.




CHAPTER VI.

     Arboreal King of the Forest.--The Palm
     Family.--Over-Generous Nature and her Liberal
     Provisions.--Product of the Cocoanut-Tree.--The
     Wide-Spreading Banian.--Excellent Public Roads.--Aquatic
     Birds and Plants.--Native Fruit Trees.--The
     Mangosteen.--Spice-Bearing Trees.--Treatment of
     Women.--Singhalese Rural Life.--Physical Character of Tamil
     Men.--Tree Climbing.--Native Children.--Numerical Relation
     of the Sexes.--Caste as respected in Ceylon.--Tattooing the
     Human Body.


Of all vegetable nature, so abundant, prolific, and beautiful in this
equatorial region, one most delights in the characteristic and
ever-present palm,--arboreal king of the forest. Ceylon has seven very
important varieties native to its soil, which are found in great
abundance especially upon the southern coast of the island. These are
the cocoanut, the palmyra, the kittool, the areca, the date, the
talipot, and the fan palm. The latter member of this family, seen in
greatest perfection at Singapore, is a conspicuous ornament which
greets the stranger immediately upon landing, and its peculiar shape
is almost constantly to be met with, go where one may upon that
interesting island. It springs up from the earth with a comparatively
short stem before the branches begin, unlike most other palms,
presenting an appearance of an expanded fan, as though it were
artificially trained to grow in this particular shape. It reaches a
height of forty feet or more, and forms a distinctive feature of the
scenery. Its roots, like those of the asparagus plant, are small and
innumerable, seeking sustenance by means of these tentacles which
expand irregularly in all directions.

The fan palm is to be seen in California, but it is of inferior
growth, and is not indigenous there. At the north of Ceylon, the
palmyra palm prevails, while the south and southwest coast are
literally lined with large and thrifty groves of cocoanut palms, the
value of whose products is immense. The care and rendering of these
gives employment and support to whole villages of natives. Unlike the
date, the cocoanut palm bears male and female buds on the same
branches. The last-named tree thrives best, and bears most fruit, when
growing near the salt water, a peculiarity which does not apply
specially to other members of this family.

It is a fact worthy of mention that the cocoanut palm, like the camel,
is always found associated with man. There are no wild camels, and the
cocoanut-tree does not flourish in the wilderness. It is most at home
when its tall, smooth gray stem inclines gracefully, heavy with fruit,
over some native, rudely thatched cabin, a picture which is constantly
repeating itself in the southern part of Ceylon.

On first approaching the island, it is seen that the shore is
palm-fringed from Dondra Head to Colombo, and even far north of the
latter place. The picturesque cocoanut groves come down close to the
sea, from which they are separated only by a golden belt of yellow
sand, over which the trees incline gracefully, with their broad,
plume-like foliage half hiding the ripening clusters of russet-clad
fruit hanging fifty or sixty feet skyward. The salt spray of the
Indian Ocean impregnates the atmosphere when the monsoons blow,
stimulating the palms to unwonted vigor and fruitfulness. So uniform
is their growth along the level shore that the tall white trunks with
their feathery crowns seem to stand in closed ranks like a line of
soldiers at "parade rest."

The reason of the extensive geographical distribution of the cocoanut
palm is doubtless from its growing in such close proximity to the sea.
The ripe nut falls upon the shore and is floated by tide and wind to
other islands and coral reefs, where in due course it propagates
itself and in turn begets other seeds which seek new lands in a
similar manner and there plant themselves. The small islets of the
Indian Ocean and the South Pacific have thus become heavily wooded
from chance beginnings, though it has required many ages to bring
about the present conditions.

The cocoanut palm is to the natives of Ceylon what the date palm is to
the Arabs of the desert. Its regular cultivation is one of the
recognized industries. The nuts designed for planting are selected
from the best which are produced, and are kept upon the tree until
they are thoroughly ripe, when they are placed in a nursery, partially
covered with earth, and exposed to the sun. There they remain until a
sprout shoots up from the eye of the nut, and when this reaches the
height of nearly three feet, it also shows long, irregular roots
hanging from the base. It is then planted in the ground at a depth of
about two feet. The young tree grows very slowly for six or seven
years, increasing more in stoutness than in height. Presently it
starts afresh to grow tall quite rapidly, and by the eighth or ninth
year it begins to bear fruit. Though the cultivation of this tree is
so important, and ultimately so profitable, in equatorial regions that
one would not think of its being neglected, still, owing to the length
of time required to bring it to the fruit-bearing condition, the ever
lazy natives do not expend much effort in the business. The long
period between the seed and the product discourages them. Nature,
however, steps in and fills the gap by the chance planting of many
trees annually, and when these reach a certain growth suitable for
removal, they are transplanted into advantageous situations. The new
palms which are thus added yearly much more than keep good their
numbers, as they are hardy and long-lived trees.

Thus it is that Nature is over-generous, and makes liberal provisions
for her children in all instances. The camel has a foot especially
designed for traveling upon the desert sands. Birds of prey possess
talons suitable for seizing, and powerful beaks formed for severing
their natural food. The tiniest plant shows exquisite adaptation to
the climate where it is placed. Animals of the Arctic regions are
covered with fur adequate to protect them from the freezing
temperature in which they live. The most barbarous tribes are not
forgotten. Wherever we find them, their food and necessities are sure
to be discovered close at hand. Examples might be multiplied by the
hundred. Ceylon alone offers us confirmation which is irrefutable, few
spots on earth being better adapted to supply the natural wants of
primitive man.

A thoughtful person cannot fail to be impressed with the remarkable
adaptation of the palm family to the requirements of the natives of
this region. Take, for instance, the cocoanut-tree, and realize for a
moment its bountiful, beneficent products. It affords never-failing
water in an always thirsty clime. Nutritious and palatable cream is
obtained from its luscious nut; toddy to refresh the weary traveler,
or arrack when fermented, comes from the same source, besides a rich
oil for various domestic uses. Thus we have five distinct products
from the cocoanut-tree, while the wood of the trunk itself affords
material for many uses. The oriental poet designates three hundred
different purposes to which the palm and its fruit can be profitably
applied. The green nut contains nearly a pint of cool, sweet water;
cool in the hottest weather, if partaken of when it is first gathered
from the tree. The inner rind of the ripe nut, when reduced to a
pulp, yields under pressure a cup of delicious cream. The toddy is sap
produced from the buds thus divested, instead of permitting them to
ripen and form the final nut. When it is first drawn, this liquid is
pleasant and refreshing, like the newly expressed juice of the grape,
or still more like Mexican pulque, produced by the American aloe,
which is the universal tipple of the people south of the Rio Grande.
By fermentation of the liquids obtained from the buds of the palm and
from the stout stalk of the aloe, it becomes like alcohol, and is
decidedly intoxicating. Cocoanut oil, produced from the fully ripe and
dried meat of the nut, is a great staple of export from Colombo and
Point de Galle. Each cocoanut-tree produces on an average from fifty
to a hundred full and perfect nuts, yielding about a score the first
year of its coming into bearing.

The cocoanut palm is the most common and most valuable of this family
of trees, and next to it is the areca. The top of the former always
bends gracefully towards the earth, affording the Eastern poets a
synonym for humility, while the stem of the latter is quite remarkable
for its perfectly upright form. Undoubtedly the cocoa palm does thrive
best where it gets the influence of the sea breezes tinctured with the
salt of the ocean, but it is a mistake to suppose that this tree does
not thrive inland in Ceylon. Some of the finest specimens to be met
with are in the central province of the island, between Kandy and
Trincomalee.

The talipot palm is very marked in its nature, and is specially
interesting to naturalists; fine specimens are to be seen all over the
island. Its most remarkable peculiarity is that it flourishes about
forty or fifty years without flowering; then it seems to arrive at
maturity, blooms in regal style, yields its abundant seed, and
dies,--the only vegetable growth known which passes through such a
uniformly prolonged process of ripening and decay, not forgetting the
misnamed century plant. The flower of the talipot is a tall, pyramidal
spike of pale yellow blossoms, standing twenty feet above its heavy
dark-green foliage like a huge military pompon. It is pronounced by
botanists to be the noblest and largest flower in the world, and this
is certainly so if we consider the whole clustering bloom as being one
flower. The leaves of the tree when full-grown are large and of a deep
green, but when young they are a pale yellow, and are then dried and
used for writing upon. Leaves of the talipot have been measured in
Ceylon which have attained the length of twenty feet, and they are
used by the natives for the erection of tents. The author has seen in
Brazil leaves of what is known as the inaja palm fifty feet long and
ten or twelve wide.

The young leaves of the palmyra palm are also employed for
manuscripts, or rather were until lately. They are prepared by
steeping them in hot water or milk, after which they are dried and
pressed between pieces of smooth wood. The ancient Mexicans before
Pizarro's time used the leaves of the aloe for a similar purpose. The
talipot palm is the queen of its tribe.

The betelnut is the product of the areca palm, and resembles a nutmeg
in shape and size. A couple of hundred generally form the annual yield
of a single tree. Like the cocoanut or our American chestnut, the
fruit grows inside of a husk, russet colored, and fibrous in its
nature. Farther to the eastward, among the Straits Settlements, the
areca palm is known as the Penang-tree because of its predominance in
that well-wooded island, where human life exhibits only its most
sensuous and lowest form, and where vegetation, fruits, and flowers
revel in exuberance.

The banian-tree with its aerial roots is indigenous to Ceylon,
flourishing after its peculiar fashion in all parts of the island. At
a point on the coast about half-way between Colombo and Galle, there
is a grand specimen of this self-producing arboreal giant. The road
passes directly through its extensive grove, beneath its dense and
welcome shade, which here forms a sort of triumphal arch. The author
has seen but one other example of the banian-tree so large and fine in
effect; namely, that of world-wide fame in the Botanical Garden just
outside of Calcutta, under the thick foliage and branches of which a
whole regiment of infantry might comfortably encamp. The age of the
banian is incalculable. It multiplies itself so that it may be said
in one sense to live forever. Many centuries of age are claimed for
this tree in the south of Ceylon.

Speaking of the road between Colombo and Galle, too much praise cannot
be bestowed upon these government thoroughfares. Whether on long or
short routes, they are admirably and substantially constructed,
consequently they are easy to keep in good order. The island has over
three thousand miles of made roadways in an area of twenty-five
thousand square miles. "The first and most potent means of extending
civilization," says a modern pioneer, "is found in roads, the second
in roads, the third again in roads." The best thoroughfares in the
neighborhood of our New England cities are hardly equal to these. The
Ceylon public roads would delight Colonel Pope, of bicycle fame; he
who so eloquently and none too earnestly advocates the great
importance of good common roads, especially in New England, where we
are, when the truth is fairly spoken, sadly deficient in them. The new
States of the West and Southwest far excel us in this respect. The
road on which we have just embarked, aside from its excellence in
point of usefulness (the railway from Colombo to Galle was not
completed when the author traveled over the route), is one of ideal
beauty, passing through a forest and shore region combined. This
turnpike abounds in unique effects and a succession of charming
surprises. One is never quite prepared for the natural tableaux which
constantly present themselves. An experienced traveler in the low
latitudes is apt to anticipate the probabilities when starting forth
on a new tropical route, but one must behold in order to properly
understand the nature of Ceylon forest scenery. The Colombo and Galle
road forms an almost continuous avenue through overarching cocoanut
palms, with frequent glimpses of the Indian Ocean on one side and of
fresh-water ponds and small lakes on the other, the latter all alive
with aquatic birds, such as water-pheasants, plovers, teal, sandlarks,
and the like. The "painted snipe," as it is called, is very common,
having a chocolate-colored head and a white collar, with back and
wings of green, the tail feathers being spotted with yellow like a
butterfly's wings. It is a very active bird and is never quiet for a
single moment, constantly teetering when upon its feet while seeking
for red worms in the sand. A very similar bird is often seen on the
salt-water beaches of New England, which resembles this Ceylon example
in shape, size, and habits, but not in the texture of its feathers.
The American bird also called snipe is of a uniform pale lavender
color. It is shy enough on our coast, but its tropical brother is as
tame as a pigeon. These places are teeming with blossoms,--pink
lilies, bearing broad, floating, heart-shaped leaves whose roots are
securely anchored to the bottom. Some of the plants resting so
serenely on the glass-like surface have short, delicate white roots,
and receive their nutriment only from the air and water, not coming in
contact with the earth at all. Others, with insect-inviting petals,
close promptly upon the victims allured to their embrace and digest
them at leisure, thriving marvelously upon this animal nourishment.
Any agency which tends to diminish the myriads of flies and mosquitoes
is an assured blessing.

When a native hut is seen, it is found scarcely to equal the ant-hills
in neatness and solidity of construction. Close by the cabin the
always interesting bread-fruit-tree rears its tall head, abounding in
its large pale green product, which forms a never-failing natural food
supply. It is a notable member of the fruit-bearing trees of these
latitudes, and is next in importance to the cocoa palm, with its
serrated, feathery leaves, and its melon-shaped product. The
bread-fruit weighs on an average ten pounds each, and often attains
double that weight. It is as fattening to cattle as the best Indian
meal, and the natives relish it, but to a European the bread-fruit is
not palatable. The tree grows about fifty feet in height, and requires
but very little attention to insure its welfare. Plenty of bananas,
the big jack fruit, mangoes, and plantains give altogether the
appearance of an abundance for the support of life. As regards the
valuable and, to the native, indispensable jack-tree, it is strongly
individualized, not only because it yields the largest of all edible
fruit, but also in the fact that the massive product grows out of the
body of the tree, and not, after the fashion of other fruits, upon the
small limbs and branches. Nature has made a special provision in
behalf of this tree. As it grows older and the fruit increases in
size, it is produced lower and lower on the trunk each year, until
from being grown near the top, it springs out close to the ground.
Though the short, rope-like stalk which holds the rough, green-coated
fruit is of strong fiber, still, when in ripe condition, it is apt to
fall to the earth. As the product increases in size, it would be
broken to pieces if it fell from any considerable height. The natives
apply themselves to its consumption with unlimited capacities. The
wood of the jack is much used for lumber, being easily worked, and
presenting a good surface even for common house furniture as well as
for lighter bungalow framework. Supporting timbers, however, must be
made from harder wood, so as to resist the inroads of the vicious
ants. The humble native tenement has a frame made from the tough,
golden-stemmed bamboo, which is to a casual observer apparently very
frail, but is nevertheless found to be extremely flexible, tenacious,
and lasting. Where the bamboo branches intersect each other, they are
securely bound together with thongs made from palm-tree fibre; this is
to secure them in position.

For a long time the luscious mangosteen was thought to be peculiar to
the islands of the Malacca Straits, but it is now found thriving in
this garden-land of Ceylon, having been long since introduced from
Penang. Attempts to domesticate it in southern India have proved
unsuccessful. The same may be said of the fragrant nutmeg, which has
become an article of profitable export from the island, though it is
not indigenous here. Along this turnpike road we occasionally pass
small cinnamon plantations, where the process of cutting and peeling
the bark is going on, considerable quantities being exposed and spread
out in the sun, whose intense heat dries it most rapidly. When labor
of any sort is in progress, even in the wet rice-fields, it will be
seen that the women perform the hardest tasks. In fact, this is to be
observed in town and country, both in domestic affairs and in the open
field, especially in the transportation of heavy burdens, which they
carry on their heads.

Making beasts of burden of women is not alone practiced in Ceylon. It
is also shamefully obvious in many European centres, where
civilization is supposed to have reached its acme. Americans who have
traveled in Germany, for instance, have often experienced disgust at
the debasing services required of the sex in that country. The author
has seen women, in Munich, carrying hods of bricks and mortar up long
ladders, where new buildings were being constructed, while hard by
their lords and masters were drinking huge "schooners" of lager beer
in taprooms, and lazily smoking foul tobacco.

Loitering beneath the shade of the trees contiguous to their cabins,
queer family groups of Singhalese natives watch the passing stranger
with curious, questioning eyes. Clothes are of little consideration in
a climate like this, and consequently nudity is the rule. The
preparation of food is intrusted mainly to Nature, whose bountiful
hand hangs ripe and tempting nourishment ever ready upon the trees,
where all are free to pluck and to eat. It is curious to see how
easily a native man or boy, with a rope of vegetable fibre passed
round his thighs and thence about the trunk of a palm, will, with feet
and hands thus supplemented, ascend a cocoanut-tree eighty feet or
more, to reach the ripe fruit. He moves upwards as rapidly as one
might go up a tall ladder. It is true, the rope sometimes fails, a
broken neck follows, and a fresh grave is required to decently inter
the remains. This is said to be one of the most "fruitful" causes of
fatal accidents in Ceylon. This sort of catastrophe, and poisonous
cobra bites, are almost as frequent and deadly in the island as
electric car accidents are in Boston or New York.

As one regards these lazy, betel-chewing, irresponsible children of
the tropics, idling in the shade of the palms, it does not seem
strange that they should lead a sensuous life, the chief occupations
of which are eating and sleeping. All humanity here appears to be more
or less torpid. There is no necessity to arouse man to action,--effort
is superfluous. The very bounty of Nature makes the recipients lazy,
dirty, and heedless. They live from hand to mouth, exercising no
forecast, making no provision for the morrow. It is the paradise of
birds, butterflies, and flowers, but man seems to be out of place; he
adds nothing to the beauty of the surroundings; he does nothing to
improve such wealth of possibilities as Providence spreads broadcast
only in equatorial regions. Bishop Heber's lines alluding to Ceylon
were certainly both pertinent and true: "Where only man is vile."

We were just now speaking of native family groups observed on the
route between Galle and Colombo, which is a thoroughly typical region,
and may well serve as a truthful picture of such scenes all over the
southern district of Ceylon. They would form admirable subjects for
photographic delineation,--a gratuitous suggestion for the modern
Kodak enthusiast.

The children of eight or nine years, who form a portion of these
groups, are as naked as when they were born, while their parents are
as scantily clad as decency will permit. The boys and girls have
large, brilliant, and intensely black eyes, with a strong promise of a
good degree of intelligence, but their possibilities are doomed to
remain unfulfilled amid such associations as they are born to. A few
more years and they will subside into languid, sensuous beings, like
their progenitors. They do but obey their polarity,--the "cherubim" of
destiny ought to be designated by a harsher name. The men wear a
white cotton cloth wound about their loins. The women have a similar
covering, sometimes adding a short, cotton, jacket-like waist. The
children have monstrously protruding stomachs, like the little darkies
of our Southern States, but yet as a rule they seem to be well and
hearty. The women of the Tamil race, especially, are of good form and
features, much handsomer than the Singhalese of the same sex. It is a
notable fact in this connection that there are fewer women in Ceylon
than men, a circumstance which has furnished a weak argument for some
native writers in favor of polyandry, which is still sanctioned in the
central districts. In the island of Malta, this relative position of
the sexes is entirely reversed.

The Tamil men are of good height, slim, with small limbs yet well
formed, and have pleasing features and bronzed skins, very similar in
hue to our North American Indians. The Singhalese are of a darker
complexion, not so light in figure; they affect European dress, adding
much ornamentation. They hold themselves of a superior class to the
Tamils, engaging only in what they consider a higher line of
occupation. The Tamils form the humbler and laboring population of the
country. They fully recognize the distinction between themselves and
the Singhalese proper, and they are universally called coolies. Caste
is never disregarded among them, its infinite ramifications extending
through all degrees and classes of the people, regulated by
universally accepted ideas. This peculiar system was early introduced
into the country from India, but was previously unknown here. It is
difficult for the uninitiated to understand its real import. There are
twenty or more castes rigidly adhered to, which may be rendered in
numerical order of importance as follows: The husbandman's occupation
comes first in dignity, followed by that of the fisherman; goldsmiths
rank as third, blacksmiths as fourth caste, and so on in the following
order: braziers, cinnamon peelers, washermen, barbers, potters,
tom-tom-beaters in the temples, etc. Domestic intercourse between
persons of different castes is inadmissible, and to marry below one's
caste is considered to be disgraceful. Feelings of intolerable pride
on the one hand and of abject humiliation on the other are thus
created and perpetuated. In each caste the children must follow the
occupation of the father; a carpenter's boys must be carpenters, and
his daughters must marry carpenters. Caste is therefore absolute death
to all promptings of ambition, according to native ideas. No one can
hope to rise above the grade in which he is born, and no one makes the
attempt. Nearly a century of English control has only served to
confirm these Asiatics in the thralldom of caste. How could it be
otherwise when the ruling power is itself a slave to the same idea?
Sir Matthew Arnold says: "Aristocracy now sets up in our country a
false ideal, which materializes our upper class, vulgarizes our
middle class, and brutalizes our lower class."

Both men and women among the natives in town and country are often
tattooed on their arms, legs, and bodies, while a few, but this is
rare, are decorated on their faces. A child less than ten years of age
was seen in the Pettah at Colombo, whose body was absolutely covered
with crude designs fixed indelibly by this process. One could not but
imagine how the little fellow must have been made to suffer during the
worse than useless operation, which is, even to a hardened adult,
little short of slow agony. This instance struck the author as being
the more remarkable because the Singhalese and almost all savage or
semi-civilized races are found to be remarkably kind to their
offspring, even as wild animals are. We are compelled in some degree
to qualify this assertion, since the missionaries tell us that in
certain parts of the island female infants are often destroyed at the
time of birth. If this is the case to any considerable extent, it
would account for the statistical fact that the men largely outnumber
the women in Ceylon. It is difficult to believe, however, that this
practice prevails in our day. With some barbaric tribes, religious
significance is attached to the habit of tattooing the human body.
This is the case in New Zealand, and in the islands generally of the
South Pacific. Among the former, professional tattooers go about from
tribe to tribe with rude but effective instruments, and operate upon
the Maoris, male and female, with great adroitness and considerable
artistic skill.

There is perhaps no other such universal practice as that of tattooing
which prevails among semi-savage races in various parts of the globe,
but especially among the South Sea Islanders. Many tribes, never
brought in contact with each other, seem to have originated the idea
among themselves.




CHAPTER VII.

     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, æsthetic 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.




CHAPTER VIII.

     Colombo, Capital of Ceylon.--Harbor Facilities.--The
     Breakwater.--Exposed to Epidemics.--Experiences on
     Landing.--Hump-Backed Cattle.--Grand Oriental
     Hotel.--Singhalese Waiters.--Galle Face Hotel.--An Unusual
     Scene.--Number of Inhabitants.--Black Town the Native
     Quarters.--Domestic Scenes.--Monkeys.-Evil Odors.--Humble
     Homes.--The Banana-Tree.--Native Temples and Priestly
     Customs.--Vegetables and Fruits.--Woman's Instinct.--Street
     Scenes in the Pettah.--Fish Market.


Point de Galle, situated seventy miles nearer to its southern
extremity, was the principal port of Ceylon from time immemorial,
until the English government turned the open roadstead of Colombo into
an excellent and safe artificial harbor, by erecting an extensive
breakwater. It is one of the most successful conceptions of the sort
ever consummated in the East, and was begun in 1875,--the Prince of
Wales laying the corner-stone,--and completed in 1884. This was an
improvement which had long been imperatively demanded, but which had
been deferred for years on account of the serious impediments which
presented themselves and the heavy expenditure which it involved.
Previous to the construction of the breakwater, at certain seasons of
the year it was nearly impossible to effect a landing at Colombo,
owing to the boisterousness of the sea on this part of the coast
during the prevalence of the southwest monsoons. The surf-beaten
shore of the Coromandel coast at the north is scarcely more exposed
than was the open roadstead of this port. In the shipment or discharge
of freight, it constantly ran the risk of being ruined by salt water,
the service being necessarily performed by means of scows or lighters.
The well-built breakwater has nearly remedied this trouble. It is
about a mile in length, constructed of solid blocks of concrete,
averaging twenty-five tons each, and rises upon a firm foundation to a
uniform height of fifteen feet above low-water mark. The outermost end
is capped by a lighthouse, and is curved inward almost at right angles
with the main line of the work, thus forming a shelter for the
anchorage of shipping. It is now proposed to place a similar structure
on the opposite or north side of the bay, leaving a suitable entrance
to the harbor. This would render the anchorage quite smooth in all
weather, and as safe for shipping as the Liverpool docks. When the
southwest monsoon is in full force, the water breaks over the present
line to a height of forty feet, falling in harmless spray on the inner
side. The thorough and substantial character of the construction may
be judged of by its actual cost, which was between three and four
million dollars. The entire work was performed by convict labor. The
area sheltered from the southwest monsoons is over five hundred acres,
half of which has depths varying from twenty-six to forty feet at low
tide. The breakwater forms an excellent promenade except in rough
weather, and is much improved for that purpose by the people who
reside in the neighborhood. Having good anchorage space, sufficient
depth of water, and a sheltered harbor, Colombo is now the regular
port of call for the great steamship lines sailing to and from China,
Japan, the Straits Settlements, Australia, and Calcutta, and is justly
entitled to the name of the commercial as well as the political
capital of Ceylon. In the long past, it has shared the former honor
with Point de Galle.

There is no tropical island, or indeed any part of the Orient, which
has a more prompt and frequent mail service than has Colombo, a highly
important consideration with people who, aside from business
connections, desire to keep in touch with the world and the times.

Like Malta, the island is so situated between the East and the West as
to be exposed to any epidemic which may prevail in either quarter, and
which is easily brought by vessels touching here for coal or freight.
The author heard nothing of quarantine provisions or regulations
enforced at Colombo, but there is doubtless some official supervision
of this character. All persons who have traveled extensively have
encountered more or less annoyance from quarantine regulations,
especially as enforced throughout the East, but all experience shows
their necessity.

We landed at Colombo on Christmas day, our baggage--after a mere
pretense of examination on the part of the custom-house
officers--being promptly put into a two-wheeled, canvas-covered
bullock cart, beside which we walked with open umbrella, for the
direct rays of the equatorial sun were almost unbearable even at this
season of the year. It was observed that the driver of the small,
dun-colored yoke of cattle attached to the cart used no whip, and he
was mentally commended for his humanity. This, however, was premature,
for it soon appeared that he had an ingenious and cruel device whereby
to urge his oxen forward. The fellow twisted their tails vigorously,
which must have been intensely painful to them, as they showed by
their actions. Not being able to speak Singhalese, the author promptly
applied the same treatment to the driver's ears, an argument which
required no interpreter, and which proved to be both convincing and
effectual. It was afterward discovered that the tails of many of the
oxen here were absolutely dislocated from this brutal process, used by
the drivers to urge them forward. Though a Singhalese's religion
forbids his taking the life of the meanest insect, it does not seem to
prevent his torturing these really handsome and useful animals. There
is one way in which these mild-eyed, hump-backed creatures
occasionally assert themselves which is somewhat original, and
commands our hearty approval. When they are overtasked and abused
beyond endurance, they are liable to lie down in the middle of the
roadway, and nothing will start them until they choose to get up and
proceed of their own will. So the overladen camel lies down upon the
desert sand, and will not rise until his burden is properly adjusted.

While wilting in the enervating atmosphere, as we pursued our way from
the shore, the thought naturally suggested itself that just then, on
the other side of the globe, our friends at home were probably sitting
before cheerful soft-coal fires and quietly enjoying the genial heat
and the enlivening blaze. It was also remembered that Colombo is
acknowledged to be the hottest city in the Queen of England's
dominions. The sun was far too bright and intense for unaccustomed
northern eyes, and it was a great relief to reach the shelter beneath
the broad piazza of the hotel, though it is but a short distance from
the landing. We were waited upon at the Grand Oriental with an
intelligent and discerning regard for a traveler's comfort, and
assigned to large, cleanly apartments. The rooms were divided from
each other only by partial partitions, which did not reach the
ceilings, the upper portion being left open for the purpose of
promoting ventilation. So intense is the heat in Colombo at times that
this is quite necessary, though such an arrangement does not permit of
the degree of privacy requisite for a sleeping apartment. The hottest
months at this point are February, March, and April, when all who can
do so escape to the hill district.

The Oriental is an excellent and spacious hotel, containing over one
hundred sleeping-rooms, with ample retiring apartments on the first
floor and a dining-room which will seat three hundred guests at a
time. A line of arcades is connected with the house, beneath the shade
of which one can go shopping at the little gem and curio stores. The
hotel is built about a large central court or area, which is well
filled with thrifty tropical vegetation. The whole is admirably
arranged, and is well kept after American and European ideas. While
the guests sit at meals in the large dining-hall, long lines of punkas
or fans, suspended over the tables, are operated by servants placed
outside of the room, thus rendering the atmosphere quite endurable,
notwithstanding the intense heat which generally prevails. The waiters
were found to be natives, but all spoke English, and were well trained
in the performance of their duties. Each one of them wore a white
turban, and a single white cotton garment cut like a gentleman's
dressing-gown, and confined at the waist by a crimson sash. The legs
and feet of these copper-colored servants were bare, after the
conventional style of such persons throughout this island, as well as
in India proper.

One other large house of public entertainment has a good reputation,
and is certainly most favorably situated. It is known as the Galle
Face Hotel, adjoining the popular esplanade of the same name. This
house is well patronized, especially by officers of the army and
navy. For a permanent residence it is perhaps preferable to the
Oriental, on account of its charming maritime outlook. There are
several other public houses, but of these two the author can speak
approvingly from personal experience.

An unusual scene, which transpired on the esplanade near the Galle
Face Hotel, occurs to us at this writing:--

One of the bullock gigs, so common in Colombo, stopped suddenly before
that hostelry. The driver, who had jumped to the ground, was examining
the animal with much surprise. In the mean time, the bullock was
staggering like a drunken man, reeling hither and thither while
striving to keep upon its feet, shaking its head strangely in a wild
sort of way, and trembling all over. The thermometer was somewhere
between 95° and 100° Fahr. A score of idle and curious natives
thronged about the spot, entirely shutting out the circulation of what
little fresh air there was stirring. At this moment a cavalryman from
the barracks hard by made his way into the crowd, and seizing the
bullock's nose he bade the driver hold him steadily by the horns.
Taking a knife from his pocket, the new-comer forced the animal's
mouth open and adroitly made a deep incision in one of the bars which
form the roof, instantly causing the blood to flow freely therefrom.
After the lapse of a very few minutes, the bullock recovered, standing
once more quite firmly upon its feet, as soon as the pressure upon
its brain was relieved by the flow of blood. The creature had
experienced an attack of what in horses is called blind-staggers,
produced by a rush of blood to the brain, undoubtedly occasioned in
this instance by the great heat and by over-exertion. The cavalryman's
readiness with his knife produced just the sort of relief which was
required in such an exigency.

"The bullock could not have been driven very fast," said an English
lady, who had regarded the scene intently from the piazza of the
hotel, "because it does not perspire at all; see, its hide is
perfectly dry."

"That sort of hanimal doesn't sweat only on the nose," said the
cavalryman, as he coolly wiped his knife and returned it to his
pocket, adding, "'Orses does, but hoxen doesn't."

It is a noticeable fact that European horses cannot endure the climate
of Ceylon; some which are imported from Australia manage to give
satisfaction for a limited period. The breeding of these animals is
not a success in the island, and the natives do not use them at all.

Colombo has a hundred and thirty thousand inhabitants, and is divided
into what is known as The Fort and Black Town, the former being the
portion devoted to the official quarters and the residences of the
English, the latter mostly to the very humble homes of the natives.
Black Town is quite oriental and very dirty, dispensing a most
unmistakable odor like a faint tincture of musk. It stretches along
the harbor front for more than a mile, until it ends at the Kalani
River, and contains a most heterogeneous mingling of races, each
individual decked in some distinctive garb of his original
nationality, the majority, however, exhibiting only the bronzed skin
covering to their bones which nature provides. Even these nude figures
form an anomalous sight, often having their heads covered with
monstrous, elaborate white turbans, and only a thin piece of cotton
about their loins. The houses, or cabins as they would more properly
be called, are of one story, dingy and poor, generally constructed of
mud upon bamboo frames, with a thatched roof of dried palm leaves so
braided together as to make a stout and secure protection from the
rain. The fronts of these simple houses are quite open, revealing all
sorts of domestic habits incident to native life, and very often
outraging one's sense of propriety. Men or women care nothing for
publicity, and do not hesitate in the conduct of affairs which are
strictly of a personal nature.

If one desires a remedy for over-fastidiousness, let him stroll for a
while about this native portion of Colombo. He will open his eyes in
surprise now and then, but it is astonishing how soon one becomes
indifferent to the most peculiar local customs, whether in Samoa,
Japan, or among the Alaska Indians. The lazy Singhalese or Tamil men
lying half asleep upon the ground, the women, semi-nude, cooking fish
over a brazier in the open air, and a group of naked children playing
in the roadway, form a common tableau in this quarter of the town.
Every necessity seems to be provided for by the salubrity of the
climate and the spontaneity of the soil. Enterprise, emulation,
ambition, are to these people unknown incentives to action. The height
of their desire is plenty of sleep and plenty to eat.

The scene is occasionally varied by a group of men sitting upon their
heels and absorbed in gambling for small sums of money. It should be
stated here that the natives, Singhalese, Tamils, Moormen, or of
whatever tribe, are all inveterate gamblers; only the Chinese can
equal them in this propensity to risk all they possess upon the cast
of the dice, or in betting upon some other trivial game. We were told
of instances where the gambler, having lost everything else, staked
the possession of his wife against his opponent's money, and, losing,
the woman quietly acquiesced in consummating the arrangement. Women of
the humbler castes are looked upon more as slaves than as filling any
other relation to those whom they call their husbands. As a rule, they
would not think of asserting any will of their own. As their husbands
are abject slaves to the idea of caste, so they are slaves to their
husbands, and however roughly they are treated by them, they take it
quite as a matter of course. In the southern part of the island
especially, each village has its cock-pit and its gambling-den; while
hard by is the drinking-cabin, where for a few pennies a native can
get very drunk on arrack.

At some of the low-thatched cabins in the Pettah, or Black Town, we
see a tame parrot or a pet monkey confined within certain bounds by a
small chain. If the former, he is likely to be imitating the
boisterous exclamations of the children; if the latter, finding no
mischief possible, he sits chin in hand, with a ludicrously grave
expression on his too human features. The ever-present crows take good
care to keep out of the monkey's reach, but perch familiarly and
fearlessly anywhere else about the cabins. There are several varieties
of monkeys in the island. The black wanderoo of Ceylon with white
whiskers comes nearest in its resemblance to the human face. He stands
three feet high, and weighs between seventy and eighty pounds, being
remarkable for muscular strength. The lower and the upper jaw are in a
direct line with the forehead, while most of the race have projecting
jaws.

The streets and environs of Constantinople are rendered hardly more
disagreeable by the presence of mongrel curs than is Black Town,
Colombo. Dogs abound, thoroughly useless creatures, which should have
been born jackals, and which are perhaps partly breeds from that
source. They are melancholy, half-starved, wretched, and mangy
creatures, sleeping all day, and prowling about at night in search of
some stray bit of carrion which has escaped the vigilance of the
crows. Why they are tolerated no one can say, neither does any one
acknowledge their ownership. Occasionally one runs mad, causing by his
bite a half-dozen natives to do likewise, when death is certain.
Hydrophobia is never cured, not even by the devil-dancers of Ceylon.
The normal appearance of these dogs is that of abject fear, as they
move about with heads drooping and their tails pressed close between
their hind legs. A harsh word sends them off at top speed, while a
kind one brings out their instinctive fondness for the human race.
Still, they are nuisances in Ceylon, and of no earthly good to any
mortal.

Evil odors are inseparable from the native quarters. That goes without
saying, and it is surprising that pestilence does not run riot here.
Dirt and contagious diseases certainly thrive in the same atmosphere,
and yet one often sees sanitary laws, as we construe them,
deliberately outraged without any such results as our best reason
would lead us to expect. The author was in Rio Janeiro not long since,
at a time when the yellow fever was proving fatal to fifty or sixty
persons daily. In the Plaza Don Pedro Second, numbers of idle, lazy
fellows lay half drunk, or wholly so, sleeping on the benches under a
vertical sun. Some were quite unconscious, even lying upon the damp
ground. Apropos of our remark that these people were inviting the
fever, an intelligent resident, who was our companion, calmly
answered: "Yellow Jack does not choose that class for its victims.
They seem to enjoy complete immunity from the pestilence." Seeing was
believing, but it was also confounding to one's sense of the eternal
fitness of things.

Generally, the scenes and experiences are not quite pleasant as
presented to the stranger who visits Black Town, Colombo, for the
first time. As he becomes more familiar with the surroundings,
however, a picturesque aspect, a depth of rich brown shadows and bits
of vivid color, unite to form a pleasing and attractive whole.

Adjoining each of these humble homes which line the thoroughfares, or
perhaps just in the rear of them, one is sure to find clusters of
bread-fruit, banana, and mango trees, often dominated by a tall,
gracefully bending cocoanut palm of columnar proportions. The product
of these several fruit-bearers goes far towards feeding the inmates of
the cabin, about which they also cast delightful and much-needed
shade. Nothing is more ornamental under such circumstances than the
large, drooping, pale green leaves of the generously yielding banana,
contrasting with the golden yellow bunches of the ripe fruit. The
nutritious properties of the banana are far in excess of any other
known vegetable food. African explorers have told the author that in
an emergency, when threatened with famine, they have sustained life
and strength for themselves and their followers upon two bananas a
day for six consecutive days, all the time engaged in the hardest sort
of foot-travel through the pathless forest. The banana-tree renews
itself annually, growing to a height of ten or twelve feet, and
bearing heavy clusters of from sixty to a hundred individual fruits,
green at first, but golden in hue when ripe. After bearing its fruit,
the tree wilts and decays like a cornstalk, but in due time again
springs up from the roots to bear another annual luxuriant crop. One
clever writer tells us that the banana is "the devil's agent," because
the abundant food supply which it affords, demanding so little of man
in return, is a promoter of idleness. It is asserted that one acre of
these trees will yield as much nutritious matter as sixty acres of
wheat, which seems almost incredible. In many countries this fruit is
the staff of life, flourishing as far as thirty-five degrees south and
thirty-eight north of the equator.

There may be poverty here,--it is to be found nearly everywhere if
sought for,--but there is no abject want visible, for these Singhalese
homes are all surrounded by plenty. The mere physical support of life
seems abundantly provided for, however the moral conditions may strike
the careful observer.

Is it not a singular provision of nature that where vegetation is most
thrifty, where fruits and flowers grow in wildest exuberance, elevated
humanity thrives the least?

A very humble class of Moormen, Malays, Singhalese, and Tamils,
together with Syrian Jews and the like, a mixed and motley population,
constitute the larger portion of the community in the Pettah, but
there are some buildings, shops, bazaars, and residences of a better
class than those we have described. Such are mostly occupied by
Parsees and Moormen, so that Black Town is not quite so "black" as
might seem to the casual reader. The Moormen wear an impossible sort
of hat, tall and brimless; others have sensible, broad-brimmed
panamas, and some don the picturesque fez so universal in the East.
The sienna-colored Singhalese proper are descended from the early
conquerors of the island, the dark-brown Tamils from later invaders
who came from southern India, and the copper-colored Moormen from the
Arab merchants who came hither to trade for spices many centuries ago.
The Singhalese have long, straight, black and silky hair, and are
nearly always bareheaded. The Tamils as invariably wear turbans.
According to the rules of caste, the Singhalese, being superior, has a
right to go bareheaded, a privilege which is not allowed to the
Tamils. This absurdity is on a par with the average rules relating to
caste as enforced in India and Ceylon. Of the rights recognized under
the system, none is more jealously guarded than that of carrying an
umbrella to shield the bearer from the fiery heat of the sun, or the
pitiless downpour of equatorial rains. In the olden times, in Kandy,
only royalty and the priesthood were allowed the privilege. To the
average foreigner in continental India and Ceylon, the arbitrary rule
of caste seems to be the merest nonsense possible to conceive of, but
to the natives it is a matter of most serious consideration, and is
rigidly adhered to in all their daily relations with each other.

Here and there one comes upon a Buddhist or Hindu temple, and now we
pause before a Mohammedan mosque. Each sect is eminently devout after
its own fashion, and all are at liberty to follow the dictates of
their own consciences. Two of our party having thoughtlessly entered
one of the Hindu sanctuaries without removing their shoes, great
indignation was expressed by some natives near at hand, and for a few
moments it really appeared as though a downright fight would ensue.
However, peace was restored at last by complying with the custom of
the place, and promenading daintily through the temple in our
stockings. Additional backsheesh was also awarded to the custodian of
the shrine to pacify his wounded sensibilities. Before we left the
spot, everybody was quite serene. To the author, the most curious part
of this experience was that our little party wore their hats through
it all, no objection being made. European etiquette demands of one to
uncover the head as a mark of respect on special occasions, but the
barbaric, or rather the oriental fashion, is to uncover the feet.
There are many curious points of difference in symbols of respect. The
Tamil covers his head with an ample turban out of deference to those
of a higher caste, while the Singhalese proper would not think it
respectful to wear anything upon his head in the presence of a
superior. A Chinaman lets down his braided pigtail as a mark of
respect to those above him in rank, or as a token of reverence in the
temple, while a Singhalese twists his braid into a snood at the back
of his head, and secures it by a shell comb, for the same purpose.

The display of vegetables and fruit offered for sale on improvised
benches or tables outside of the cabins, forming groups vivid in color
and novel in shape, is interesting to a stranger. The collection
includes pumpkins, sweet potatoes, oranges, pineapples, mangoes,
guavas, and bananas, together with zapotas, rose-apples, limes, yams,
and many other varieties. They are often arranged upon broad leaves,
fresh and green, which impart to them a refreshing air of coolness.
Some large, handsome bunches of grapes were observed, for which a high
price was asked (thirty cents per pound). These came from the northern
part of the island, on the peninsula of Jaffna, where they are raised
in small quantities. Ripe oranges in Ceylon have a queer habit of
reaching that palatable condition while quite green externally. They
are very sweet, having a thin skin and plenty of juice, together with
a flavor equal to those of the Indian River district in Florida, and
superior to those of California. Prices are very moderate; a large
ripe pineapple costs twopence, and half a dozen oranges are sold for
the same sum. Statistics show that between nine and ten thousand acres
are devoted to the raising of pineapples in Ceylon, where they ripen
to great perfection. The little open-air shops are called "caddies,"
and are always presided over by native women, who, under an air of
oriental indifference as to whether you purchase their wares or not,
are yet exercised by suppressed eagerness to have you do so. A few of
these simple caddies were observed to be prettily decorated with
wreaths of myrtle, yellow flowers, and wisps of sweet lemon grass,
hung on either side of the fruit, dispensing an exquisite fragrance
which dominated all the offensive odors of the locality. This
arrangement betrayed a woman's hand, prompted by a certain delicacy of
fancy and an eye for natural beauty. There always exists this
half-effaced charm within the bosom of the humblest of the sex,
whether in Crim Tartary, the Sandwich Islands, or the Parisian
boulevards. The surroundings are kaleidoscopic in effect, composed of
contrasting races, bronzed men in white turbans, native women very
nearly nude, queer physiognomies, busy itinerant salesmen, boisterous
children covered only by their copper-colored skins, mingling with
native domestic servants in fancy dresses of red and yellow, and
bejeweled nurses, sent by their European mistresses to purchase some
favorite fruit. The scene is constantly shifting, and the combinations
rapidly changing. Every fresh visit to this portion of Colombo reveals
some new phases of oriental life, which are often recalled to the
mind's eye when one is far away and compassed by very different
surroundings.

Native women pass and repass, bearing upon their heads broad, shallow
baskets full of ripe fruit or vegetables, on their way to the English
portion of the town, while other itinerants offer dark brown edible
cakes made from mysterious sources. The great weight which a
Singhalese or Tamil woman can carry on her head is something
marvelous, far exceeding that of an Irish laborer's hod of bricks or
mortar borne upon the shoulder. The humbler class of Eastern women all
practice this mode of transporting merchandise from the period of
their early childhood, hence their steady upright pose when walking,
whether bearing any burden or not. An Egyptian, Indian, or Singhalese
woman who had a quart pitcher of liquid to convey any distance would
not carry it in her hands, but would place it on the top of her head
for safety and convenience. As a rule, the men do not carry burdens
upon their heads, but when transporting merchandise, they wear upon
their necks and shoulders a sort of yoke with protruding arms, upon
which a couple of stout baskets hang, balancing each other, and
containing the goods. One Tamil woman was noticed with a bevy of
paroquets for sale, so tame that they crept about her head, arms, and
shoulders, being occasionally treated to some favorite tidbit from her
lips. She formed a pretty picture with her mottled green pets, an
evidence also of what kindness and gentleness will accomplish.

The admirable display of fresh fish in the market is of great variety
in shape and color, testifying to an abundant food supply afforded by
the neighboring waters. Six hundred kinds of fish have been catalogued
by scientists as being found on this coast. The river fish are of poor
quality.

Doubtless the reader has heard of the "climbing perch," a tropical
fish which is partially amphibious, and which abounds in Ceylon. It
can make its way over the land for considerable distances in search of
the nearest watercourse, when its native pond becomes dry. There is
also another eccentric piscatory creature here known as the "burying
fish," which, when the water subsides, makes its way down into the
muddy bottom of the lake or pond, where it hibernates until the rain
again furnishes it with its natural element,--a veritable "fish
story," but we were assured of its truth. At Batticaloa, the capital
of the eastern province, there is a lake in which "singing fish" are
found. Over these aquatic curiosities scientists have held many
interesting sessions. What with burying fish, climbing perch, and
singing fish, Ceylon would seem to have rather more than her just
share of piscatory curiosities.

When the dry season sets in and the watercourses cease to flow, the
Ceylon elephant deliberately digs himself a well in the sandy bed of
the rivers, using for the purpose both his ivory grubbers and the
horny toes of his forefeet. Digging a few feet downwards generally
brings water for the quenching of the huge animal's thirst. Unerring
instinct (superior to human reason) guides him in selecting the proper
spot in which to dig his well, to which he returns daily, and when the
season of drought is prolonged, he sometimes deepens it. When the
severity of a Norwegian winter exhausts all other sources of food
supply for the herds, the deer dig with their forefeet deep through
the snow to reach the reindeer moss upon which to browse. They make no
mistake in selecting the right spot, but always find the moss where
they dig. The most experienced owners of the herds would be puzzled to
indicate the proper places to seek the moss beneath the deep snow.

In contradistinction to all oriental ideas and the eternal fitness of
things, while we watch the passing show of native life, our ears are
saluted by the discordant notes of a bass drum, a bugle, and a fife.
Presently there comes into view a score or less of Europeans of both
sexes, the men wearing a sort of uniform cloth cap, and the half-dozen
women, poke bonnets. Of course they represent the Salvation Army. How
sadly out of place they seem to be here! These "missionaries," as they
call themselves, have never been known to make a proselyte from this
brown-skinned people, so far as we could learn, while they are
generally regarded by the Europeans as a class who have taken up with
this craze as a last resort after having exhausted all other means in
their endeavors to obtain a living without working for it. Still it
must be admitted that there never was a fad or folly, however absurd,
without some honest disciples,--weak, but conscientious advocates.




CHAPTER IX.

     The English Part of Colombo.--Army Reserves.--Ceylon an
     Independent Colony.--"A Paternal Despotism."--Educational
     Facilities.--Buddhism versus Christianity.--Public
     Buildings.--The Museum.--Domestic Dwellings.--Suburb of
     Colpetty.--The Lake of Colombo.--A Popular Driveway.--A
     Sunset Scene.--Excursion to the Kelani Temple.--The
     Jinrikisha.--Current Diseases.--Native
     Jugglers.--Hypnotism.--Houdon, the French Magician,
     astonishes the Natives.--The Thieving Crows.


In that part of Colombo known as the Fort, and situated south of the
Pettah, the English have spacious and well-arranged barracks, of
sufficient size to accommodate five thousand men of all arms. Of
course, no such force is required in Ceylon, and there are not such a
number of troops here at the present writing. The island is peaceful
enough, but the object of the British government is to maintain here,
as well as at Malta, a body of disciplined men ready for immediate
service, and especially prepared to reinforce the army of India in
case of an emergency. The judiciousness of this precaution was well
illustrated in 1857, when this station, from its small military force,
afforded such material aid at the outbreak of what the English call
the Indian mutiny, before alluded to.

This island, though it is a British colony like India, so near at
hand, is quite separate from it in governmental organization. Ceylon
is presided over by a governor appointed by the Queen of England, who
is aided in his official position by an executive council and a small
legislative body of fifteen or twenty individuals. Some one has called
the government of Ceylon "a paternal despotism." All ordinances are
submitted to the approval of Her Majesty before they become registered
law. The island is divided into provinces, each governed by a civil
servant, having under him a staff of European and native assistants.
The Roman-Dutch law, so termed, is the law of the island in all cases
not otherwise provided for. The government furnishes means for the
education of the rising generation, in the form of free schools, which
advantage, though not universally improved, is yet reasonably
successful. This is particularly commendable when it is remembered
that the government of England has remained far behind other civilized
countries in cultivating the intelligence of her people at home. It
was not until so late as 1870 that she entered upon a system of free
schools for the masses. The natives of Colombo are shrewd enough, in
many cases, to see material good in giving their children regular
school instruction, though they have not themselves enjoyed such a
privilege. In this connection it is well to speak of St. Thomas'
College, which is situated in the northeast suburb of the capital,
about a couple of miles from the Grand Oriental Hotel, close by Christ
Church Cathedral. This college is near the shore, in a most healthful
and airy location, the suburb being known as Mutwal, where the Kelani
River enters the sea. Here, between two and three hundred young men,
composed of Singhalese, Tamils, and the descendants of Portuguese and
Dutch colonists, are in constant attendance. Close at hand there is
also a high school for girls, admirably conducted, whose educational
advantages are availed of by a goodly number of natives.

Here let us diverge for a single moment.

Secular education is the true and only available missionary among
Asiatic tribes. Honest and experienced religionists are beginning to
see and admit the correctness of this conclusion. The preaching to
them by various Christian sects of very contradictory tenets of faith
confuses these simple people, who are still often shrewd enough to
detect broad inconsistencies, as well as to analyze and reason
concerning missionary efforts among them. They say very logically to
those representatives who are sent from America or Europe: "We are
agreed here upon Buddhism. When you Christians can agree among
yourselves as to which of your many doctrines is the right one, it
will be time enough for you to try to teach us to discard a faith
which our fathers have believed for thousands of years." More than one
intelligent Singhalese has expressed himself to this effect in our
presence. We leave it to the reader if these people are not perfectly
logical in their position.

Who can wonder that confusion inevitably arises in the simple mind of
a native of this Indian isle, who attempts to reconcile our
multitudinous sects and schisms?

We were speaking of the English portion of Colombo, which consists of
a few broad streets shaded by thrifty tulip-trees, an official
residence known as Government House, the long line of barracks already
referred to, a cathedral, a clock-tower (serving also as a
lighthouse), a club-house, hospital, some indifferent shops, two or
three banking establishments, a public library, and three or four
large hotels. The Colombo Library is situated on the corner of Queen
Street, and contains some twenty-five thousand volumes. Its facilities
are freely shared by strangers as well as by the citizens. The
lighthouse referred to is a hundred and thirty-two feet above sea
level; that on the end of the breakwater is a trifle less than forty
feet. The former shows a triple flash at brief intervals, visible at
night some twenty miles at sea. Among its ancient buildings, much
interest centres upon the Dutch church, and its curious old graveyard.

There are no less than six newspapers published in this circumscribed
community; two are in Singhalese, one in Tamil, and three in English.
We do not imagine that they have much of a circulation, and yet unless
they were self-supporting they would not probably be issued.
Type-setting is cheap in Colombo, and the quality of the paper used is
inexpensive.

The Museum of Colombo is a rather handsome and quite substantial
two-story building, situated near Victoria Park, which was formerly a
part of the famous Cinnamon Gardens, originally planted by the Dutch.
The collection of curiosities in the museum embraces a large number,
which have been found mostly upon the island, and includes many
interesting specimens of preserved birds, together with large and
small native animals and beautiful shells. There are also some
literary and historical treasures relating to Ceylon preserved here,
among which is a rare collection of palm-leaf manuscripts, both in
Pali and Singhalese, bound after an original fashion. The edifice,
which was built in 1877, is pleasantly situated, and surrounded by
well-arranged, cultivated grounds. The entrance is free to all.

Near the Colombo terminus of the Kandy road is the pleasant public
resort known as the Gordon Gardens, named in honor of Sir Arthur
Gordon, a former governor of Ceylon. This area was his personal gift
to the capital in memory of the jubilee of Her Majesty's reign. The
gardens are rendered very attractive on each Friday afternoon by the
performance of a military band; free outdoor instrumental concerts are
also given every week on the Galle Face.

A few of the better class of dwelling-houses in Colombo are finished
externally in stucco, all having the inevitable and indispensable
broad veranda. Surrounding these homes honeysuckles, crimson
hibiscus, azaleas, cape jessamines, oleanders, and other flowering
plants abound, with here and there little rocky mounds of lilies,
cacti, and low ferns; while the familiar palms, mangoes, and bananas
always make their appearance somewhere on the premises. Tennis courts
give an English look to the surroundings of the bungalows. The
unfortunate prevalence of dampness often proves very destructive
inside these picturesque residences. There are seasons when books and
papers, if exposed, are so seriously injured that they decay like ripe
fruit. Boots and shoes become mouldy in a single night, and other
articles are similarly affected.

Colpetty is the name of a very attractive suburb of the capital,
intersected by finely macadamized, level roads, which are kept in
admirable condition, running beneath shady bamboos and bending palms,
where the delightful fragrance of flowers is always present. Here a
small colony of Europeans have made for themselves delightful tropical
homes, half hidden by the abundant vegetation behind beautiful shade
trees where swinging hammocks and low music tell of delicious idleness
and restful ease. If you pass through the embowered ways of this
district after nightfall, your path will be lighted by glow-worms and
fireflies, just as phosphorescence illumines the darkness upon the
waters traversed by a ship's hull. It is the bedtime of the flowers,
but their fragrance lingers in the atmosphere and affords the most
careless participant sensuous delight. Here, as in many tropical
regions, the bungalows bear curious individual names, such as: Whist
Bungalow, The Rotunda, The Snuggery, Monsoon Villa, The Rainbow, Storm
Lodge, Palmyra Cottage, and so on. A similar custom prevails in the
West Indies.

In a small front yard of a bungalow at Colpetty, a few climbing vines
of the old-fashioned pink, purple, and white morning-glory greeted the
eye like the smile of a half-forgotten friend. How familiar and
suggestive they were in their sweet simplicity. One thrifty vine had
found lodgment upon a tall Norfolk Island pine, clinging upon its
singularly uniform branches, and making altogether a most delightful
combination of color. In the same inclosure were several tall trees of
the bell-shaped, white datura, the large flowers depending in great
profusion, as beautiful to the eye as they are poisonous to the
palate.

The unending night concerts of the ground and tree frogs in this
vicinity are marvelous for the aggregated noise they produce. At the
expense of calling down anathemas from the good friends whose
hospitality we enjoyed there, it must be added that this croaking was
almost unbearable; worse, if possible, than the symphony and
variations of the tuneful mosquitoes.

The large, fresh-water lake formed by the Kalani-Gunga, which, on its
course from the hills to the sea, covers nearly a hundred miles, straggles
about the town in irregular lines, so that at one point it very nearly
joins the sea. This river has been crossed at Colombo for many years by a
bridge of boats, which has several times been carried away by the turbulent
stream during the season of floods. A substantial iron girder roadway has
lately been added to facilitate travel. The old bridge is formed by a score
of boats firmly anchored, stem and stern, in a straight line, and
supporting a platform laid upon crossbeams, which is fastened to the boats.
The roadway is about five hundred feet long, the river being nearly that
width at the point where the boats are placed. In olden times, there was a
regularly established ferry here, but the bridge of boats has served
transportation to better purpose for many years. There are now few rivers
of any importance upon frequented routes in Ceylon which are left
unbridged, most of the structures being of stone and iron, and built after
the best modern system. The lake, with its surroundings, forms one of the
great beauties of Colombo, covering a broad expanse dotted with islands
fringed by tropical verdure, and embellished with many fragrant gardens.
The view across the still water, with its grand mountain background in the
blue distance, is exquisite, particularly at the close of day, when the
sunset leaves upon its surface a broad crimson gleam like a roseate blush
suffusing a beautiful face. Upon its glassy surface a few pleasure boats
add variety to the aquatic picture. There is a charming driveway or
promenade extending quite round the lake, and following all its sinuosities
amid low, broad-spread bungalows, cocoanut palms, plantains, and
bread-fruit-trees. Occasional waterfowls float among the cosy bays, or swim
out upon the lake, engaged in voyages of discovery.

The last time we chanced to observe this interesting expanse of water,
a bevy of muscovy ducks--the original stock having been imported by
some local official--put off from the shore like a fleet of Spanish
galleons of old, bent upon a marine foray. They were proudly led by a
drake, whose restless neck, with its brilliant prismatic hues, shone
like a cluster of oriental gems in the glow of the morning sun.

The popular driveway within the town is called the Galle Face, having
the open sea on one side and the lake on the other. Here, after four
o'clock in the afternoon, all the beauty and fashion of the place come
in many a gay turnout, and some on horseback, to enjoy the fresh air,
the ocean view, and to meet each other socially. Why this esplanade
bears the singular name of Galle Face, no one can explain. It is said
that it was so called because the roadway faced Galle, but it does no
such thing. It faces Aden at the mouth of the Red Sea. However, the
name is of little importance. It is a beautiful driveway, recalling
the Maidan of Calcutta, improved for a similar purpose.

There is one especially impressive scene to be enjoyed from this
point,--the daily sunset as viewed from the esplanade, when that
luminary sinks slowly beneath the surface of the long level reach of
the Indian Ocean, which, as we look westward, expands into infinite
space. During the brief interval between day and star light, it
appears to the watchful observer as though he were looking through a
veil, the fabric of which consisted of golden meshes. The air seems
full of infinitesimal amber particles, and all things are wrapped in
an oriental warmth of color. Where sky and ocean meet, a line of ruby
glow burns like lava, slowly changing to the hue of rich red wine.
What exquisite harmonies Nature utters to the willing ear, and what
inexpressible charms she reveals to appreciative eyes.

Twilight is brief in this latitude, Night, clad in her sombre garb,
following close upon the footsteps of the Day, while a soft roseate
light ushers in the myriads of heavenly lamps, tremulous and luminous
in their varying colors. "A fiery sunset burns itself out quickly,"
says the Italian proverb. Though the twilight is brief, the afterglow
is often very beautiful, almost rivaling the sunset itself.

Turning the eyes for a moment towards the opposite or eastern sky, the
dainty cloudlets, floating serenely in the blue ether, are tinged with
a glow of delicate and beautiful hues. From their lofty position the
sinking sun is still visible, causing them to blush at the ardor of
his parting glance. Perhaps it is because of the novel surroundings
that sunset often strikes one as being so remarkable in these foreign
lands. When we pause to analyze the matter, surely we have seen
equally fine effects in this daily occurrence at home in
Massachusetts, or at Bar Harbor on the coast of Maine.

As we enjoy this scene from the esplanade, a large P. and O. steamship
crosses the line of sight just off the shore, bound for Calcutta. She
will double Dondra Head and steer northward, touching at Madras;
thence, hugging the Coromandel coast, she will make the mouth of the
Hooghly River, upon whose treacherous tide she will seek to reach the
City of Palaces. We know the route and its stormy character only too
well.

There is a pleasant drive over the best and smoothest of roads to the
north of Colombo, affording a glimpse of characteristic scenery, and
which takes one out to the Kalani temple, where a fine library
containing many rare oriental books may be seen. This is believed to
be one of the oldest shrines on the island. The present edifice is
probably built upon the site of the original one. The temple of Kalani
contains a sitting statue of Buddha, with one each of Ganesa, Vishnu,
and Siva. The walls of the interior are covered with curious paintings
representing various legends, so that altogether it forms one of the
local objects of interest which the stranger should not fail to visit.
While upon this subject of places worthy of note in the neighborhood
of the capital, let us mention Avisawella, whither one goes by an
admirable and pleasant road into the Kalani tea district, fifteen or
twenty miles northeast of Colombo. Such excursions afford delightful
glimpses of rural island scenery, of birds, trees, flowers, and native
life, showing the humble class of country people at home, engaged in
their legitimate domestic occupations. A fifteen or twenty mile trip
and back is not too far to accomplish in a jinrikisha, and it is also
an extremely comfortable mode of traveling. It is just ten years, at
this writing, since this comfortable little vehicle was first
introduced into Ceylon, during which time it has become a great
favorite as a cheap and rapid means of transportation. The author has
made a similar jaunt inland from Yokohama, in a single day, the cooly
who drew the jinrikisha coming in at last in as fresh a condition as a
well-driven horse would do. It must be remembered that roads in Japan
and Ceylon are as perfectly smooth and hard as our best macadamized
ones in this country. The average of our Massachusetts inland roadways
will by no means compare favorably with the three thousand miles and
more of those which traverse this island in the Indian Ocean.

The choicest portion of Colombo as a place of residence is the suburb
nearest to Victoria Park, which is but little removed from the
business and bustle of the town. We say "bustle" of the town, but it
is a misleading word when it is applied to tropical life. The people
of equatorial regions think that haste makes waste, and so everything
is done quietly, and not without due consideration. This is a
temperament induced by the climate,--one into which even Europeans
lapse, after dwelling here for a considerable length of time. It is
stated that there are not more than six thousand Europeans upon the
entire island, but we are inclined to consider this an underestimate.
Statistics show that the rate of mortality as compared with the number
of the entire population is such as to prove the climate to be an
unusually healthy one for the tropics. There are certain portions of
Ceylon, however, to which this conclusion will not apply, where it is
so malarial and productive of fever that even the natives cannot live
in them. The most formidable diseases which prevail here are of a
malarial nature, but they do not always make their appearance in the
form of fever. Dysentery is apt to attack strangers, and elephantiasis
is of frequent occurrence among the natives, but it almost never
appears among white people. Diseases of the liver are also common.
Notwithstanding the prevailing heat in the southern portions of the
island, sunstroke is very rare. Persons of good habits, and who do not
unreasonably expose themselves, seem generally to enjoy good health.
Cholera and smallpox occasionally become epidemic, but rarely among
the Europeans. There is the usual prejudice shown by the common
people against vaccination, and consequently large numbers are
sometimes swept away by smallpox.

The slightest physical injury, such as a cut or bruise which breaks
the skin, requires prompt attention here, otherwise tetanus may
follow. It is the same in equatorial America, where a neglected wound
is very liable to terminate in lockjaw. An antiseptic bandage should
always be at hand for immediate use in case of accident in these low
latitudes, where the atmosphere is charged with poisonous microbes
watching a chance to do mischief; an open wound is just what they
seek, and they rush in myriads to infect any such spot.

One instinctively seeks the shade of the broad piazza which surrounds
the hotel, as the sun approaches the zenith. Only the early part of
the day and the late afternoon will admit of the traveler's appearing
abroad with any degree of comfort. A local tableau is pretty sure to
present itself, as it is the favorite time for the native jugglers and
snake charmers to appear upon the scene, squatting upon their hands
after the true Asiatic fashion, and quite oblivious of the fervor of
the broiling sun, while they solicit your attention to their
entertaining tricks. There are generally three performers on these
occasions, one of whom is the active member of the party, assisted by
a lad of twelve or fifteen years, while the third elicits peculiar
notes in a minor key from a reed instrument not unlike a flageolet,
but utterly devoid of harmony. One is forced to admit that they are
very clever, these Indian prestidigitators, excelling in all forms of
sleight-of-hand. Their facility in causing articles to disappear
suddenly and then to exhibit themselves in out-of-the-way places is
curious as well as unaccountable to an outsider. A common trick with
these performers is to throw a ball very high into the air, which
seems to fade away as the eye follows it, and does not apparently
return to the ground. It literally vanishes from sight. The keenest
watchfulness of the observer does not solve the manner of
accomplishing this trick.

"We are all hypnotized," said one of the spectators on the piazza,
"else how could that ball come down to the earth and not be seen to do
so? It _must_ descend, having once ascended," he added; "that is a law
of nature."

"It may possibly be something of that sort," responded another equally
dazed spectator. "The Hindus know all about hypnotism, and have
practiced it more or less for many centuries, though we are but just
beginning to investigate it."

"How these marvelous things are performed, no foreigner ever knows,"
added a third. "The power is handed down from father to son, but is
never revealed to the multitude."

The only way we can explain some of the tricks and apparent miracles
which these performers exhibit is by supposing that for the time
being we are quite under the hypnotic influence of the magician. The
author has seen in India proper a performer in this line extend a
glass bowl full of water in his hand at arm's length, and cause it to
gradually grow less and less in size until it disappeared altogether.
After a moment it appeared again in the hand and at the same place,
beginning at first about the size of an English walnut, and growing
before the spectator's eyes to its normal condition.

Another common trick is to plant a mango seed in an earthen pot before
the spectator's eyes and cause the same to spring up and grow into a
small bush, then blossom and bear a green fruit, which finally ripens
until it is in a condition to be plucked from the stem. This entire
process is accomplished in half an hour, while some side tricks are
going on. The swallowing of a sword, or rather passing its blade down
the throat into the stomach, is very common with these Singhalese
itinerant exhibitors, a facility which is acquired after much patient
practice, and which is not necessarily injurious to the performer.

The snakes which these "charmers," as they call themselves, handle
with such apparent recklessness and freedom are of the deadly cobra
family, fatally poisonous when their fangs penetrate the flesh of
other animals or of human beings; but as is well known, the repulsive
and seemingly dangerous creatures which are publicly exhibited in this
manner have had their natural means of defense carefully removed.
Yet, true to their instincts, they may be seen now and again to strike
viciously at the bare arms and legs of the natives who handle them,
while the performance is going on. It is not a very pleasing, though a
curious exhibition, and as a rule is avoided by ladies. The author has
seen a sensitive person of the gentler sex so wrought upon by this
performance as to cause her to faint. Sometimes the cobras do seem to
pay attention to the low, droning notes of the pipe, which is often
accompanied by a rude tom-tom. The creatures raise themselves up on
their tails, swaying slowly hither and thither with a uniform motion,
as though realizing that they are on exhibition. That they know their
owners is evident, since upon the approach of a stranger they
immediately show great irritation and a desire to strike with their
fangs. One never witnesses these scenes without a sense of surprise
that the cobras do not promptly endeavor to escape upon being taken
out of the box in which they are transported. They do not show any
such desire, but hasten back to their place of confinement, which is
doubtless made comfortable for them, and where some bit of favorite
food is always given to them after each exhibition. Thus they soon
learn to associate the idea of feeding time with their public
performance, which doubtless adds to their docility on the occasion.

These repulsive-looking creatures are hooded and spectacled, vary in
length from three to six feet, and are covered with dark spots upon a
slate-colored skin. Back of the head and along the neck is a membrane
which they have the power of expanding when under excitement, and
around the eyes are circles giving the effect of spectacles, which the
snakes seem to need, for though their hearing is acute enough they
have a very dull capacity as to sight. The cobra has received much
attention from naturalists in consequence of certain singular habits
which are attributed to the creature. The natives do not trouble
themselves much about it, except to give it a wide berth when it is
encountered, knowing only too well the fatal nature of its bite.

Professor Houdin, a famous Parisian magician, when on a visit to this
island, after watching the Indian jugglers for a week, invited as many
of them as chose to come to a public exhibition given by himself. The
natives came by scores, and the reader may be sure that Houdin did his
best. The Singhalese "sleight-o'-hand men," when they saw him perform
many of their own tricks with far greater expertness than they could
do, were surprised beyond measure. He then exhibited others so strange
and so inexplicable to them that the Singhalese declared he must be in
league with evil spirits. In their performances they were openly
assisted by one or two associates, a prime necessity to enable them to
deceive the lookers-on. But here was an unpretentious, simply dressed
European, who stood before them alone, with only a small, common table
upon which to place necessary articles, plainly shown before all eyes,
who yet puzzled them completely. His tricks were mostly new to them,
and they gazed with open mouths at the white necromancer, then into
each others' faces, as much as to say: "What does this mean? whence
does this man obtain power to perform miracles?" All this was
intensely amusing to the English residents of Colombo, who also formed
a large portion of the audience.

But the climax was yet to come.

When Houdin finally blew a fiery flame and smoke from his mouth,--a
well-known act among European performers,--these superstitious
islanders absolutely fled from his presence in undisguised
consternation, unanimously and vehemently declaring that he must be
the king devil himself come to bewitch them. This was the more
surprising as these Indian experts must have realized the true source
of their own deceptive powers.

The hoarse, monotonous croaking of the crows at all hours of the day
is one of the ceaseless annoyances and accompaniments of life in
Colombo. Early risers see whole colonies of these obtrusive and
omnipresent birds coming in from their roosting-places in the
neighboring groves, seeking whom they may devour. They advance in
irresistible numbers, like an army with banners loudly announcing
their approach, like a marching regiment preceded by noisy fifes and
drums, now wheeling as one huge body, and now breaking into sections
and platoons. One might successfully resist a score of them, but when
they come by the thousand, it is like a plague of locusts. Crows enjoy
nearly the same immunity throughout the populous districts of India
proper, and are to be found nearly as much in possession at Benares,
Delhi, or Cawnpore as they are here in the capital of Ceylon.

About twelve miles south of Colombo, just off the shore at Belligam,
lies what is known as Crow Island, whither thousands of these birds
resort every night to roost. They do not fail, however, to return to
the capital bright and early in the morning. Probably a flight of
twelve or fifteen miles from their regular night quarters before
breakfast is of no account to these active, swift-winged creatures.
There is still another crow-roost nearer to Colombo, at Mount Lavonia,
in the thick palm groves which skirt the shore, within rifle-shot of
that pleasant summer resort. When they awake in the early morning and
prepare for their flight cityward, the combined noise which they make
is something like the roar of artillery.




CHAPTER X.

     Birds on the Rampage.--Familiar Nuisances.--Silver-Spoon
     Thieves.--Doctrine of Metempsychosis.--Various Nationalities
     forming the Population.--Common Languages.--Tamils are the
     Wage-Earners.--The Singhalese Proper are
     Agriculturists.--Queer Belief in Demons.--Propitiation!--The
     Veddahs.--Attacking Wild Elephants.--Serpent
     Worship.--Polyandry.--Native Singhalese Women.--Dress of
     Both Sexes.--Streets of Colombo on a Gala Day.--An English
     Four-in-Hand.--Mount Lavonia.


After becoming weary of the snake exhibition, it was suddenly
remembered that we had been cautioned to close the windows upon
leaving the sleeping apartment, so we hastened thither to see if all
was as it should be. Upon entering the room, we were greeted by the
presence of a score of dark-feathered creatures,--crows or rooks,
whichever you please to call them,--handsome, familiar, notorious
birds, whose black, shining plumage was daintily shot with blue,
disposed here and there in cool, unblushing possession of the
premises. Each exposed article of dress had been duly overhauled and
pecked at, then dropped in utter confusion upon the bed or floor. A
few soft biscuit, which had been left in a plate upon a table, had
utterly disappeared, while a sugar bowl which had accompanied the
morning cup of coffee was overturned and the contents devoured. One
pillow-case had been relieved by some means of its contents, and hung
from the top of the bedpost like a flag of truce, as though the enemy
wished to stay all hostile proceedings. In short, the room had been
raided by the rooks. They understood the first movement made to drive
them away, and sailed gracefully from the room through the window,
quite calm and unruffled.

There is any number of these dark-plumed free-booters all about the
streets and dwellings, eagerly on the lookout for just such a chance
to impose upon thoughtless strangers. They fly in and out of open
doors, lighting confidently upon the back of one's chair at mealtime,
trying curiously the texture of his coat with their sharp bills. No
one molests them or makes them afraid. They are far tamer than our
domestic fowls, as they are never killed and eaten like hens and
chickens. A Singhalese's religion, as has been said, will not permit
him to take animal life. All animals are sacred to a Buddhist; even
snakes and vermin have nothing to fear from him. As to these Ceylon
crows, one regards them with a full sense of their audacity, but the
birds themselves do not seem to be at all annoyed by such scrutiny.
Cocking their heads on one side, parrot-like, they coolly proceed to
look you out of countenance. Their mischievous and vicious activity is
temporarily suspended during your presence, but no sooner is one's
back turned upon them than their reckless antics and thieving
propensities are resumed with increased vigor.

One of their favorite tricks is to purloin silver spoons, being
attracted perhaps by their brightness, and as they are not able to
consume them, though like the ostrich they can eat almost anything,
they seek some unfrequented piece of ground and dig a hole with their
sharp claws, wherein they bury the stolen property from sight. The
employees of the Grand Oriental Hotel are obliged to keep a sharp
lookout for their table-ware, as anything small and bright at once
challenges the curiosity of the crows, and is liable to be stolen by
them. They are most adroit thieves, and watch with cunning precaution
for a chance to perpetrate any sort of mischief.

There is another reason besides that of a religious prompting which
leads to the protection and toleration of the crows in this island.
They are the recognized scavengers of the city of Colombo, just as
vultures are permitted in Vera Cruz, where they are protected by law,
for a similar purpose. Not a scrap of carrion escapes the voracious
appetites of either species of these birds. All such matter cast into
the street instantly disappears, while, if left exposed to decay in
the hot sun, it might prove pestilential. It is remembered that the
question seriously suggested itself at Vera Cruz, which was most to be
deplored, the presence of the uncleanly, disgusting vultures, or that
of Yellow Jack, as the prevailing epidemic is called in southern
Mexico.

"Why don't they kill these nuisances?" asked one of our fellow
travelers of another, while he impatiently drove away a crow from the
back of his chair in the hotel at Colombo.

"They have too much respect for their dead relatives," was the reply
of a companion.

"Dead relatives?" queried the first speaker. "What has that to do with
it?"

"Very much. These Singhalese are believers in the doctrine of
metempsychosis."

"Who?"

"Metempsychosis; that is, in the transmigration of the soul from human
bodies into animals."

"Don't see where that idea comes in," said the obtuse querist.

"Why, if a fellow killed one of these impertinent rooks, don't you
know, he might be murdering his dead grandmother!"

These Buddhists of Ceylon believe that departed spirits who have
behaved badly in human shape reappear in the form of domestic animals
or birds, and those who have done well are turned into wild animals.
The most dreadful fate is held to be the reappearance in life in the
body of a woman, a sad and significant reflection upon the treatment
to which they are universally subjected.

The Singhalese and Tamils are the most numerous among the population
of Colombo. Mohammedans, Malays, and Parsees, as intimated, are also
here in considerable numbers, mingled with representatives of other
nationalities. The Mohammedans are best known as Moormen. Though in
the far past of the island's history Ceylon was so long and so
intimately connected with the Celestial Empire, the author did not
even chance to see a Chinaman on the island, though at the north and
elsewhere in the several provinces these Mongolians are to be found.
In their migrating westward, the race cease to establish a foothold in
numbers beyond Penang. This latter island, as well as that of
Singapore, is dominated by them, the small trade of both places being
wholly in their hands. But beyond the Malacca Straits, they have not
made their way westward to any considerable extent.

The Singhalese language, which is soft and flowing, is founded on the
Sanskrit, an evidence in itself of the antiquity of the people. Tamil
is the language of southern India, and is used here by the Moormen as
well as by the Tamils proper. There is a Portuguese patois still
spoken by European descendants and half-breeds, while the Dutch
language is quite unknown, though that people remained here nearly a
century and a half after the Portuguese were driven out of the island.
The English tongue is becoming more and more common in all populous
centres like Colombo, Trincomalee, Kandy, and Point de Galle. The
Singhalese are nearly always Buddhists, while the Tamils, as a people,
are Hindus. The latter, as we have said, are the wage-earners of the
country, working alongshore at the wharves, loading and unloading
ships, belonging to the coal barges, and the like. The Singhalese
proper take higher rank; the sort of occupation accepted by the Tamils
would not on any account be adopted by a Singhalese. Caste is
imperious and imperative, though it is strictly discountenanced by the
religion of the people, and especially so by the English government,
which does not fail to exercise its influence against it.

The Tamils, being light of body and used to laborious occupations,
make the best jinrikisha men,--the small, man-propelled
chaise,--trotting off in their almost naked condition with the speed
of a horse, while drawing the vehicle and its occupants behind them.
They rival in fleetness the little gigs or hackeries, as they are
called, propelled by small and active brahmin bulls, gayly decked with
tinkling bells. Some of the zebus, with their humped necks, deep
dewlaps, silky hides, and deer-like limbs, are really handsome
creatures. These gigs with their peculiar animals, and the jinrikishas
drawn by Tamils, are striking and novel features to a stranger when he
first lands at Colombo, unless he comes from the East. The idea of the
jinrikisha is borrowed from Japan, but that of the small bullock cart
comes from India, where they are common all over the country. It is
surprising to see with what ease and speed these little creatures will
trot along the smooth roads, guided by reins attached to a ring which
passes through a hole in the cartilage of their nostrils. There is a
larger breed of cattle which are imported from India for farming
purposes, but most of those in common use are the small ones we have
described. Both are of the zebu breed. A certain number of the larger
ones, like elephants, are kept in the temples of India and worshiped
as sacred animals. It will doubtless strike the reader that there is a
certain degree of inconsistency in using these cattle as beasts of
burden, twisting their tails to elicit a high degree of speed, and in
kneeling solemnly before the same creatures as sacred when they are
kept within the walls of the temples.

The Singhalese proper make very good mechanics, and can imitate a
delicate model when submitted to them, equaling the Chinese, whose
fidelity in this respect has passed into a proverb. They are specially
expert in the manufacture of wooden boxes from choice material, inlaid
with ivory, tortoise shell, mother of pearl, and the like; but above
all else they pride themselves as a people upon being agriculturists,
a planter's occupation being considered as fitting for the highest
caste to engage in. It is in the cultivation of broad rice-fields that
the Singhalese is seen at his best. This occupation he fully
understands. A predilection for it seems to have been born in him; his
forefathers have followed the business for centuries, and success in
this line of occupation means to him independence and plenty. All
classes of the natives of Ceylon are full of superstitions, and
support hundreds of demon-priests, who thrive upon the foolishness
and fears of the masses. Incantations of the most extravagant
character are the principal means used by the priests, who are also
called doctors, and who pretend to relieve sickness and pain by
barbarous means, such as hideous dances, beating of tom-toms, blowing
of horns, wearing hideous masks, and other devices. All this nonsense
is popularly supposed to drive away the evil spirits who cause the
sickness.

The Singhalese believe that all ills in life are inflicted as
punishment, and that evil spirits are the agents of Providence to
apply the same. They think that they are under penalty not alone for
sins committed during their present lives, but also for their
wrongdoing in some previous state of existence. They may have been
"rogue" elephants, thieving crows, vicious buffaloes, or vile cobras,
all of which is quite in accordance with their creed as promulgated by
the Buddhist priests.

They seem to have no skill whatever in the treatment of the most
simple illness. The author has never, even among the most barbaric
tribes, quite isolated from contact with white men, known a people so
deficient in this respect. Some few of the Singhalese planters
regularly set aside a small portion of their rice-fields, and leave
them unharvested, for the use of the demons! It is intimated that the
priests manage to secretly reap these portions for their own benefit,
representing it to have been done by the evil spirits, whose good-will
has thus been secured in behalf of the credulous planter. The base and
groveling superstitions and credulity of the natives of Ceylon are
simply disgusting. There are said to be three thousand devil-priests
supported in the island, living with unblushing assurance upon the
ignorance of the masses. How closely akin is all this to the Roman
Catholic priests, who pretend "on liberal terms" to pray departed
souls out of purgatory.

Does it not seem extraordinary that the idea of worshiping or
propitiating some powerful evil spirit should prevail almost
universally among barbarous and half-civilized races? It is not the
force of example which inculcates such an idea, since the author has
met with it as a native custom among various tribes situated as far
apart as the poles. The Alaska Indians, the denizens of "Darkest
Africa," the Maoris of New Zealand, and the cannibal tribes of the
Fiji Islands, all yield more or less to this instinct. Nor were the
Indians of North America devoid of an equivalent custom when the
European settlers first came among them. It is only natural that all
people, civilized or otherwise, should be exercised by an instinct
leading up to the worship of a great Heavenly Father of mankind, but
the belief in the existence of an opposing and more important power,
which must first be propitiated, is certainly as singular as it is
universal among the barbarous races of both hemispheres. When visiting
the famous temples of Nikko, in Japan, the author saw a priest
sitting before a temple in the open air, beside a collection of
prepared pine chips with which he was feeding a small fire upon an
open stone slab, and accompanying the burning process by beating at
intervals upon a tom-tom. On inquiring as to the significance of this
singular ceremony, we were sagely told by the native guide that the
priest thus solicited the good-will of the god of fire, who was very
powerful and inimical to man, unless his favor was frequently sought
by such means.

"How terrible it would be," added the devout Japanese, "if he (the god
of fire) were to consume these sacred temples," pointing as he spoke
to the unique group of buildings so elaborately ornamented, which
contain such priceless hoards of rich bronzes, carved images, and
delicate lacquered ware.

The sacred temples of Nikko are in their way quite unequaled in the
world, having, with other remarkable attractions, the consecrating
influence of great antiquity. The oldest Japanese bronzes are valued
at their weight in gold; indeed, that precious metal forms a large
percentage of the material of which they are composed. Modern bronze,
as compared with that of ten centuries ago, in Japan, is a very
different and inexpensive compound.

Any person who has been at sea in a severe storm when there were
Chinamen on board the ship has seen the superstitious Mongolians throw
bits of "joss-paper" overboard, bearing certain inscriptions and
mysterious characters, intended to pacify the water-devil, as they
call the spirit of the storm.

A peculiar race of wild people, called Veddahs, inhabit the forest
fastness of Bintenne, a district situated southeast from Kandy forty
or fifty miles, and a hundred and twenty or thereabouts from Colombo,
in a northeast direction. The territory to which these people confine
themselves is known as Vedda-ratta, or country of the Veddahs, whither
their ancestors retired more than two thousand years ago, when their
Singhalese conquerors came to Ceylon from the north. Bintenne, which
gives its name to the district, transcends Anuradhapura in antiquity.
Long before the Wijayan invasion, it was one of the chief aboriginal
cities, and for centuries was the most important place in Ceylon.
During the Dutch dominion Bintenne was made a place of note, and is
spoken of by them as "the finest city in the island." It is now
remote, a circumscribed and secluded district; very few Europeans have
ever penetrated any great distance within its borders. Indeed, the
density of its jungles forbids access to those who know not its
solitary footpaths. The singular people of whom we write are now
inconsiderable in number, speaking a language understood only by
themselves, and are doubtless descendants of the aborigines of the
island, a race who lived here previous to any dates of which we have
record. The country which they inhabit is about ninety miles long by
half that distance in width, in the southeastern part of the island,
and extends towards the sea from the base of the mountain region of
the central province, commencing near the base of the Badulla hills.
There is abundant evidence connecting these barbarians with the
Yakkos, who were the oldest known race in Ceylon. They live mostly
upon the game which they kill with bows and arrows. They build no
regular habitations, live in caves, grass huts, and the open air, and
avoid intercourse with all other tribes, especially the English. They
are an undersized people, the men being only five feet in height on an
average, and the women still less. Their neglect of any sort of
ablution is a marked feature of their habits, while their intellectual
capacity is placed, by people who have taken considerable trouble to
inform themselves upon the subject, at as low a gauge as possible in
human beings. In the matter of cleanliness, the wild animals about
them are more civilized than they, their long, tangled, unkempt hair
adding to their weird, uncanny appearance. What little intercourse
they have with other people is almost entirely by signs, and they seem
to be either disinclined or unable to talk intelligently. They are
said to be wonderful marksmen with bow and arrow. As they practice
constantly from boyhood, this is but natural. With the exception of
the knife, the bow and arrow is their only weapon of offense or
defense. It is thought that there are not over a couple of thousand
Veddahs now in existence, an aggregate which is annually diminished.
They are still accustomed to the most primitive ways, producing fire,
when it is needed, by rapidly turning a pointed stick in a hole made
in perfectly dry wood, their bowstrings acting as a propeller in
twirling the stick. This is a sure but laborious way to obtain fire.
It is a fact which has been commented upon considerably, and which is
perhaps worthy of mention in this connection, that, in many important
particulars, these Veddahs are very like the wild native tribes of
Australia. This is not only evinced in certain physical resemblances,
but also in their hereditary habits, their unwritten tongue, and some
other particulars. Much is made of these facts by certain writers on
physical geography, who have a theory that in the far past Australia
was joined or was adjacent to Ceylon, notwithstanding the wide reach
of ocean which now intervenes.

These wild people of the district of Bintenne are divided into two
communities,--the Rock or Jungle Veddahs, and the Village Veddahs, the
latter living nearest to the settlements on the east coast, dwelling
in cabins built in the rudest manner, and cultivating some simple
grains and vegetables, while the former remain in the depth of the
forest, roaming hither and thither, and avoiding all contact with
civilization. They are said to have preserved this isolation and
manner of living from the earliest period of the island's history.
They supplement their other food with various edible roots, wild
fruits, and honey, adding lizards, roasted monkeys, and venison. They
are not Buddhists, and have no hesitation as to the taking of animal
life, or in eating the meat of bird or beast. It is said that they eat
freely of carrion, or decayed animal substances, with perfect
impunity,--like the Arctic races, who live largely upon putrid whale
blubber in the summer season; in winter, it freezes so solid as to
keep it from putrefaction. The wild elephant would seem to be too
powerful an animal for these poorly armed savages to attack, but it is
not so,--they do hunt him, and successfully. Their mode is to lie in
hiding near what is known as an elephant path until one makes his
appearance, and as he passes, at a favorable moment, when he lifts his
foot nearest to the hunter, a short steel-headed arrow is shot into
the soft sole. When the animal stamps his foot with pain, he only
drives the shaft still deeper into his limb. The poor beast soon lies
down, in his agony, and in this climate a wound festers with great
rapidity. The huge creature cannot bear his wounded foot to the
ground, and sinks upon the earth, after great suffering, in a helpless
condition. The Veddah huntsman then approaches, and with a well-aimed
spear, thrust where the spinal marrow and the brain unite, the
creature's misery is ended, and he quickly breathes his last.

It is said by those who are well informed about these wild people,
that their best huntsmen are less cruel and equally successful. The
plan they adopt is to lie in wait near a spot frequented by the
elephants, probably some watercourse where they come to drink. At a
favorable moment, the huntsman, being only a few yards off, sends a
steel-headed shaft into the brain of the huge beast by aiming just
upward behind the ear, whereupon the elephant falls lifeless upon the
ground.

At certain seasons, these people bring honey and dried venison to the
frontier, with an occasional elephant's tusk, and exchange them for
cloth, hatchets, arrowheads, and a few simple articles which they have
learned to use. They have no circulating medium like money; they could
make no use of such. They seem to have no idea of God or Heaven, and
erect neither temples nor idols, though a sort of propitiatory devil
worship is said to prevail among them, the real purport of which is
quite inexplicable. Like other tribes of whom we have spoken, they
appear to have an idea that some invisible evil power is antagonistic
to them and their well-being, and that their safety lies in offering
homage in some form to that power. Of any supreme influence for good,
they have no conception. They have heard of the white man's God, but
believe their Devil is far more powerful. Like the humbler class of
Italians, they have a mortal dread of something equivalent to the
"evil eye." Such was an explanation given to us by an intelligent
Buddhist at Kandy, who had once been a priest.

The worship of the serpent as an emblem of divinity has been
attributed to the earliest inhabitants of this island, but the Veddahs
have no such faith. One of the most ancient among the multiplicity of
names which Ceylon has borne is Nágadipa, or "snake island," in
reference, it is thought by some, to this special worship of the
aborigines. To the author, however, it seems much more reasonable that
the name may have arisen from the great number of these reptiles which
were, and which still are, found upon its soil. There are still some
tribes in Ceylon who reverence the serpent as an emblem, and who
actually devote temples to them, as the Hindus have done to bulls and
monkeys for ages.

The Veddahs are considered to be utter barbarians, but we very much
doubt if many of their customs are any more barbaric than some which
prevail among the Singhalese. Take, for instance, the revolting
practice of polyandry, which is still countenanced in Ceylon. This
custom, so strange and unnatural, has existed here for thousands of
years, and longer still in India proper, as well as in Thibet and
Cashmere. History tells us that this odious custom was common in
Britain at the period of Cæsar's invasion. It is said to be dying out
in this island since the advent of the English. Let us at least hope
so, though the author was informed upon the spot that it was not
unknown among the natives of the Kandian district at the present time.
Conventionality has all the force of enacted law. Vice and virtue, it
would seem, are relative terms, both being amenable to latitude and
longitude. There is a custom among the Alaska Indians, deemed by them
to be simply a rite of hospitality, which would consign a person to
state prison if perpetrated in New England. Is there not also a
legalized system of social debasement in Japan, so utterly vile in our
estimation as to be absolutely unmentionable in detail?

We have not yet in reality departed from Colombo, concerning which a
few more words should be added before taking the reader inland to
"imperial" Kandy in the central province among the hills.

Colombo is an especially well-regulated and well-governed town. No
reasonable fault can be found with its police arrangements, for
notwithstanding the singular variety of nationalities gathered
together within its limits, one witnesses no lawlessness; there are no
visible improprieties of conduct, but quiet reigns supreme, both in
the Singhalese and in the English quarter of the capital. The most
lawless element here is the crows, and one must admit that these
audacious creatures are irrepressible.

The native women of the middle class whom one sees in the city are
singular objects as regards costume, and appear as if engaged in a
constant masquerade, being decorated in the most striking manner.
They wear silver and brass rings thrust through the tops and bottoms
of their ears, through their nostrils and lips, their toes sometimes
being also covered with small gold coins attached to rings. Their
ankles, fingers, and wrists are decked with bangles and rings, while
their diaphanous dress is of rainbow colors. The author saw women, who
were acting as nurses to the children of European residents, wearing
all these gewgaws as described, the gross weight of which must have
been considerable. Some of these women would be good-looking, not to
say handsome, were they less disfigured by the cheap jewelry which
they pile upon themselves, without regard to good taste or reason. It
is an ingrained barbaric fondness for trinkets, which it would seem
that they never quite outgrow, as women old and decrepit indulge it to
the utmost limit of their means, thus thoughtlessly adding by contrast
to their worn and wasted appearance. As to their being employed as
nurses in the English officers' families, there is a certain degree of
fitness in that, for they are very faithful in this relation; they are
naturally loyal to their trust, and as a rule have excellent
dispositions, so that the children become very fond of them.

The men wear their jet-black hair long, done up with a circular shell
comb in front, which keeps at back from the forehead and temples, and
often have a high shell comb at the back of the head to keep the coil
together, all of which gives them a most feminine appearance. The
women do not wear combs at all, but braid their profuse ink-black
locks, and twist them into a snood behind the head, a certain quantity
being formed into puffs like bow-knots, and the whole kept together
with long metallic pins, having ornamental heads of brass or silver.
Like the Japanese women, their hair is so arranged as to be very
showy, and they take great pride in its appearance.

This passion for covering their persons with gewgaws is as old with
these people as the ancient city of Anuradhapura, where the same
custom prevailed among the Singhalese two thousand years ago. The
abundance and beauty of the precious stones found in the soil of the
island naturally led to their being mounted and worn by the wealthiest
people. This fashion was imitated, as usual, by the humbler classes to
the very limit of their means. If the latter could not afford the
genuine article, they were obliged, as they are to-day, to be
satisfied with cheap imitations.

The rank and file of the common people, clad in various colors, form a
brilliant panorama in the streets of Colombo on a gala day, mingled
with whom are itinerant exhibitors of legerdemain, snake charmers,
hustling dealers in gewgaws, peddlers of bonbons, native women bearing
baskets of fruit on their heads, and naked Tamil laborers,--living
bronzes,--on their way to the wharves. All phases of life are
represented. An occasional blind and decrepit native is seen, guided
by a small lad, who solicits pennies with which to purchase a little
rice and curry, as the boy says in broken English. The most persistent
beggars of all whom one meets in the thoroughfares are the Buddhist
priests, who extend a dirty brass dish for alms, while mumbling some
unintelligible gibberish. An occasional stranger and some humble
natives respond to his appeals by contributing a few pennies, but the
aggregate of his collection must be very small.

There dashes by us, while we watch the scene, a gay party of English
residents in a four-horse drag, bound to Mount Lavonia. This is a
pleasant resort five or six miles from Colombo, on the coast line,
where there is a very good public house, built originally for a
private residence by a former governor of the island. It stands upon a
promontory some fifty feet in height, which juts out into the sea,
washed on either side by the waves of the Indian Ocean. This hotel is
a conspicuous white building, and forms a familiar landmark for
inward-bound vessels. It is much cooler at Lavonia than at Colombo, as
the location is more open to the sea breezes, besides being upon an
elevation.

Let us also invite the reader to embark upon an excursion; but in
place of hugging the sea coast by means of a coach and four, we will
turn our faces inland by railway toward the olden capital of Kandy, in
the heart of the island.




CHAPTER XI.

     The Ancient Capital of Kandy.--An Artificial Lake.--The
     Great River of Ceylon.--Site of the Capital of the Central
     Province.--On the Way from Colombo to Kandy.--The Tiny
     Musk-Deer.--The Wild Boar.--Native Cabins.--From the Railway
     Car Windows.--The Lotus.--Destructive White Ants and their
     Enemies.--Wild Animals.--The Mother of Twins.--A Little
     Waif.--A Zigzag Railway.--An Expensive Road to
     build.--"Sensation Rock" with an Evil History.--Grand Alpine
     Scenery.


Kandy, the Maha-neura, or "great city," of the Singhalese, one of the
ancient capitals of Ceylon, is beautifully situated in the bosom of
the verdant hills in the central province of the island, just about
half way between the east and west coasts, a little more than seventy
miles north of Colombo. Here the town nestles on a bend of the
Maha-velle-Ganga ("great sandy river"), which nearly surrounds the old
city at a distance of three miles from its centre. It became the
capital of the island in 1592. As it was repeatedly captured and
burned by the Portuguese, Dutch, and English, it presents no
architectural monuments with any pretension to antiquity. Here we are
about seventeen hundred feet above sea level, beside a spacious,
though artificial lake, which represents a small portion of the grand
system of irrigation for which Ceylon was so famous through a score of
centuries. There is no natural lake worthy of the name in the
country, though there are numerous ponds, large and small, here and
there, especially in the southern part of the island. In the centre of
this large sheet of water, with its charming aspect of repose and
freshness, is a tiny island, where the last king of Kandy, who was a
notorious tyrant, established his harem with true oriental lavishness.
It is now improved as a safe place for the storage of gunpowder and
other explosive war materials. At least, it was formerly thus
appropriated, though perhaps it is not so now. The infamous sovereign
referred to, Sri Wikrema Raja Singha, at whose death ended a long and
famous line of kings, was outrageous beyond all precedent. He was
accustomed to behead any one of his counselors who dared to disagree
with him, also wreaking his vengeance upon the individual's innocent
family, males and females, by treating them in a similar manner.

The immense tank at Kandy is of modern construction, having been
finished early in the present century by the king whose name we have
just given. The heavy embankment which holds the lake in its bed has
been made into a broad and most charming esplanade, decked with
handsome shade trees, thus surrounding the basin with an inviting
driveway and promenade, enlivened by choice flowering shrubs, whose
names only an accomplished botanist could remember. Among them the
ever-fragrant cape jessamine is conspicuous, together with beds of
violets and mignonette. Palms prevail everywhere on the island, with
their bare trunks reaching sixty or seventy feet upward, at which
point they throw out their deep green, gracefully drooping foliage in
thick clusters. The lake is about three miles in circumference,
encircled by a low stone wall, and is, judged even by modern rules, a
remarkably skillful piece of engineering.

The Maha-velle-Ganga rises in the base of the neighboring mountains,
and, flowing past Kandy, turns to the north, finally discharging
itself by several mouths into the ocean far away on the east coast,
near the port of Trincomalee. It drains in its course upwards of four
thousand square miles of territory, being a hundred and thirty miles
long, and is navigable by small boats nearly to Kandy. The hills which
encompass the town make of it a verdant amphitheatre, and are
themselves dotted with flourishing tea-plantations, mostly owned by
English agriculturists, the growing of tea, as already explained,
having largely superseded, or perhaps we should say supplemented, that
of coffee throughout the island. In the higher regions, near the
foot-hills, where the big river rises, there used to be a great coffee
district, healthy and populous; but alas! malaria and jungle fever lie
crouching upon its lower banks like a beast of prey, ready to pounce
upon the passing and incautious traveler, while hungry, wide-jawed
crocodiles lie half-concealed in the low mangroves, ready to snap up
any dog or young native child which thoughtlessly approaches their
domain. The Ceylon crocodile is a large animal, quite common on the
inland rivers and deserted, half ruined tanks, and frequently measures
over twenty feet from the snout to the tip of the tail. In the
malarial districts, all sorts of insects, reptiles, and wild animals
thrive and multiply abundantly, but to man, and even to most domestic
animals, such regions are poisonous.

The reason why the river-courses in Ceylon are so unsalubrious, so
fever-inducing, is easily explained. These waterways overflow their
banks in the rainy season, depositing an accumulation of vegetable
matter which remains to decompose when the river subsides, thus
infecting the surrounding country. The banks of swiftly flowing
streams are considered to be healthful localities, but they do not
prove so in this tropical island. The Maha-velle-Ganga, which is the
Mississippi of Ceylon, is no exception to this rule.

In coming to Kandy from Colombo, the railway for the first forty miles
threads its way through a thinly populated region, over a level
country which is often so low as to be of a marshy nature, though the
soil is marked by overwhelming fertility. About fifteen miles from the
capital is Henaratgoda, where the government Tropical Gardens are
situated. Here the process of acclimatization for exotics is tried
with plants which might not thrive at the altitude of the Botanical
Gardens of Peradenia, near Kandy. The railway stations, it will be
observed, are all beautifully ornamented with tropical flowers adapted
to the situation. This is getting to be a universal custom all over
the world. Even in Russia, on the line between St. Petersburg and
Moscow, every depot is thus beautified. The railways are a government
monopoly in this island, furnishing a handsome revenue. There are no
presidents to swallow up salaries of fifty thousand dollars each, nor
other ornamental officials receiving enormous sums of money for
imaginary services. At each station in Ceylon, pretty children of both
sexes offer the traveler tempting native fruits. They are very
interesting, these children, in spite of their unkempt hair and entire
nudity. Their big black eyes are full of pleading earnestness and
bright expression, while their dark brown skin shines like polished
mahogany under the hot rays of an equatorial sun. The land seen on the
route is interspersed by rice plantations, groves of palms, bananas,
and plantains, while the jungle at intervals is seen to be impassable,
the trees are so bound together with stout, creeping vines and close
undergrowth. Hump-backed cows and black swine, with an occasional
domesticated buffalo, are all the animals one sees, though there are a
plenty of wild ones not far away in less populous districts, including
bears, deer, leopards, and elephants. The buffalo is almost an
amphibious animal, and may be seen for many hours daily nearly
immersed in the ponds, lakes, or rivers, only its head, horns, and
nose visible above the water. Thus he will lie or stand for any length
of time, chewing the cud like other creatures of his kind, until
hunger compels him to seek food on the dry land. Happy for him if he
be not attacked, while thus exposed, by the voracious pond leeches,
more fatal than the flies which he strives to avoid by thus immersing
his body. The elephants are still numerous, notwithstanding so many
have been exported to the continent hard by. A carefully prepared
estimate published at Colombo last year (close of 1893) places the
probable number of wild elephants in Ceylon at five thousand. It is
also believed that the small numbers of these animals which are now
shot by Europeans annually will not decrease this aggregate, because
of the natural breeding which is all the time going on. There are also
found here in abundance the wild boar, jackal, ant-eater, and a great
variety of monkeys (the latter afraid only of Europeans), and the
cheetah. This last named is an animal of the leopard family, nearly
three feet in height, and six feet long from nose to tail-tip, but
exceedingly active and over-fond of monkey-flesh. It is of a dun
color, with round black spots distributed uniformly over the body.

The tiny musk-deer, so called, though it has no musk-bag or scent
about it of that pungent nature, is indigenous to Ceylon. There is a
stuffed specimen in the Colombo museum, but the author did not happen
to see one alive. It is only about twelve or fourteen inches long and
ten high when at maturity, but it is formed exactly like a full-grown
North American deer or antelope, having a gray hide dappled with white
spots, like a young fawn. Its exquisite delicacy of limbs is very
beautiful. Several attempts have been made to transport a pair from
this island to the Zoölogical Gardens of London, but the little
creatures have never survived the voyage. They prove to be as delicate
in constitution as in physical formation.

We have incidentally mentioned the wild boar, to hunt which is a sport
that has brought nearly as many Englishmen to Ceylon as has that
generally more attractive and much larger game, the wild elephant.
Strange to say, the boar, weighing on an average not much over two
hundred pounds, has proved quite as dangerous and even more formidable
in conflict than the huge monarch of these forests. The quick-witted,
cool, and experienced huntsman can avoid the giant elephant when he
charges,--he is necessarily sluggish on account of his size; but the
wild boar is swift, fierce, and armed with tusks sharp as a dagger's
point, which he uses with the adroitness and rapidity of a skilled
swordsman. Sir Samuel Baker says that he has killed these animals in
Ceylon weighing over four hundred pounds each, and has seen them here
even much larger. The boar is hunted with trained dogs, and is
scarcely ever driven to bay without seriously wounding and often
killing one or more of the pack. The hunter does not shoot at the boar
when at close quarters, lest he should kill the dogs hanging to the
animal; but the true form is for him to close in upon the fight and
bury his long knife in the creature's vital parts. Practiced sportsmen
aim to bury their weapon just back of the ears, at the junction of the
brain and spinal marrow; death to the boar is then instantaneous. Sir
Samuel Baker, who was an inveterate sportsman, had many narrow escapes
in wild-boar hunting in Ceylon, and was more than once seriously
wounded.

The natives inland, as observed on the line of the railway, live in
the simplest and rudest of huts, mostly formed of bamboo frames filled
in with clay baked in the sun. The thatched roofs consist, as usual in
this country, of large palm leaves braided together, one layer lapping
over another, thus effectually excluding even equatorial rains. The
eaves come within three or four feet of the ground. There are no
chimneys nor windows in these primitive abodes, but the doors, which
are always open, admit light and air. The natives only sleep in them;
during their waking hours, they are always under the blue sky. Each
native builds his own cabin, which rarely consists of more than one
apartment. In its erection no nails are used; the several parts are
tied together with rattans and stout vines, which become like rope
when they are once dry. The climate is so uniformly warm that many do
not even plaster their walls with clay, using palm leaves and boughs
of trees to form a sufficient covering. A sheltered situation is
chosen, so as to be protected from the weather when the monsoons blow,
for these natives have a fixed aversion to the wind and rain. There is
a certain harmony between the primitive simplicity of these people and
that of surrounding nature. To the casual observer, as he passes over
this route between Colombo and Kandy, there is an unpleasant
suggestion in the surroundings of possible jungle fever. The thick,
low-lying, tangled woods and stagnant pools one would think must be
the very home of chills and fever. They would be so considered in
continental India, or in the south and west of our own country; yet
the people hereabouts do not seem at present to suffer from any
special form of ill health. The men are thin in flesh, but muscular
and cheerful in aspect. They really seem to enjoy life after their
dull, animal-like fashion, though their principal occupation is that
of working in the wet rice-fields, an employment which no European can
safely pursue. The latter, in fact, never become sufficiently
acclimated to be able to live in low and swampy districts in Ceylon
without contracting malaria, the effects of which last through a
lifetime.

When this railway was being built, the coolies employed in the work
died by hundreds from the unwholesome character of the neighborhood,
until the rule was adopted of returning the laborers after the day's
work to Colombo to sleep, bringing them back again after sunrise. It
is the damp night air which prevails in the lowlands, and its
attendant miasma, which proves so fatal. One after another of the
European overseers and engineers sickened, and were compelled to
return home to England before a restoration to health was effected;
while some, apparently the most hardy, and who took the best of care
of themselves, succumbed altogether, and were buried in the island far
from their native land. Better drainage and cleared jungles have
greatly improved the sanitary conditions. The dense forest has been
opened to the influence of purifying breezes and the effect of the
genial sunshine, so that there is much less chance for the pestilence
to find a breeding-place.

Banana groves, with the trees bending under the weight of the rich,
finger-shaped fruit; tall cocoanut-trees, the tops heavy with the
nutritious food they bear; stout tamarinds and juicy mangoes;
ant-hills, looking like young volcanoes, half as high as native huts;
rippling cascades; sharp declivities; glistening pools; white cranes;
tall pink flamingoes, standing like sentinels on the muddy banks; an
occasional monkey leaping among the trees; golden orioles,
gaudy-feathered parrots, and other birds of dazzling hues, are
observed with never-flagging interest from the windows of the slowly
moving cars, while on this inland route to Kandy. The marabou, which
is so much prized for its delicate feathers, is occasionally seen
stalking watchfully by the shaded pools, seizing now and then upon
small reptiles with its formidable bill and devouring them at a single
gulp. It seems strange that these birds can swallow with impunity
snakes and other vicious reptiles while they are yet alive. One would
think that creatures whose bite is often fatal to human beings would
under such circumstances cause a fearful state of commotion in a
bird's crop. If ostriches, however, can swallow and digest large
nails, jackknives, and corkscrews, perhaps the gastric juices of these
smaller birds may have special properties to aid them in effectually
disposing of poisonous reptiles.

How well our first trip inland in Ceylon is remembered. While watching
the novel and intensely interesting sights, the air was heavy with
aromatic fragrance, and sweet with the odor of lilies, while a feeling
of quiet content stole over the senses, as in a half-waking dream from
which one does not desire to be aroused. Was the brain yielding to the
subtle breath of those gorgeous lotus flowers, which opened wide their
delicate pink petals to the sunshine? This queen of the lily tribe,
the lotus, is here seen in two varieties, the pink and the white. They
resemble very closely the common pond-lily of our own climate, but are
thrice their size. The seeds are a mild narcotic, and are sometimes
eaten by the natives to produce that effect. It is said that birds of
the wading family sometimes partake of them until they become
stupefied. The seed is about the size of a hazel-nut, and leaves a
bitter, puckering taste in the mouth.

The white-ant hills which rise to such proportions here and there in
the wooded districts remind us that these minute but marvelously
industrious creatures are one of the great pests of equatorial
regions, and that they are especially destructive in this island.
Attracted by the very dry condition of the wood, they bore holes in
the timbers which form the frames of the better class of dwellings,
and therein lay their eggs. As soon as the young ants are hatched,
they begin to devour the wood, and continue to do so until it falls to
pieces. They operate on the inside, avoiding the outer part, proving
to be the most stealthy of all aggressive invaders, and their presence
is often unsuspected until the mischief is done. The palmyra palm and
the ebony-tree furnish the only timber which resists the serious
ravages of these white ants. The author was shown a bungalow near
Kandy, which was in ruins, where the occupants not long before were
one day surprised by the roof tumbling in upon them while they were
seated at the dinner-table. The supporting timbers were no longer able
to bear their own weight, much less to hold the heavy thatched roof in
place, after having been reduced by the ants to a mere shell. One
would think that where an abundance of fresh, green vegetation and
ripe fruit are to be had, dry timber could have few attractions as
insect food.

One of the species of ants common in Ceylon has been made the subject
of careful investigation by competent naturalists, and with extremely
interesting results. The conclusions arrived at serve to corroborate
previously formed ideas, that of all small creatures the ant is
endowed with the most intelligence. Among other singular facts which
have been discovered, it is now known that when a conflict occurs
between rival tribes of ants, something like a regular military system
is observed by them. They march to the conflict in strict order,
divided into separate columns, which are evidently under command of
different leaders, while the advance is so correctly timed that the
attack upon the enemy is simultaneous. This requires mental
calculation; instinct does not suffice to fix such matters. During the
fight, the ants carry off their dead and wounded to a place of safety
in the rear. A large detail, whose members take no part in the actual
conflict, work like an ambulance corps attached to a well-organized
army. If we were treating the subject in detail, many other
interesting facts might be given, showing the remarkable organization
which exists among them, and the sagacity of these intelligent
insects.

On the island of Mauritius, in the Indian Ocean, the inhabitants
protect themselves against the ravages of the white ants, which if
permitted would commit similar depredations upon their dwellings to
that already spoken of, by pitting a destructive enemy against them.
When it is found that a colony of these termites have invaded a
dwelling, the inhabitant knows that he must act promptly, as these
creatures have big heads and strong jaws, and they destroy rapidly. He
pours some molasses on the ground near by the path by which the white
ants move to and fro between their home and the house. The smell of
the treacle is sure to attract a bevy of black ants, which species is
very fond of sweets. These are the natural enemies of the white ants.
They notice the latter passing regularly back and forth, and govern
themselves accordingly. In a few hours, a whole army of black ants
approaches, marching in a column two yards long. They enter the
infected house in large numbers, leaving a reserve force behind, and
promptly destroy every white ant in the place. Finally the army
marches out, each of the black ants carrying away a dead white one,
which, cannibal-like, they devour!

But we are still on the way by rail to Kandy, and not writing a volume
on natural history, though in making these notes and with the objects
absolutely before one's eyes, the mind--and the pen as well--is apt to
follow the natural suggestions of the subject, even at the risk of
seeming to diverge from the purpose in hand. The patient reader thus
often becomes possessed of facts, the communication of which was
quite unpremeditated by the author. Let us take heed, however, not to
make such detail wearisome.

On remarking to an intelligent resident of the island, who was a
fellow passenger, that no wild animals were to be seen upon the route,
he replied that if we were to leave the more thickly settled district
and strike into the forest, abundant tracks would be met with of
bears, leopards, and elephants. The latter, especially, make broad
paths through the jungle by their heavy tread and shambling gait,
leveling the undergrowth right and left as effectually as could be
done by an army of bushwhacking road-makers. If a small tree impedes
an elephant's progress, he puts his broad forehead against the stem,
bends it so as to place his foot upon the horizontal trunk, and thus
snaps it short off. If it does not yield readily, he winds his trunk
firmly about it and pulls it up by the roots, as a dentist extracts a
rebellious tooth. As a rule, small trees go down before a fleeing
elephant like grass. Buffaloes are found in both the wild and
domesticated condition all over the island, but they abound only in
their wild state in the northern sections. The untamed buffalo is a
dangerous antagonist when assaulted and fairly driven to bay, and many
an English sportsman has been killed by them in Ceylon. The bulls are
particularly savage and pugnacious, giving battle upon the slightest
provocation.

At a point where the cars were stopped for a few moments to obtain a
supply of water for the engine, a female monkey was seen among the
trees, the mother of twins, holding the little things in her arms and
nursing them in a manner so human as to form a most ludicrous picture.
Presently, leaving her little ones in a safe place, she came down to
the cars, and was regaled from our lunch basket with what to her must
have been rare tidbits, supplied from the cuisine of the Grand Hotel
at Colombo. As a rule, the monkey tribe avoid Europeans or white men,
suspecting treachery, while they care very little for the native
people, who rarely interfere with them. The affection of the mother
monkey for its young is something very touching. If one of its little
progeny dies, the mother still clings to it, sometimes for several
days, carrying it about in her arms, until finally some instinct
causes her to lay it away, covered with leaves and the tender young
branches of the bamboo. Europeans have a cruel way of obtaining young
monkeys to take away from the island. It is accomplished by shooting
the mother, after which the bewildered little one is easily secured.
One of these small monkey orphans was brought on board the steamship
in which we left Ceylon, by its cruel captor. It was touching to see
how the diminutive creature had transferred its trust and affection
from its natural guardian to its present owner, to whom it clung
incessantly. Poor little fellow! it was well that it did not know its
new protector to be the sole cause of all its troubles. It proved to
be a bad sailor, and was so seasick that it soon died, but it clung to
its adopted friend to the last moment, who was, we are glad to say,
exceedingly kind to the little waif.

After passing through the low country on the way to Kandy, we began
gradually to climb an up-grade. This was at Rambukana, about fifty miles
from Colombo, two powerful engines being now required to move even our
short train, made up of four cars. The road winds zigzag fashion about the
hills, in startling proximity to the deep, threatening abyss, while the
ever-changing scenery of the Kaduganawa Pass becomes far-reaching and
grand, varied by precipitous declivities, deep green gulches, and falling
waters. The shelving rocks are here festooned with climbing plants,
daintily enriched by blossoms of vivid hues, and flowering creepers. As one
can easily believe, this was an expensive road to build, costing in many
parts over a hundred and fifty thousand dollars per mile, but it is most
thoroughly constructed on a gauge of five feet and six inches. The gradant
in some places is one foot in forty-five. Near the highest part of the line
stands "Sensation Rock," from which a grand and startling view is enjoyed,
recalling a similar experience on the author's part at "Inspiration Point,"
overlooking the never-to-be-forgotten Yosemite Valley in California. This
Ceylon rock has an evil history, it being, according to tradition, the
spot from which the ancient kings of Kandy ruthlessly hurled their
prisoners of war to destruction. This railway is a great success
pecuniarily and otherwise. So well has it been managed that in the
twenty-two years which have transpired since its completion, but one
accident has occurred of any special moment, and no European or American
has ever lost life or limb by mishap while traveling upon the road. It is
to be feared that we cannot cite a similar instance of any railway in this
country.

At last, after a hearty enjoyment of the bold and beautiful scenery
for two hours and more, winding snakelike about the steep acclivities,
and diving into and out of dark, gloomy tunnels, we landed in the old
and picturesque capital of the central province. It is not exactly a
city built upon a hill, but it is a city built among the hills.

The region in this line of latitude between the eastern and western
coast of the island, particularly in the central province, is one of
much grandeur, a country of Alpine heights and deep green valleys.
Here dark ravines and plunging waterfalls multiply themselves. Not
small, spraylike bodies of water, like many in Switzerland, but
fierce, restless bodies of foaming torrents, sweeping headlong over
abrupt declivities three hundred feet in height. The system of
mountains does not form a continuous range, but consists of a
succession of plateaus and of detached mountains rising from elevated
bases. Thus, Adam's Peak, were it to rise to its present height from
a plain at about the level of the ocean, would be far more grand and
impressive than it now is, with its direct upheaval beginning from so
elevated a base. So in the instance of the two famous mountains which
rise from the great Mexican plateau,--Mount Popocatepetl, and Mount
Ixtaccihuatl, which lose seven thousand feet of the effect of their
real height, because their base starts from a plain situated at that
elevation above the sea.




CHAPTER XII.

     Historical Kandy.--Importance of Good Roads.--Native
     Population.--Temple of Buddha's Tooth.--The Old
     Palace.--Governor's House.--Great Resort of
     Pilgrims.--Interior of the Temple.--The Humbug of
     Relics.--Priests of the Yellow Robe.--A Sacred
     Bo-Tree.--Diabolical Services in the Ancient
     Temple.--Regular Heathen Powwow.--Singhalese
     Music.--Emulating Midnight Tomcats.--Chronic Beggary.--The
     Old Parisian Woman with Wooden Legs.--A Buddhist
     Rock-Temple.


Kandy is a place of more than ordinary interest in Ceylon, on account
of its historical relations. It will be remembered that a native king
reigned here as recently as 1814. The recklessness, cruelty, and
grievous tyranny of this potentate hastened his downfall, causing his
native subjects to join the English in effecting his overthrow. The
government took forcible possession of the place in 1815, capturing
the king and sending him to Bengal as a political prisoner, where he
died seventeen years later. The systematic brutality of this ruler was
exercised so lately that its detail is preserved, forming a horrible
story of barbarous cruelty. One elephant was trained as an
executioner, whose duty it was to tread to death any condemned
political or other prisoner. Rich and poor, priest and soldier, are
said to have rejoiced at the banishment of this tyrant.

When the Kandian kings died, their bodies were cremated with great
ceremony. It was not the same here as it is and was in India proper,
where all classes are cremated; only kings, nobles, and priests
enjoyed the privilege in the island of Ceylon. Kandy is still the
capital of the central province. All the efforts of the Portuguese and
afterward of the Dutch to conquer this mountain region were
unavailing, owing to its isolation and its inaccessibility. The town
was situated in a valley, guarded by narrow mountain passes which a
few determined men could effectually defend. The district was also
girt about by tangled forests almost impassable except by birds, wild
beasts, and reptiles, the latter being the chronic dread of the
European invaders. Only foot or bridle paths existed between populous
points along the coast in those days. There were no roads in any
direction passable for wheeled vehicles during the possession of the
island by the two nationalities spoken of.

The English, after conquering and fortifying the coast, promptly
applied themselves to the opening of broad, well-engineered roads in
all directions, and especially between Colombo and Kandy, so that
bodies of infantry and artillery could quickly reach any desired point
in efficient numbers. This changed the condition of affairs most
essentially, enabling the new invaders to conquer and bring all parts
of the island under military subjection. Since the capture of Kandy in
1815 there have been three rebellious uprisings of the natives, the
last of which occurred in 1847, which the English officials stamped
out with such rigor, not to say cruelty, that it has so far proved the
last attempt of the sort. Lord Torrington, who was then governor of
Ceylon, incurred the censure of the home government for the needless
severity of the punishment inflicted upon the natives. The business of
road-making between important points has been continued ever since,
supplemented by many miles of railway, which has proved to be the most
potent agent of progress which could be devised. Thus have been opened
to free access rich agricultural and mineral districts, besides
promoting intercourse between the natives of the island and the
Europeans on the coast. Railways and good inland roads for wheeled
vehicles are great promoters of true civilization and progress.
Polygamy, which had so long defied the laws of these United States,
was a doomed institution when the first iron rail reached the borders
of Utah Territory.

The people of this ancient capital are no longer isolated; four hours'
ride upon the rail takes them to Colombo.

The same class of natives are met with at Kandy as are seen on the
coast, except that there are more shaven-headed priests in yellow
robes, one end of which is thrown over the left shoulder, leaving the
right arm and shoulder bare. The wearers are marked by a moody,
unsatisfied expression. Aside from their office and connection with
the temples, these men command no respect from the people, being
generally illiterate and in no wise superior to the masses. They
assume the appearance of mendicants in accordance with their religious
profession, and are inveterate beggars, but are in fact, we were
credibly informed, among the richest natives in Ceylon. They are
supposed to live solely on charity, and receive no ostensible
remuneration for their priestly services, but they are shrewdly
hoarding money all the while like the veriest miser, while their
social relations, like their Roman Catholic brethren, outrage
unblushingly all priestly rules. There are fewer Parsees and Moormen
in proportion to the number of inhabitants. These, being of the
trading class, generally seek Colombo or Point de Galle, where they
find congenial occupation in supplying strangers with sapphires,
topazes, rubies, and precious stones, or oftener with imitations of
these, in disposing of which they are notable experts. There is but
one piece of advice to be given regarding these harpies,--avoid them
altogether.

The principal object of interest in Kandy is the old palace and the
far-famed ancient temple of Malagawa, where the precious tooth of
Buddha is preserved, and yet it is not very ancient, as the word
applies to temples and ruins generally in Ceylon. It was built in the
fourteenth century, especially to form a shrine for this tooth, and it
is held, mainly on this account, to be the most sacred Buddhist temple
in existence. The palace, now partially improved for government
purposes, was built just about three hundred years ago by the
Portuguese prisoners captured by the Kandians, which accounts for
certain European characteristics about the edifice. It was doubtless
once an imposing structure, but of no architectural interest. It faces
a broad, level area, where in olden times elephant fights used to take
place for the entertainment of the king and his court,--a cruel sport,
in which one of the combatants was sure to lose his life, and not
infrequently both were fatally injured. The modern Spanish bull-fight
is only a degree more cruel, and both exhibitions are equally
indicative of the national character of the promoters.

The one residence worthy of mention in Kandy proper is the Pavilion or
Governor's House, built by Sir E. Barnes. This is a very elegant
modern structure, combining European architecture with tropical
adaptations, and is surrounded by a broad colonnade. The house is
finished externally in stucco, with a hard polish like white marble,
which it much resembles. The neighboring grounds are very beautifully
laid out, and are kept like an English park, the view from which is
beyond description for its variety and beauty.

The Temple of the Tooth has no claim to architectural beauty. It
belongs to no recognized order, and is an indescribable old shrine,
low, black, and grimy, surmounted at its eastern extremity by a tower
manifestly of European design, which is, doubtless, a comparatively
modern addition. The whole looks more like a spacious stable than an
oriental shrine. This temple has made Kandy the Mecca of both India
and Ceylon, attracting great numbers of pilgrims annually. It is
regarded with such universal reverence that the priests of Burmah and
Siam send a personal envoy bearing gifts to it every year, besides
furnishing a large sum annually as tribute money. A few years since,
an earnest effort was made to gain possession of the alleged tooth, a
special mission having been dispatched from Siam for the purpose.
These agents came prepared to pay a quarter of a million dollars for
the coveted prize; but the Kandian priests would not part with it at
any price that could be named. The temple of Malagawa is a curious
establishment, with its gardens, shrines, and fish ponds, the latter
well-filled with plethoric turtles and fish of a "sacred" kind, which
come eagerly to certain points at the call of the priests, to be fed
by pious pilgrims.

The inner walls of the temple are decorated with designs that are
anything but cheerful, consisting of paintings intended to depict the
various sorts of hells which will be awarded to erring mortals for
their special earthly sins. The place absolutely smells of brimstone.
The interest of our little party centred most upon some old manuscript
books written upon talipot palm leaves in the Pali, Sanskrit, and
Singhalese languages. The pages were here and there illustrated with
what appeared to be appropriate designs, very odd to be sure, but yet
not without a certain crude artistic taste. The books were bound in
silver open-work covers or frames.

The famous tooth which is made so much of in this mouldy old temple is
far too large to have ever come from the mouth of a human being, and
is probably that of some defunct elephant or crocodile. Indeed, the
original article which it is supposed to represent is proved to have
been destroyed centuries since, when by the fortune of war it fell
into the hands of the unbelievers. The author did not see the tooth.
It was described to him as being deposited in a small apartment upon a
silver table beneath a bell-shaped cover, the latter heavy with
precious gems. Here, lying within the leaves of a large golden lotus,
is the resting-place of the much-venerated piece of ivory. The tooth,
duly guarded and with great pomp, is carried about the town once a
year, just as the Indian idol, Juggernaut, takes its annual airing
from the lofty temple at Tanjore, drawn by hundreds of worshipers.

It is exhibited by the official priests, and only on special
occasions, with tokens of profound reverence. It was shown to the
Prince of Wales in 1875, and to his two sons in 1882. The author well
remembers a personal experience in the crypt of a certain Roman
Catholic Church in Italy, where he was being shown a collection of
"sacred" relics, pieces of the "true cross," etc., together with a
lot of "holy" vestments rendered heavy by pretended gems of great
value wrought into the texture of the clothing.

"Do you," was asked of the attendant priest at the time, "who are so
intelligent, believe in the genuineness of these pretended stones?"

"They have their use," was his evasive reply.

"You certainly know that these so-called emeralds, rubies, and
sapphires, are of glass and worthless?" we continued.

The answer was a cool shrug of the shoulders and a hasty covering up
of the garments. The author knew too much about gems to be easily
deceived, and the priest had permitted him to scrutinize them more
closely than was usual. The original gems, if real ones had ever been
used, had been purloined by priestly connivance, and false stones
supplied to fill their place.

A far more interesting and probably much more genuine relic than the
tooth which is so reverently preserved in the Kandy temple is a rudely
engraved metallic dish or "alms pot," which is said to have been the
personal property of Buddha,--the receptacle for the coins contributed
by the mass of the people in charity. The Singhalese priests of to-day
carry a similar brass bowl for a like purpose, and are not at all
backward in making their demands for contributions from strangers.

These Kandian priests of the yellow robe are low-bred and ignorant.
We speak of them as a body. There are some brilliant exceptions, but
as a rule they have few qualities calculated to command respect.
Cleanliness with them is also one of the lost arts, notwithstanding
the pretended multiplicity of their baths, while their ceaseless habit
of chewing the repulsive betelnut and expectorating the red saliva in
all directions is extremely disgusting, equaled only by the filthy
habits of tobacco-chewers.

We have said that the mouldy old Buddhist Temple of the Tooth at Kandy
was the most interesting and attractive object to all strangers, but
there is also here a tree, if tradition is correct, so aged and sacred
in the eyes of the people as to almost rival the temple in
attractiveness. It is an ancient bo-tree,--the sacred Indian
fig,--situated in the spacious grounds attached to the temple. It has
widely extended, scraggy limbs, is high, irregular in form, and
undoubtedly very old. It is as sincerely bowed down to by pilgrims
from afar as is the altar in the temple. Its very leaves are treasured
with devout care, and the pilgrim counts himself specially blessed who
is able to bear one away to his distant home, as a charm against all
earthly ills. No one will presume to pluck a leaf of this tree, much
as they may crave its possession. The leaf must fall from the branches
in its maturity, and of its own volition, in order to yield its
maximum of blessings to the holder. Local authority declares the Kandy
bo-tree to be the oldest one living. Its record, they say, has been
kept since three hundred years before Christ, or say for two thousand
two hundred years. As there is at least one other similar tree in
Ceylon for which about the same degree of antiquity is claimed, it may
reasonably be doubted if both stories are correct. The other tree is
situated among the ruins of Anuradhapura, planted, as its record
declares, two hundred and forty years before the Christian era. It is
somewhat surprising how universally the extreme age which is claimed
for this tree is credited even by the English residents of the island
who are familiar with Buddhist chronicles. That both these trees are
very old is plain enough, but when we designate time past by the
thousands of years, one must be somewhat over-credulous to accord such
great antiquity to either of them, or indeed to any object of a
perishable nature. And yet there are trees belonging to the locust
family, as the author can bear testimony, growing among the West India
Islands, declared to be over three thousand years old. This is in part
corroborated by well-known visible characteristics of the locust which
are clearly defined, and many intelligent arborists credit their
longevity. There are thousands of bo-trees planted all over India
proper and Ceylon, in memory of Buddha, which are held of a sacred
character, and no good Buddhist will cut one down. It will be
remembered that Humboldt saw a cypress in Mexico, a league from the
capital, in the Chapultepec grove, which he estimated to be six
thousand years old. It does seem as though scientists were a somewhat
credulous class.

Services and ceremonies of an appropriate character--that is, in
accordance with the faith of this people--are constantly going on in
and about the Temple of the Tooth, night and day, all the year round.
Our hotel at Kandy was opposite and very near to the old shrine, and
night was made hideous for us by the senseless howling of the priests
and the notes of the drum, cymbals, and fife, supplemented now and
again by the blowing of blasts upon a conch-shell, more shrill and
piercing than a fishhorn signaling in a fog. The unearthly noises
which issued from the open doors of the temple of Malagawa was
something dreadful at midnight, and utterly inexcusable upon any
pretense whatever.

"How can these priests and their assistants maintain sufficient
interest to keep up this terrible din so ceaselessly?" was asked of a
local planter.

"The funds of the temple are ample," was the reply. "There is a
constant flow of rupees into the treasury, and these people are well
paid for their services in keeping up the sham."

"Whence comes the money?" was asked.

"Large sums come from India and from visiting pilgrims, besides which
the faithful native Singhalese contribute in the aggregate no
inconsiderable amount."

"Credulous orientals," was our response.

"You must remember," was our companion's reply, "that this edifice and
the surroundings, including the bo-tree, is considered the holiest
spot in all the Buddhistic world."

The ceremonies which took place within the temple during a brief visit
by the author consisted of grotesque dances and the beating of drums
and blowing of horns, all without any apparent rhyme or reason. A
procession of dirty priests, preceded by a drum and fife, passed
hither and thither before an altar upon which incense was burning. No
coherence of purpose, however, was exhibited by any one, but each
person seemed to be trying to make all the noise and grotesque
gesticulations possible. A North American Indian powwow would be a
fair comparison to the performance which was witnessed on this
occasion. A few pilgrims, after first pouring water upon their hands
and feet, purchased flowers from venders who frequent the doors of the
temple, and placed them on and about the altar. This was the most
sensible and consistent procedure which was adopted by priest or
layman inside the temple walls. The flowers were the white blossoms of
the frangipani, whose fragrance was oppressively strong. It was a
great relief to get outside of the moss-grown edifice, far away from
the horrible din and the terribly offensive smell, which permeated not
only the place, but one's clothing for hours afterwards.

There are seven other temples and chapels at Kandy, belonging to
different denominations, besides two Buddhist ecclesiastical colleges.
The Malwatta temple is worth a visit, it being the most important
Buddhist monastery, where all the priests of the order in Ceylon, upon
assuming the yellow robe which is their badge of office, come to
formally utter their solemn vows. These bronzed priests, in
saffron-colored, toga-like robes, followed by an attendant carrying a
yellow silk umbrella, are rather striking figures in the thoroughfares
of this inland town. In the time of the late king, no one but his
imperial majesty and the priesthood were permitted to carry an
umbrella, but men with no other covering from the sun but a cloth
wound about the hips carry this article in our day, and derive much
comfort from the shade it affords.

The less said about what these natives call music the better. Indeed,
it would seem as though oriental music was invented only to torment
European ears. Ivory horns, tom-toms, fifes, and the rudest sort of
bass drums are the instruments most in use with the Singhalese, a few
Chinese stringed contrivances being occasionally added, simply
increasing the horror. The sounds of the latter instruments resemble
most the cries of a pugnacious conclave of tomcats on the rampage at
midnight. The query forcibly suggests itself in this connection, as to
whether the instrumental music of western civilized people can
possibly sound to these orientals so uncouth and so hideous as do
their own performances to us.

In the porch of the Kandy temple and its immediate vicinity, just as
one sees in and about the Roman Catholic churches of Europe, are
groups of wretched-looking beggars, at all hours, most of whom, after
the conventional style prevailing elsewhere, exhibit some physical
deformity which is their stock in trade. Some of these endeavor to
excite sympathy by thrusting self-inflicted wounds before the
stranger's eyes,--wounds which are kept in a chronic condition of
soreness by various irritating processes adopted for this purpose. One
cannot but be impressed as much through the picturesqueness of the
scene presented by the half-naked, ragged, cadaverous throng as by the
sad moral which these poor creatures suggest. There are adroit and
ingenious beggars all over the globe, and nowhere do they more abound
than in the East; individuals amply able to care for themselves, but
who prefer to exercise persistent industry and cannibalism, so to
speak, in living upon their fellow-men. The same degree of assiduity
practiced in legitimate business or useful occupation of almost any
sort would insure ample and respectable support. Begging and painted
distress are indigenous to all climes.

Who that has ever been in Paris does not remember an old woman, neatly
but plainly dressed, who sits daily, rain or shine, at the corner of
the Boulevard Capucine and the Place de l'Opéra. She has sat there
for years, and sits there still, with two wooden stumps in place of
legs very conspicuously displayed. She does not speak to passers-by,
nor does she ever solicit charity, but she accepts with grateful
significance the silver and copper coins which are constantly dropped
into her lap by a sympathetic public. The average man or woman who is
able to be charitable is more or less practically so, and it is
gratifying to indulge the creditable instinct. This woman of whom we
have spoken had a daughter married not long since, on which occasion
she received a dowry from her wooden-legged mamma of fifty thousand
francs!

Let us not always be critical; if the object of our charity is really
unworthy, then we have given our mite to humanity.

There is a very pleasant drive which the visitor to Kandy must not
forget to enjoy. We refer to Hindo Galla, where a unique Buddhist
rock-temple may be visited among a wilderness of boulders. There are a
score of priests in charge, quite ready to act as cicerones to
visitors. The available grounds about the temple are crowded with
palms, tree-ferns, and flowers. There is also a fine old bo-tree
dominating the place, which attracts the usual devotional attention of
all true believers, and concerning the antiquity of which there is the
usual amount of credulity.

About eight or nine miles from Kandy on the road towards Colombo, at
the village of Angunawela, is an old Buddhist temple, which stands on
the summit of an almost perpendicular rock. This edifice is in
excellent preservation, and is a fine specimen of Kandian temple
architecture. One is well paid for a visit to Angunawela and its local
attractions.




CHAPTER XIII.

     Ceylon the Mecca of Buddhism.--The Drives about
     Kandy.--Fruit of the Cashew.--Domestic Prison of Arabi
     Pasha.--"Egypt for the Egyptians."--Hillside
     Bungalows.--Kandy Hotels at a Discount.--The Famous
     Botanical Garden of Ceylon.--India-Rubber-Trees, Bamboos,
     and Flying Foxes.--Dangerous Reptiles in the Garden.--The
     Boa Constrictor.--Success of Peruvian-Bark Raising.--Vicious
     Land Leeches.--The Burrowing and Tormenting Tick.--Where
     Sugar comes from in Ceylon.


Ceylon is the classic ground of Buddhism and Kandy is its Mecca,
whither trend the devout followers of the prophet in myriads yearly.
Rock-cut temples and other shrines are scattered over the hilly
portions of the island, some of which are large, some small, but each
one having a stone image of Buddha wrought after the conventional
pattern. Most of these cave-temples are over a thousand years old, and
some are twice that age, overgrown by jungle vines and tall palms.
Next to Christianity, Buddhism is the most widely diffused religious
institution in existence. Its code of morals, taken as a whole, is as
perfect as the world has ever seen formulated. Does the reader
understand that most of the great truths and wise axioms designed as
rules of life which are prescribed in our Bible are found in the
Buddhist scriptures? Above all, let us remember that the followers of
this ancient oriental creed, professed at this writing by one third
of the human family, have never shed a drop of blood to make a
proselyte.

The drives about Kandy are over the most excellent roads, to follow
which is like threading the paths of a continuous garden, while the
air is laden with the fragrance of sweet-smelling lemon grass.
Home-like, picturesque bungalows dot the hillsides as well as the
shores of the lake already described. The roads which lead around the
hills afford beautiful views; both far and near, turn where we may,
the locality is full of pictures, enduring, and lovely to recall. This
especially applies to a perfectly constructed road, known as Lady
Horton's Walk, the views from which are indescribably beautiful. It is
a broad, winding way around one of the most prominent hills, designed
and constructed by the wife of Sir Wilmot Horton. As to the fragrant
lemon grass, it covers most of the hillsides in the more open mountain
districts of Ceylon, and is particularly abundant in the central
province. There is an essential oil produced from this pungent grass
which is known in commerce as citronella, a delightful and universally
favorite extract. Wild blackberries and raspberries abound in this
district. There is a peculiar fruit found here as well as elsewhere in
the island, called the cashew, which persists in outraging all our
ideas of consistency by producing its nut outside of the skin. This
recalls a somewhat similar eccentricity exhibited by cherries in
Australia, which have the stone which forms their seed on the
exterior instead of the inside centre, like good, wholesome,
well-behaved cherries in our own country. The fruit of the cashew is
not palatable, but its juice, when distilled, produces a strong
intoxicating spirit. The nuts are edible when roasted like chestnuts.

In one of the large villa-bungalows nestling on the hillside
overlooking the verdant amphitheatre of Kandy lived that notable
political prisoner, Arabi Pasha, with his ample harem and a host of
body servants, forming a bit of Egyptian domestic life transported
bodily to this Indian isle. It will be remembered that he was exiled
from Cairo by the English about twelve years since, because he was a
famous and successful fighting general among his people, his special
battle-cry being "Egypt for the Egyptians." One feels a lingering
sympathy for a man who fought bravely for the liberty of his country,
very nearly conquering the British troops on the sanguinary field of
Tel-el-Keber; yet this man deserves more blame than praise, for it was
he who recklessly burned Alexandria, and caused a reign of
assassination in that devoted city for many terrible days. Though a
prisoner like the first Napoleon when held at St. Helena, Arabi has
never hesitated to freely express his political opinions, bitterly
condemning his conquerors. He is still--and very properly we
think--the ardent advocate of "Egypt for the Egyptians," and even in
his advanced years would promptly head a rebellion against English
rule in his native land, were he at liberty to do so.

A report has lately been circulated that Arabi Pasha has been
permitted to return to Egypt, but as to its truth the author cannot
answer.

Each of these hillside dwellings, like that occupied by Arabi Pasha's,
covers a large space of ground. They are seldom over one story in
height, and have a tall, steep-pitched roof of red tiles or thatch,
and wide verandas running entirely round the whole structure, half
covered by thrifty creepers and flowering vines. The roof generally
reaches beyond the veranda until it ends six or eight feet from the
ground. The interior of the dwelling is dark and cool, as the doors
and windows all open beneath the shade of the roof. No sunshine can
penetrate these dwellings, and consequently there is an inevitable
unwholesome dampness ever present inside them.

The population of Kandy amounts to some twenty-two or three thousand,
embracing but a few Europeans,--that is, comparatively speaking. Those
of the latter class not included in the government departments are
mostly interested in tea, coffee, or cinchona raising, in the
immediate neighborhood. The Europeans have established two small
hotels, or at least they are called hotels; but any one obliged to tax
their hospitality for a considerable length of time has our sincere
commiseration.

The author's experience on the occasion of his first visit to Kandy
in the matter of hotel accommodation was not especially agreeable.
Passing over the abundance of insectivorous annoyances,--centipedes
upon the walls, gigantic cockroaches on the floor, and ants upon
everything,--it was rather severe to be obliged to remove one's bed
from beneath a leaking roof, which admitted a steady stream of water.
When it rains in these latitudes, it does so by wholesale; not in
little pattering drops, but in avalanches and miniature Niagaras.
However, a large tub being produced, we were lulled to sleep by the
dull sound of dripping water, to awake next morning and find the
receptacle overflowing. The novelty of the situation often smooths
over the keen edge of discomfort. The fireflies that night floated
about the chamber in such numbers as to dispute the illuminating power
with the primitive light supplied to guests, which consisted of a
small button of cork, with a bit of cotton wicking, floating upon a
shallow dish of cocoanut oil.

There are several missionary chapels in Kandy, besides an Episcopal
church, a library, and a reading-room for public use. Very little
visible business seems to be transacted here, but as to the natural
surroundings of this inland capital, the scenery, the arboreal
beauties, and the floral charms, too much cannot be said in
commendation. It seems to a casual visitor to be the most attractive
district in the island, forgetting, as every reasonable traveler
learns to do, the few local annoyances.

The justly famous Botanical Gardens of Ceylon form a marvel of plant life,
and are situated about three miles from Kandy proper. The grounds are
entered through a grand avenue of india-rubber-trees, whose tall,
widespread branches are heavy with polished dark green, leather-like
leaves, vividly recalling the splendid avenue of palms in the public garden
of Rio Janeiro, situated behind the tall peak of the Corcovado,--"the
Hunchback." This garden of Ceylon occupies about a hundred and fifty acres,
and is surrounded on three sides by the Maha-velle-Ganga. The
india-rubber-trees are buttressed by large, exposed white roots, very
anaconda-like at first view, showing that this tree draws its subsistence
largely from atmospheric air. The roots often spread a hundred and fifty
feet in diameter, so twisted and peculiar in shape that the natives call it
the snake-tree. The removal of the milk-white secretion by tapping does it
no apparent injury, it being a distinct product, flowing in a different
channel, it would seem, from the sustaining sap. We were informed that a
healthy, full-grown tree might be drawn upon daily for two thirds of the
year with good results. The Ceylon species of the india-rubber-tree is not
nearly so productive of the peculiar secretion which makes its value as
those which are indigenous to South America. Indeed, it is not a native of
this Indian island, but was introduced by the Portuguese while they held
sway. No attempt is made here to produce the article known as gutta-percha
in commercial quantities, and, indeed, the tree is not sufficiently
abundant in Ceylon. The headquarters of this industry are at Pará, on the
coast of Brazil, where the product of the india-rubber-tree forms the great
staple of the exports, and its collection in the neighboring forests gives
employment to a large share of the native population.

This elaborate garden, one league south of Kandy, probably forms the
choicest and most extensive collection of plant life in the world. It
is, except for the nature of its tropical vegetation, like a well-kept
European conservatory or park, ornamented by choice lawns and
magnificent groups of trees, special families being arranged together.
The average temperature here is recorded at 77° Fahr. This, together
with the natural and abundant moisture, insures the very best results.
A small stream runs through the middle of the grounds, widening here
and there into a tiny lake, where a great variety of aquatic plants
thrive luxuriantly, including the gorgeous and ever attractive lotus,
together with many other examples of the lily family. This garden has
been organized for about seventy-five years,--to be exact, it was
opened in 1819,--during which period the original idea has been well
adhered to, of introducing by its means such plants as are not
indigenous, but which might, if cultivated here, be of real benefit to
the inhabitants. Fortunately, it has always been presided over by an
enthusiastic and scientific horticulturist. All kinds of useful
vegetation of tropical regions are represented, their nature studied,
and a record kept of the same, while seeds, cuttings, fruits, and the
like are freely distributed to farmers and planters, European and
native. The variety of palms in these grounds is a revelation to the
average visitor, as few persons know how many distinctive examples
there are of this invaluable member of the arboreal family of the
East, some of which are stupendous in size. We have been told that the
garden contained two hundred and fifty distinct varieties of the palm,
but one may reasonably have doubts as to so large an aggregate. Among
them are talipots, palmyras, cocoanuts, the slender areca, the date
palm, and the fan palm, already described, spreading out its broad
leaves like a peacock's tail. This is often called the traveler's
tree, because the trunk is never without a supply of pure water with
which to quench his thirst. When pierced with a knife at the juncture
of the stems, it yields copious draughts of water. Here one sees palms
from Cuba, Guinea, China, Africa, and Brazil, each exhibiting some
special characteristics of importance, and all thriving, together with
clumps of climbing rattans. These latter, not thicker than one's
finger, yet wind about the trees from two to three hundred feet in
height, having the longest stem of any known plant. Small groves of
nutmegs, cloves, mangoes, citrons, and pepper-trees attract the
visitor's attention, together with budding cinnamon and cardamom
bushes; nor must we forget to mention the fragrant vanilla-tree, which
to the author recalled a delightful experience in far-away southern
Mexico, where a mountain side near Oxala was rendered lovely and
delicious by the profuse growth of this flavoring product of the
tropics.

Here and there a tall, thrifty acacia is seen, suffused with
golden-yellow bloom in rich profusion. Excepting the California
pepper-tree, with its drooping clusters of useless but lovely scarlet
berries, the varieties of the acacia are unrivaled as beautiful shade
trees. When in full bloom, under the dazzling rays of an equatorial
sun, they seem to be all on fire, forming a strong contrast to the
prevailing dark green of the tropics.

The flower of the cinnamon-tree is white, and when a range of country
containing many acres in bloom comes into view, the effect is very
beautiful. The best cinnamon gardens are nearest to the sea coast, and
those so situated produce the most pungent bark. On the occasion of
our visit, special notice was taken of a group of bamboos in the Kandy
garden, the bright yellow stems being over a hundred feet in height,
and each stem at the base measuring from eight to ten inches in
diameter. It was a native of the spot, and, as we were assured, was a
chance development. The rapidity of its growth, which is a remarkable
characteristic of this tropical grass,--for that is its family,--is
almost incredible. The cluster here spoken of was a little more than
ninety days old, and, as the superintendent informed us, it increased
in height twelve inches and more each twenty-four hours. This group of
bamboos formed a grove by itself, two hundred feet in circumference,
its feathery, misty foliage yielding gracefully to every pressure of
the breeze, softly fanning the surface of the still water on whose
brink it flourished. The bamboo, like the palm, is one of the most
valuable and universal products of the tropics. It would require an
entire volume to enumerate the various uses to which these two are
applied by native skill. The division of the garden called the fernery
is a delightful resort, presenting a collection ranging from the
low-growing maiden-hair to the tall tree-fern with broad-leaved,
tufted top and declining branches.

One can well understand how easily a botanist may become absorbed in
the study of this interesting family of plants. The variety and
delicacy of form which they exhibit is infinite, ranging from the
minutest specimens, almost like moss, to trees of thirty feet in
height, with palm-like plumes. In the famous gardens just outside of
Calcutta, the author visited a large conservatory occupied solely as a
fernery, in which over thirty thousand specimens were classified.

Mischievous flying foxes abound in the neighborhood of Kandy, proving
a serious annoyance to the planters, often taking the lion's share
when the fruit is ripe, always selecting with greedy intelligence the
most desirable product of the trees. They move in flocks, a hundred or
more together, stopping where-ever the food is most inviting. The
natives seem to have a mysterious dread of and never touch them, but
European hunters sometimes kill and eat them, declaring the flesh to
be much like that of the hare. The creature measures nearly three feet
between the tips of its extended wings. The flying fox is unable to
take flight from the earth, and if found there can easily be caught,
nor can they run under such circumstances, but, waddling along, seek
the nearest tree-trunk, which they ascend with great ease by means of
their long, sharp claws. From the branches they throw themselves with
a strong impetus, skimming for considerable distances through the air,
like the flying squirrel of the low latitudes, and the flying possum
of Australia. This last animal, like the kangaroo, is found only in
the country just named, where the natives, having no religious
compunctions as to the sacredness of animal life, kill the possum and
feast heartily upon its body roasted in hunter's style.

It is not quite safe to walk in the moist and thickly overgrown parts
of this garden of Peradenia,--the local name,--as there are dangerous
snakes which one is liable to encounter, besides other reptiles of low
latitudes, not always poisonous, but best avoided. Professor Haeckel
tells us how terrible he found the nuisance of mosquitoes and stinging
flies in this tropical garden. "There are of course mosquitoes
certain in all such places," he says, "but far more dangerous than
these annoying insects are the poisonous scorpions and millepeds, of
which I have collected some splendid specimens,--scorpions six inches
and millepeds a foot long." The chameleon is not so common as the
last-named creatures to which the professor refers, and is not so
noticeable, since its nature is to closely reflect the color of the
tree or stone on which it may chance to rest for the time being. They
are not liable to be detected unless in motion.

The ticpolonga, a deadly snake, the terror of the natives, is often
found in this garden. The largest snake in Ceylon is the boa or
anaconda, which is often seen here measuring over twenty feet in
length. It feeds mostly on small animals, and is very little feared
either by the natives or Europeans. It is not an agreeable sight,
nevertheless, as the reader may suppose, to see a large boa moving
along the ground near one's person, and free to act its own pleasure.
Their deadly coil about any animal is almost sure death. The many
vivid stories which have been published about the aggressive nature of
this creature are, we believe, mostly exaggerations. The poisonous
cobra, whose bite is as fatal as that of our dreaded rattlesnake, is
much more to be feared under ordinary circumstances. The larger snake
must be very hungry and greatly annoyed to induce it to attack any
other than small animals like a rabbit or a rat, and as a rule they
avoid the presence of human beings. Nevertheless, a boa will sometimes
be seized with an aggressive purpose without any apparent cause. This
has been proved in several instances where, after having been freely
handled in a museum for months without harm, the creature has suddenly
applied its great muscular strength to the purpose of strangling the
exhibitor, winding its body with lightning-like rapidity about his
throat and body. Under such circumstances, the life of the man has
been saved by the instant action of associates, who severed the
snake's body in several places with sharp knives. Any other attempted
relief would have led to an increase of the strangling process. In one
instance, at an exhibition in this country, it was necessary to cut
the snake away piecemeal with a butcher's knife before the terrible
muscular contraction of its body was relaxed. It was accomplished none
too soon, as the insensible victim was already nearly dead, and was
only resuscitated after prolonged and skillful effort.

When the coffee planters of this central district were almost in
despair at the failure of their coffee crops, owing to the blight
already described, the director of the Botanical Garden called their
attention to the importance of devoting their lands to other purposes.
The possibility of cultivating the cinchona-tree to advantage was
suggested, as well as the raising of tea. Both these plans were given
a trial, and were gradually adopted. Now, both industries flourish
vastly in Ceylon, to the mutual advantage of the planters and the
world at large. The seed of the cinchona-tree is first planted in
nurseries, and when a year old the plant is removed to prepared
grounds, where it makes rapid progress. The tree does not begin to
yield the bark which constitutes its peculiar value until it is seven
or eight years old, when a ready market is found for all that can be
produced, and at fairly remunerative prices. The latest statistics to
which the author could gain access showed that five years since,
Ceylon was exporting sixteen million pounds of the medicinal bark
annually, an aggregate which would rival nearly any South American
port, Peruvian or otherwise.

While in this vicinity, one of our party was bitten in several places
on the lower limbs by what proved to be land leeches, a species of
this small creature which lives in dry grounds and also upon trees,
burrowing in the bark. From the proportions of a darning-needle, this
active and somewhat venomous little pest swells to the size of a
pipe-stem, when it becomes filled with blood. Their bite often creates
a painful sore, especially if one's circulation happens to be in an
unhealthy condition. To protect themselves against this abomination,
Europeans wear what are called leech-gaiters, reaching up to the
knees, made from stout, close-knit canvas, or russet leather. The true
water leech also abounds in the marshes and ponds of the island, and
is quite destructive to animals which frequent these places. Domestic
buffaloes seek the ponds in which to submerge their bodies to get rid
of stinging flies and voracious mosquitoes, but they sometimes lose
their lives by the combined attack of these more formidable enemies,
the water leeches. After one of these bloodsuckers is fairly fixed
upon the body of man or beast, it will not give up its hold until it
has drawn its fill of blood. When this condition is reached, the leech
drops off, and, like a snake after a hearty meal, it becomes dormant
for a long time.

There are plenty of reptiles in all parts of Ceylon, but, as we have
said, they keep mostly hidden from human beings. The gardens and woods
are infested with ticks, so called, resembling small crabs, and armed
with similar forceps with which to torment their victims. One almost
requires a microscope to see these little black atoms, though they
possess gigantic ability to inflict painful and highly irritating
bites. This insect quickly buries itself under the skin, where it
creates a lasting sore unless it is thoroughly eradicated, together
with the poison that surrounds it. The natives use cocoanut oil as a
preventive to the attack of the ticks, and it is true that they will
drop from any spot where they encounter this pungent lubricator. In
some parts of Ceylon, the leech pest is so prevalent as to render
whole districts quite uninhabitable by human beings.

At Kandy as well as in the vicinity of Point de Galle, frequent
attempts have been made to establish sugar plantations, but the soil
or the climate, or both, proved to be unfavorable to the growth of the
cane. Natives, here and elsewhere, raise a few hills of it about their
cabins, which they chew for its sweetness, when the stalk becomes
sufficiently ripe; it is especially the delight of children, under
this condition. With the aid of proper fertilizers there would seem to
be no good reason why sugar-cane could not be profitably grown in
Ceylon.

The species of palm familiarly known as the jaggery palm is largely
cultivated in the central province of the island. Its sap is boiled
down so as to produce a coarse brown sugar, which is much used by all
classes in its crude state. Why it is not refined for more delicate
purposes, since the sugar-cane is not available, it is impossible to
say. Farina is also extracted from the pith of this palm, forming, as
is well known, a very palatable and nutritious food. The indolent
natives must be spurred by foreign enterprise into obtaining this
valuable article of export, before they will labor to procure it.
Open-handed Nature, in her bounteous liberality, spoils these heedless
children of the tropics.

Near Kurunaigalla, one of the ancient capitals of the island, situated
about sixty miles northeast of Colombo and ten or twelve miles north
of Kandy, there are some very interesting ruins, together with
several enormous boulders of red rock, which somehow strike one as
being very much out of place. They are too enormous to have been
transported by glacial action, by which method we account for the
position of so many big boulders in the northern portions of our own
continent. One of these in the neighborhood we are speaking of is
called "The Elephant's Tusk," towering six hundred feet into the air;
but why it is thus named is not obvious. There are very old plumbago
mines hereabouts, and a group of mouldering stone lions, elephants,
and a figure designed to represent that fabulous creature, the
unicorn. These recall somewhat similar groups one sees in the wilds of
continental India, mementos which are believed to antedate by ten or
fifteen centuries the origin of the famous "buried cities" of Ceylon.




CHAPTER XIV.

     Fifty Miles into Central Ceylon.--Gorgeous Scenic
     Effects.--Gampola.--The Singhalese Saratoga.--A Grand
     Waterfall.--Haunts of the Wild Elephants.--Something about
     these Huge Beasts.--European Hunters restricted.--An Indian
     Experience.--Elephants as Farm Laborers in Place of
     Oxen.--Tame Elephants as Decoys.--Elephant Taming.--Highest
     Mountain on the Island.--Pilgrims who ascend Adam's
     Peak.--Nuera-Ellia as a Sanitarium.--A Hill Garden.


From Kandy to Neura-Ellia--"Royal Plains"--(pronounced Nuralia) is a
pleasant drive of fifty miles through the Ramboda Pass, which is
justly celebrated for its series of beautiful waterfalls and
boisterous rapids, affording frequent views of great magnificence. It
is safe to say that in this respect it is the most remarkable part of
the island. The entire route is about six thousand feet above sea
level. At first the course of the Maha-velle-Ganga is closely
followed, the river being crossed at Peradenia by a somewhat
remarkable bridge, consisting of a single arch or span of a little
over two hundred feet, built of satinwood, with stout brick and stone
abutments. The bridge was erected in 1832, without the aid of a single
nail or bolt, and is apparently in perfect condition to-day. The
railway bridge crosses the stream below this point not far away,
resting upon three substantial stone piers. The centre of the
first-named structure is raised between sixty and seventy feet above
the ordinary flow of the water, which is generally of quite a placid
character, but at certain seasons of the year its volume and force are
such as to form a sweeping and dangerous torrent. When this is the
case, there are often borne upon the flood large cocoanut and other
trees, which have stood for many years upon the river's banks, until
thus undermined by the swift-flowing waters. The effect is then very
singular. The trees, which have thus been suddenly transported from
their birthplaces in a growing and often fruit-bearing condition, pile
themselves up after a most extraordinary fashion, forming what is
technically called a "jam."

The hillsides, as seen from the satinwood bridge, are terraced with
rice-fields, while in the distance stands the Allegalla Peak, an
isolated mountain thirty-four hundred feet in height, in connection
with which there are several Singhalese legends, each one more or less
impossible. This element, however, only makes the stories all the more
palatable to the native appetite.

This route takes one through Gampola, which, though it is
insignificant enough at the present time, was the native capital of
Ceylon nearly five hundred years ago. The place is situated amid a
grand panorama of magnificent hills on the banks of the river already
named, which is here crossed by a suspension bridge. The road from
this point to Neura-Ellia begins to ascend the hilly region along the
face of steep acclivities and precipitous banks. One can nearly reach
Neura-Ellia by rail, but the route we have described is by far the
most interesting in point of scenic effects.

This is a Singhalese watering-place, the Saratoga of the island, the
one popular health resort of the wealthy natives, as well as of
strangers and English officials whose headquarters are on the sea
coast. It is situated a little over one hundred miles eastward from
Colombo, at an elevation of nearly seven thousand feet, while the
surrounding mountains are between one and two thousand feet higher.
The English government has established a sanitarium here for invalid
soldiers, and a small detachment of infantry is always stationed on
the spot, more for form than because of any real necessity. It is a
region where cool, gray skies and frequent rains prevail, and where a
fire is needed most of the year, and indeed it is almost a necessity
after sunset at all seasons. The thermometer never rises above 70°
Fahr., and the average temperature is 60°. The change from oven-like
Colombo in midsummer to the air of this invigorating region is truly
delightful. When the author was at Neura-Ellia, early in January
(being at our antipodes, it was then summer in Ceylon), the weather
was lovely, his companions were cultured, appreciative, and
sympathizing, and everything joined in producing a store of delicious
and lasting memories. The strong, invigorating mountain breezes were
most enjoyable after a period of oppressive heat endured on the coast.
The locality recalled a somewhat similar experience in passing from
Calcutta to Darjeeling, an English sanitarium near the foot of the
Himalayan range of mountains, overlooking the plains of Hindustan on
the one hand, while on the other affording a view of that series of
mountains whose loftiest point, Mount Everest, forms the apex of our
globe, its cloud-capped, sky-reaching summit being nearly thirty
thousand feet above the level of the sea.

There are several fairly good hotels at Neura-Ellia, two
banking-houses, a church, a club-house, and a large number of private
cottages scattered about the hills and valley, overlooking a lake of
some two miles in length and a mile in width. This has been stocked
with trout, and now affords a liberal supply of that palatable fish to
the residents.

Not far away, on the Fort McDonald River, there is a grand waterfall,
with a plunge of three hundred perpendicular feet into a dark and
narrow chasm. The river approaches this point over a long succession
of wild, swirling, and foaming cataracts, reminding one of the rapids
above Niagara Falls, though far inferior in breadth and the body of
water which they convey. The hoarse anthem and echo accompaniment of
the McDonald Falls, when heard for the first time, are truly
awe-inspiring.

One has not far to go in the surrounding mountain region to find the
haunts of the wild elephants. They are still to be met with in
considerable numbers, their capture being considered the great
achievement of the chase among hunters of large game. From here
Hindustan has drawn its supply of these animals for many centuries.
The elephant rarely breeds in servitude while domesticated for the use
of man, but in its wild state is a prolific animal, otherwise Ceylon
would long since have been cleared of them. The mother elephant
carries her infant twenty-two months, and after birth suckles it for
two years. The female does not attain her maturity until she is
fifteen years old; the male in his twentieth year. The mother elephant
gives birth to but one calf at a time; twins have never been known.
Small herds range these hills to a height of six thousand feet, where
the nights are often frosty and the cold quite severe. Though they are
natives of tropical regions, this animal seems to be but little
affected by the cold, always avoiding, when it is possible, the direct
rays of the sun. This peculiarity is noticeable in them even when they
are exhibited in our cold northern climate. Unless aroused by the
hunters and driven from deep, cool coverts in the dense forests, the
elephant remains hidden during the daytime. Their roaming for forage
and water, like that of most wild animals, is altogether nocturnal.
Their sustenance is principally the leafage of young shoots of trees,
the wild fig being their favorite. The tender roots of the bamboo
also form a large source of food supply. Rice, however, is the
elephant's choice above all other esculents, and sometimes a small
herd will devastate a whole plantation in a single night. The planters
generally build a bamboo fence about their rice-fields in the
districts liable to be visited by these animals. This would at first
thought seem to be entirely insufficient to keep off so powerful a
creature, but the fact is that a wild elephant in Ceylon is so wary
that he will not trespass upon land thus guarded. Some instinct
teaches him to avoid the place and to seek for food elsewhere. A
simple rope drawn about a field, it is said, will keep him at a
distance. He shrewdly suspects a trap, and has seen so many of his
comrades seized upon and carried away into captivity by means of
corrals, traps, and ropes, that he has learned to associate the idea
of capture with such things, and is constantly on the lookout lest he
also fall a victim to the stratagems of the huntsmen. It is common to
consider one hundred years as the average period of an elephant's
life, but the author has seen an animal doing service in India which
was known to exceed this limit by a score of years.

European sportsmen, attracted to Ceylon in search of this big game,
sacrificed the elephants in mere wantonness until government
interfered, and a heavy fine is now imposed upon any one who kills an
animal of this species. There is no danger of the natives doing
anything of the kind. In the first place they have not the
inclination, and in the next they are not permitted to own firearms of
any sort. Some rich and reckless Englishmen, nevertheless, kill an
occasional elephant simply for the sake of boasting of their prowess,
and pay the government fine accordingly. We say the natives have no
inclination to hunt the elephant, but the wild Veddahs do sometimes
kill them. The animals of this species found in Ceylon are of a
distinctive breed, with some marked differences from those native to
Africa, and are noted for their high degree of intelligence. They are
most prized in India, where they are used by those who can afford to
keep them. The intelligence of this monarch of the forest is shown in
his selection of the most available paths for passing from one part of
the country to another. Major Skinner, the famous road-builder of
Ceylon, tells us how invaluable he found the tracks of the elephants
as a guide in laying out his government routes through the island. He
says the most available crossings of hills, valleys, and rivers were
already distinctly marked by elephant paths, and he followed them with
entire confidence that his engineers could do no better for him, with
all their experience, aided by the most accurate instruments.

The Maharajah of Jeypoor, India, whose generous and regal hospitality
the author has enjoyed, sends elephants to bring his invited guests to
visit him, and also returns them to their residences in the same
manner. The animals which were employed on the occasion referred to
came originally from the Kandy hills in Ceylon. They were docile
creatures, which knelt at the word of command for us to mount to the
frame seats on their backs. Each carried six persons besides the
driver. We were told that it costs as much to feed one elephant as to
keep eight horses. This independent prince has a territory about the
size of Massachusetts, with a million and a half of contented
subjects. His capital--Jeypoor--is the finest and most thrifty native
city in all India, where, wonderful to say, there are no beggars, nor,
so far as a transient visitor could discover, nuisances of any sort to
complain of. It was a dusty season, as is well remembered, but the
streets and squares of the capital were being carefully sprinkled by
native water-carriers,--in a very primitive manner, to be sure, but
showing a due consideration for the comfort of the public.

There is a vast difference between a tame and a wild elephant; the
latter, when entirely subdued and domesticated, is of comparatively
little consequence. His main occupation in our country is that of
eating peanuts, candies, and fruit doled out to him by visitors to the
menageries, and the performance of a few highly sagacious tricks. In
their wild state they are the wariest and most cunning of all the
denizens of the forest. Nor are they devoid of courage and ferocity
when brought to bay, and many experienced hunters have lost their
lives in Ceylon while pursuing them. When domesticated in this island
they are of great service to the farmers, especially in plowing,
harrowing, and rolling the newly broken land. A cultivator which would
anchor half a dozen yokes of native bullocks is walked away with in
the easiest manner imaginable by a single elephant. They are
particularly sagacious in dam-building across streams, and in the
construction of bridges, placing the heavy materials just where they
are required, and even fitting large logs and stones in their proper
places. The amount of food which so large an animal requires is,
however, a serious drawback to their employment. Besides five or six
hundred pounds of green fodder, an elephant must eat at least twenty
pounds of some kind of grain daily, rice preferred, to keep him in
working condition. They are usually seen, in their wild state, in
small herds of ten or twelve, the majority being females, and
generally each one has a calf or baby elephant by her side. There are
also certain males, known as "rogues," that roam the forests singly,
generally vicious old creatures, discarded by their companions, and
always bent upon mischief. These are desperate in the extreme, often
courting a conflict with the hunters, fiercely charging them right and
left. Why they have been excommunicated from the ranks of their former
companions cannot be known, but they are always avoided, both by the
natives and by hunters. No attempt is ever made to domesticate a
"rogue" elephant. They recognize that they are forever ostracized from
the fellowship of their kind, and make no attempt to join other
elephants. The theory is that they have become permanently crazed.

It is well-known that all elephants are liable to brief periods of
delirium, during which they are very dangerous. When the symptoms of
such an occurrence begin to evince themselves, their keeper, always
prepared for such an event, doubles their chains and otherwise
securely confines them until the paroxysm is over. The recovery is
hastened by a brief period of starvation, neither food nor drink being
given the animal until he becomes entirely docile.

For a considerable time, there was an understanding that the rogue
elephant might be hunted and killed, when such an one made his
appearance, but this liberty was taken advantage of by sportsmen, and
when they killed an animal he was represented to have been a rogue
whether he was really so or not, and the authorities were therefore
obliged to enforce the law as regarded all these animals.

The Ceylon elephant is not of the ivory-producing species, though some
of the males do develop good-sized tusks like those of Africa. The
animals of this island have short "grubbers," as they are called,
protruding from their mouths eight or ten inches, with which they
uproot certain species of their favorite food, such as the tender
undergrowth of the juicy bamboo. Had the Ceylon elephant been an
ivory-bearing animal, he would probably have been more closely pursued
by the hunters, and have long since disappeared from the island, which
is so much more accessible than the wilds of Africa, whence the
world's supply is now almost wholly derived.

Strange to say, the elephant in his domesticated or tame state takes
absolute pleasure in acting as a decoy to enable the hunters to
capture wild ones. After the pursuers have, with the tame elephant's
help, driven the wild animal into a corral or stout inclosure in the
forest, and have also, still aided by the tame elephant, secured the
wild one by tying his two hind feet securely to some stout tree, he is
left for a day or two to strain and fret himself until he has fairly
worn out his strength, before he is again approached. Almost the
entire process of breaking in or training a wild elephant is that of
starvation. When at last his spirit is completely broken and his
strength gone for the time being, he becomes amenable to discipline,
almost as much so as one which has been in captivity for years. He
then partakes with eagerness of the food and water which is brought to
him, accepting the same as a sort of peace offering, and gradually
becomes attached to the keeper who has charge of him, and with whose
presence the creature associates the idea of relief and comfort. From
this time forward, firmness and kindness complete the taming process.
It is a mystery how and where they die in their wild state. No
corpses are ever found, except of those which have come to a violent
death by the bullets of the hunters. It is seldom that the animal is
now shot. This is only done in extreme cases, as a live elephant is so
much more valuable than a dead one that the object is now to corral
them, tie them up, and tame them.

The mountains encircling Piduru Talagalla are covered with trees to
their very summits, from a distance seeming to be wrapped in a rich
mantle of deepest green. This elevation is the loftiest on the island,
considerably exceeding Adam's Peak, the legendary apex of Ceylon, a
conclusion arising from the fact that the latter is to be seen from
the ocean before any other portion of the island, and long before the
lighthouse of Colombo is made out from on ship-board. The dense forest
in this region contains many wild animals besides elephants.

A high degree of religious importance attaches to the act of ascending
Adam's Peak, which is situated fifteen miles south of Neura-Ellia.
Consequently, at certain seasons of the year, the mountain side is
covered with pilgrims, who camp there during the night, and perform
their religious devotions on the summit during the day. A special
effort is made by the pilgrims to reach the top so as to see the sun
rise, and to meet its first rays upon bended knees in devout prayer,
like the ancient fire-worshipers. Steps are cut in the steep, rocky
sides of the precipitous ascent, to overcome the abruptness of which,
here and there, requires the aid of chains, which are fastened
securely in the solid rock for this purpose. Judging from the style
and condition of these, they have probably been in use for centuries.
Religious faith must be all-absorbing with a people, to bring them
such distances from northern India to bow down to a supposititious
footprint in Ceylon.

All Eastern people are famous for making distant pilgrimages to what
are considered sacred places, and especially Buddhists, who attach
immense importance to such performances.

Before leaving Neura-Ellia, let us say a word as to its fitness for
invalids, since Ceylon is becoming more and more of a resort for such
persons, especially those afflicted with weakness of the lungs. It may
be fairly questioned if this locality be not too damp for pulmonary
invalids. It is very often wrapped in cold, dense clouds for many
hours together, so that the air is heavy with a sort of Scotch mist.
Still, the place is growing, and many persons have great faith in its
sanitary importance. The number of English cottages is increasing, and
the hotels are well filled in the summer season. The cost of living at
this resort in the hills is so great that only those who have long
purses can afford it. Rents are high, and domestic articles of
consumption cost about double what is usually charged at Colombo,
whence nearly all table provisions are brought.

Six miles from here is an interesting hill garden, designed to
supplement that already described near Kandy, and which is under the
same able management. Flowers do not receive much attention in either
of these conservatories, useful and remarkable trees taking precedence
of all other forms of vegetation. Here one sees some examples of the
goraka, with its stem and branches quite yellow from the gamboge which
they exude; tall ferns like baby palms, fifteen feet in height; and
other peculiar trees clad in crimson bloom or blossoms of snowy
whiteness, together with some hardy fruits.

On approaching the coast, one often meets with what is called the
screw pine, but which, it would seem, should be called the screw palm.
It bears sword-like leaves, similar to the South American yucca, and
is decked with blossoms of wonderful fragrance. The most peculiar
characteristic of the tree, however, is its aerial roots, which are
thrown from the trunk above ground, but when they reach the soil they
take root in it and serve as props to the delicate stem. The effect is
grotesque and artificial.




CHAPTER XV.

     Port of Trincomalee.--A Remarkable Harbor.--How to get
     there.--Nelson's Eulogium.--Curious and Beautiful
     Shells.--Pearl Oysters.--Process of Pearl Fishing.--What are
     Pearls and which are most valued?--Profit to Government.--A
     Remarkable Pearl.--Tippo Sahib and Cleopatra.--The
     Singhalese not Sailors.--Ancient Ruins.--Hot Springs near
     Trincomalee.--"Temple of a Thousand Columns."--Valuable
     Supply of Ship Timber.--Salt Manufactures.--Tenacity of Life
     in the Shark.


It was long thought that Trincomalee, situated on the northeast coast
of the island, should be the commercial capital of Ceylon, because of
the excellent harbor facilities which it possesses, but various
circumstances turned the tide in favor of Colombo. Tradition tells us
that Trincomalee was founded by a colony of Malabars, many centuries
before Christ, antedating all authentic records relating to the
island. The earliest historic mention of the place refers to the
existence here of an ancient and very sacred Sivaite temple. Other
traditions touching the same period refer to a Tamil kingdom on the
opposite side of the island, ruled over by an Amazon princess, whose
capital was at Kudremale, where granite ruins, still plainly
discernible, give some authenticity to the story. Where Fort Frederick
now stands, at Trincomalee, was formerly the site of one of India's
most sacred shrines, whither pilgrims flocked annually from afar. The
harbor is remarkable for its depth of water, together with its ample
size and security against all sorts of weather which may be raging
outside of its limits. The entrance is between Fort Frederick on the
northwest and Foul Point on the southeast, and is over five miles in
width. As a strong current along the coast sets constantly to the
southward, there is always some trouble in making the port.

Trincomalee is situated about one hundred and eighty miles by land
from Colombo. The best way to reach it from the capital is by
embarking in a coasting steamer, which occupies ten days in making the
complete circuit of the island. Inland travel for long distances is
not enjoyable, and unless one has special purposes to subserve, it is
best avoided. The short and principal routes are, however,
comparatively good. There are a few rest-houses, as they are called,
owned and kept up by the government, where the traveler can find a
shelter beneath which to sleep, but that is about all; bed and bedding
he is supposed to carry with him. It is the same in India proper.
Hotels are to be found, as a rule, only in the large cities. One must
depend upon his own resources in traveling over this island, when off
the beaten tracks, and must carry along his domestic necessities.

Nelson, without due consideration we think, declared the harbor of
Trincomalee to be "the finest in the world." The place has a
population of about fifteen thousand, and is the most important
English naval station in the East, with an extensive dock-yard and
marine workshops for the refitting of large war-ships. But as to the
harbor being the finest in the world, that is an extraordinary and an
unwarranted expression. One is inclined to doubt if Nelson had visited
Sidney, Australia, Rio Janeiro, Brazil, or Nagasaki in Japan, when he
pronounced that eulogium upon Trincomalee. Hongkong, China, which name
signifies "good harbor," is infinitely superior to this vaunted port
of Trincomalee.

In the year 1672, during the possession of the island by the Dutch, a
French squadron surprised and took possession of the place, but the
Dutch immediately retook it.

The beauty, scenery, and general excellence of this harbor are
undoubtedly worthy of special mention. It is dotted with verdant
isles, and is securely land-locked, so that when the heavy monsoons
may be sweeping furiously along the coast, all is as calm inside of
Fort Frederick as an inland lake. Like the harbor of Sidney, the
entrance is dominated by two rocky headlands, but they are much
farther apart. The harbor has such depth of water as to enable vessels
of heavy draught to lie close to the shore and discharge or take in
cargo without the aid of lighters. This is a very unusual advantage in
Eastern waters. When the English took the place from the Dutch, they
added to the fortifications, intending that it should be the naval
port of the island for all time. It is the best harbor of refuge in
all India at this writing. One cannot but anticipate that England, in
the near future, must enter upon a great struggle to maintain her hold
of India. It may be from a well-organized uprising of the native
tribes, or it may originate from some outside nationality, seconded by
the natives themselves, but come it will, sooner or later. Then the
importance of Trincomalee as a naval station will be realized, while
Colombo, as a fortified depot, will be shown as second only to Malta
and Gibraltar. Trincomalee, it should be remembered, is four hundred
miles nearer to Calcutta than Colombo.

Scientists have found the harbor and immediate neighborhood of
Trincomalee remarkable not only for the reasons already named, but
more especially for its unique shells and interesting forms of marine
life. There are several groups of animals found here which creep upon
the bottom of the sea, and which are elsewhere unknown. All alongshore
one sees a queer little fish, three or four inches in length and of a
dark brown color, which has the capacity of darting along the surface
of the water, and of running up the wet stones with the utmost ease
and rapidity, as well as of creeping across the damp sand. It climbs
the smooth face of the rocks in search of flies and other insects,
adhering to the surface so firmly as to resist the assault of the
on-coming and receding waves. These little amphibious creatures are
so nimble that it is almost impossible to catch them with the hands.
The coast on this side of Ceylon has long been celebrated for the
beauty and variety of the shells which it produces, of which immense
quantities have been sent to various parts of the world. Pearl oysters
are found here in large beds, though they are obtained in greater
abundance farther north of Trincomalee, at a point ten or twelve miles
off the coast. Here, at a certain spot, beds have existed for
thousands of years, and are annually dredged for, or we should rather
say, dived for, by organized companies. Pearl oysters are also found
in large numbers in the Gulf of Manaar, between this island and the
continent of India. The season chosen for the pearl fishery, which
gives employment to large numbers of the natives, is naturally when
the sea is most calm, that is, between the termination of the
northeast and the commencement of the southwest monsoons. This period
occurs in March and the early part of April, when a fleet of pearl
fishermen may be seen anchored at the pearl banks, as they are called,
all under the supervision of a government officer, who controls the
operations.

The reader hardly requires to be told that these pearls for which
Ceylon is celebrated are found secreted within certain non-edible
oysters. The interior of this species of mussel is lined with a
beautiful transparent material called mother-of-pearl, which is
gathered and sent by the ton to Europe for delicate ornamental
purposes, especially for inlaid work. Sometimes one of these pearl
oysters will contain two or three valuable pearls, then a score or
more may be opened containing none. The divers work rapidly when
engaged in this peculiar business, fifty seconds being the average
time during which one can remain under water without coming to the
surface for breath. They descend by attaching a heavy stone to their
feet, the weight of which causes them to reach the bottom quickly,
where they rapidly gather all that can be got of the pearl oysters, in
so brief a period, into a wide-mouthed net, which is taken down with
them. At the proper signal, those who remain in the boat draw up the
net, while the diver, kicking off the stone from his feet, comes to
the surface with the speed of an arrow. In addition to the pearl
oysters, all sorts of curious marine animals, sea-slugs, black,
greasy, and hideous polypi, together with beautiful variegated shells,
come up in the diver's net. He works too rapidly while at the bottom
of the sea to discriminate as to the substances which he gathers.
After a few brief moments of quiet rest, inflating his lungs to the
full capacity, the diver descends, to again repeat his efforts
"fathoms deep."

Extravagant stories are told of these experienced pearl divers,
representing them as able to remain below the surface of the water for
four or five minutes. This is simply impossible. We were assured by
intelligent local authority that a minute and a quarter, that is,
eighty-five seconds, is as long as the best divers can remain below,
the average being considerably less. If the reader will try the
experiment of holding his breath under the most favorable conditions
and while not otherwise exerting himself, he will realize how very
brief is the time in which he can refrain from using his lungs. The
greatest depth at which the pearl oyster can be secured by the divers
is thirteen fathoms. This is nearly eighty feet, at which point the
pressure of the water is so great that the divers not infrequently
bleed at the ears on coming to the surface. It is curious to realize
that these gems which are so highly prized are composed of ninety per
cent. of the carbonate of lime.

Pearls found in the Gulf of Persia have the highest reputation, but it
must be a shrewd expert who can see any decided difference between
those which come from that region and these of Ceylon. Pearls are most
valued throughout India which have a slight golden blush or faint rose
tint, a prevailing characteristic of those found on this coast. Such
are esteemed above the finest white specimens, while the pure white,
if it has the proper lustre, is the European favorite. A true
connoisseur in pearls in this country rejoices in the rose-tinted
specimens of the gem. All colors are found on the coast of this
island,--pink, brown, and jet black.

The men employed on the coast of Ceylon are generally Tamils and
Moormen, who are well paid for their somewhat arduous services, as
wages are considered in this region, besides which, there is but a
short period in the year during which they can work at this
occupation. Sometimes they enter into a coöperative engagement,
sharing, that is, in the possible profits of the season, but as a rule
they prefer to receive prompt and sure wages, and to run no risk as
regards emolument. At this writing, there is a scarcity of pearl
oysters at the old beds, both in the Gulf of Manaar and off the
northeast coast. The pursuit of them has been so eager and exhaustive
that these bivalves have been nearly exterminated. With a wise purpose
of restoring their former abundance, the English government, which
always keeps a business eye upon the pearl fisheries, lately declared
a "close season," and in the mean time the valued pearl-bearers can
increase and multiply undisturbed. The pecuniary profit accruing to
the government of Ceylon from the pearl fisheries amounted in 1891 to
over a million rupees, while the result of some seasons' operations
has far exceeded this sum.

Not long since, a remarkable pearl was found on the northwest coast of
Ceylon,--remarkable for size and perfection of color,--at a point
where the pearl-fishing industry has been followed for thousands of
years. It would be natural to suppose that a very choice and valuable
gem of this sort would be sent to Paris, Vienna, or London, to find
the readiest and best market for its disposal, but this was not the
case. It was sent to Calcutta, where it realized to the owner a
fabulous sum, promptly paid by a native Indian prince, who retains and
would not part with it for any price. A valuable string of Ceylon
pearls ornamented the neck of Tippo Sahib, when he fell at the
storming of Seringapatam. We are also told that the pearl swallowed by
Cleopatra so long ago, when she drank to the health of Mark Antony,
came from this island.

The space over which the oyster banks extend on the northwest coast of
Ceylon is over twenty miles square in the lower part of the Gulf of
Manaar. If the oysters are gathered when too young the pearls are
small, almost valueless, and therefore a system of survey is carried
on by the English government. Buoys are regularly placed, within
which, and nowhere else on the banks, is fishing permitted during the
regular season set apart for the purpose. Some of the poorest of the
natives eat the pearl oyster, but it is neither palatable nor
wholesome. Perhaps a thousand years hence, people will be expatiating
upon the beauty of these most attractive gems of the Indian Ocean, and
natives will be diving for them.

It seems to be rather extraordinary that with so available a sea
coast, the Singhalese proper are in no wise a maritime people. Beyond
being good fishermen and good managers of boats of their own peculiar
construction, they have little or nothing to do with the ocean. They
scarcely ever embark as seamen for a long voyage, and have no ships of
their own. According to the records of Ceylon, this has been the case
from the earliest period. The Singhalese have ever been essentially an
agricultural race, a small portion devoting themselves to such simple
handicraft as life on the island demanded. They are not traders, even
in our day. Moormen, Syrian Jews, and Parsees monopolize that
occupation, and the few 'longshore sailors are all of the Tamil race.

The immediate district of Trincomalee is not populous, though the soil
is rich and the means of irrigation are abundant for a large number of
rice plantations. It is dependent upon other places for its constant
supplies of rice, fruits, and various necessaries, which are brought
from along the coast both north and south. Were it not for the
presence of the military and the occasional visit of English
squadrons, it would be nearly deserted. Sir Emerson Tennent, thirty
years ago, prognosticated great things for Trincomalee, but it will be
very long before it can come into competition with Colombo. The
breakwater was not in existence at the latter port when Sir Emerson
wrote. That important structure, with other harbor improvements, has
settled the question as to which shall be the permanent commercial
centre of Ceylon. There are several hot springs, eight miles from the
town, known as the Wells of Kannya. More than ordinary interest
attaches to this supply of hot water because of the absence of all
signs of volcanic action in the neighborhood. These hot springs, in
addition to the hygienic properties claimed for them, are much
resorted to by the devout, as they are dedicated to Kannya, the mother
of Rawana. Those who have lost near and dear friends by death come to
the wells to perform certain appropriate ceremonies. Hot springs
equally remarkable are found at or near Bintenne, Batticaloa, and also
at Badulla. The water of these flowing hot wells is said to be pure,
and of such temperature as to be fit for cooking. The natives of
Ohinemutu, New Zealand, boil their vegetables and meat in similar
springs, as the author can testify from personal observation. The
ruins of a temple dedicated to Ganesa show that this vicinity was
once, ages ago, the resort of worshipers of that god of wisdom. This
elephant-headed deity would seem to be an especially appropriate one
for worship in Ceylon, if any dumb animal is to typify such an idea.
In any instance, it does not seem so repulsive as the serpent worship
still in existence near Jaffna. Special medical virtues are claimed
for the waters to which we have referred,--the hot wells. It is stated
that fishes actually live in them where the temperature is 115°. Ten
miles north of the city are the largest salt works of the island, the
product of which is nearly all exported to Calcutta. Fifty thousand
bushels have been produced at Nillavelle alone in a single season,
though the "pans" are simple clay embankments, the construction of
which involves but little labor. The process of obtaining salt is to
expose shallow quantities of sea water to the intense rays of the sun.
Evaporation is rapid in these tropical regions. The saline crystals
remain, and are gathered from the pans.

It is recorded that an extensive range of temples dedicated to Siva
once existed here, but were leveled to the ground by the Portuguese,
who employed the stone material thus obtained for the building of the
local fortifications, in which stones crop out here and there, bearing
elaborate carvings and other evidences of having originally served
some other special purpose.

The few official buildings in Trincomalee are substantial and
serviceable structures, but the town is poorly arranged, and not very
interesting to a stranger. Even the bazaars are unattractive, though
these places in the East are always a study of local life. A few Hindu
temples give an oriental appearance, and, as we have shown, the place
is of great antiquity. It was once the site of a famous shrine,
visited by hordes of people from all parts of continental India, which
is reverentially mentioned in early records of the island as the
"Temple of a Thousand Columns." The author believes this to be the one
destroyed by the Portuguese, the material of which served them for
building purposes. Unfortunately, this is in the midst of a malarial
district, and is consequently avoided by Europeans, except those whose
official connections compel them to live here. Trincomalee, however,
has some great advantages as a commercial port which cannot be
ignored. The proper clearing of the surrounding jungles in the near
future, and the introduction of a system of modern drainage, will
eventually remedy this evil, at least in a considerable degree.

The neighboring district affords an unlimited supply of the valuable
teak timber, suitable for shipbuilding, together with ebony,
satinwood, ironwood, and other choice woods available for cabinet
work, which are exported in certain quantities, though not to a large
amount. The ironwood-tree is so named from its intense solidity and
durability. It also forms a highly ornamental tree when growing, and
is planted in large numbers near the temples. No one can fail to
admire its broad white flowers, which are marvelously fragrant, and
the rich, polished green of its foliage. It has another striking
beauty common to several species of tropical trees, namely, the young
leaves and shoots are so red as to clothe the tree at times with a
rich mantle of crimson, almost rivaling in effect the magnolia-like
blossoms. Hereabouts, but particularly to the northward on the Jaffna
peninsula, the palmyra palm is found in profusion, with its black
straight stem crowned by a thick sheaf of pinnate leaves. This tree is
said to live three hundred years. Of all the varieties of the palm,
the palmyra, with the exception of the date, has the widest
geographical distribution. The Tamils have a proverb to the effect
that "The palmyra lives for a lac of years after planting, and lasts
for a lac of years when felled."

An observant person occasionally notices a handsome, thrifty tree with
dark and abundant foliage, which bears a fruit as large as a lemon and
of the same color. Though this fruit resembles an orange and looks
quite tempting to the uninitiated, it is dangerous and to be avoided,
for within its pulp lies the seed which produces the deadly poison
known as strychnine. The natives believe it to be an antidote to the
poisonous bite of the cobra, but doubtless it would prove equally
fatal.

There is no deficiency of fruit trees in this north-western district.
The jack especially abounds with its valuable product, each one of
which weighs from ten to twenty pounds. The tamarind also thrives, and
yields its fruit without care or thought on the part of man. Here and
farther north the blue lotus with lilac petals is sprinkled over the
ponds and lakes in vast quantities.

There are some extremely interesting and mysterious ruins not far
inland from Trincomalee, which show remains of handsomely carved stone
work, such as the capitals of tall monoliths, but of whose real
history nothing is known. Even legend fails us here, and groping
conjecture is at fault. Two thousand years and more have passed away
since these structures were reared. Not only have the temples,
monuments, and palaces once existing here nearly crumbled into dust,
but it is even forgotten who their builders were. What a comment upon
the pride which gave them birth. What lessons history teaches us
touching this folly. Egyptian kings, ages ago, built pyramids to
contain their mummified bodies; in the nineteenth century of our
period, these mummies are sold to European museums as curiosities.

The salt marshes and lagoons in this vicinity are famous for the
multitude of aquatic birds and waders which frequent them. Among these
the prevailing species are egrets, herons, sandlarks, and plovers,
while in the jungle great numbers of the pea-fowl are to be met with
at all seasons of the year. The Ceylon pea-fowl, of which we have
before spoken, is remarkable for its size and the beauty of its
plumage. It is unmolested by the natives, but Europeans find the flesh
palatable and nutritious. All this country is stocked with a great
variety of small birds, such as finches, fly-catchers, thrushes, and
the ubiquitous sparrow, as well as their natural enemies, eagles,
hawks, and falcons,--birds of prey which exhibit most wonderful
sagacity in seeking for victims with which to appease their appetites.
They remain securely hidden until a small bird is seen upon the wing,
when they dart towards it with a rapidity quite impossible for the
human eye to follow. In a moment after the rapacious bird is first
seen, it is again observed sailing leisurely away to make a meal upon
the quarry clasped in its talons.

Though sharks are known to be common all along the coast of the
island, still in the harbor of Trincomalee they are particularly so,
where the huge saw-fish also abounds, from ten to twelve feet in
length, including the powerful weapon from which it derives it name.
Many lives have been sacrificed, first and last, to the man-eating
sharks in this beautiful harbor and along the neighboring coast, where
Europeans have been tempted to bathe in the cool, refreshing waters of
sheltered inlets. Some tragic stories are related to the stranger as
to the murderous doings of these monsters of the deep. It is a
singular fact that the dreaded sharks rarely if ever attack the
natives, and so far as we could learn no lives are sacrificed to them
by the pearl divers in the season of their operations. The author has
observed the same discrimination exercised between the whites and the
blacks by this destructive creature in the waters of the West Indies.
Inhabitants of St. Thomas, for instance, dive for sixpences thrown
into that land-locked harbor, with entire immunity from danger, but
certainly no white man would dare to bathe in the same place. Knowing
that sharks abound in the neighboring waters, one actually hesitates
when tempting the negro lads to dive for coins, though assured that
the sharks never molest them.

So also at Aden, situated at the mouth of the Red Sea, the
copper-colored natives of the straits of Bab-el-Mandeb dive with
entire confidence in those waters, for silver coin thrown from the
ship's deck; but were the body of a European sailor to strike the
water, it would be devoured by the sharks in a moment; at least, so we
were assured by our captain. Like the tiger and the crocodile, it is
said that a shark which has once tasted human blood neglects
henceforth all other sources of food supply in order to watch for the
bodies of men, women, and children. A shark has been known to follow a
ship closely five thousand miles across the ocean, from San Francisco
to Yokohama. The identity of the creature was established by the fact
that a part of a whale-lance protruded from its body, showing that it
had been wounded in some former encounter with seamen, perhaps in
their effort to rescue a comrade from its terrible jaws.

It may be proper to mention in this connection that the shark referred
to was finally captured before entering the harbor of Yokohama, by
means of a stout line and shark-hook baited with a large piece of salt
pork, and was promptly dispatched.

A special industry among certain natives in the vicinity of
Trincomalee is the collection and classification of marine shells,
which they do with a certain degree of scientific knowledge. They are
placed in neatly made satin wood boxes, and either sold to visiting
strangers or shipped to European markets. Sometimes the covers of the
boxes are beautifully inlaid with small shells. The profusion and
variety of these mineral sea flowers of Ceylon have long been known.
Conchologists visit the island solely to collect examples of their
favorite study. An earnest and intelligent collector might add many
treasures of species heretofore unknown, or rather undescribed, by
employing a dredge from a common boat, just off the northeast shore of
the island.

The edible oysters obtained hereabouts are really enormous, measuring
eight inches and more in length, and four or five in width. Such giant
oysters are not so inviting to the palate as those found on our own
shores, but they are cooked and eaten both by the natives and by
European residents. The natives make great use of shrimps or prawns,
which they mingle with other ingredients in forming their favorite
dishes of rice and curry.

The tortoises taken on this shore are thought to yield the best and
finest shell for combs. It was necessary, in behalf of a spirit of
humanity, to promulgate a law forbidding the roasting of tortoises
alive, and taking off their shells during the process, which was done
in order to obtain the shell of a finer lustre than is yielded after
the animal's death. It seems that a people whose religion forbids the
taking of life even in the case of the meanest insect can draw the
line at fish, and, calling the tortoise a fish, can proceed to be thus
outrageously cruel.

Tortoise-shell forms one of the most universal and attractive items of
native manufacture, and great skill is evinced by the natives in the
production of combs of various shapes, together with bracelets and
charms, the latter often mounted in silver. The workmen of Trincomalee
and Point de Galle have made a specialty of tortoise-shell
manufactures since the time of the Romans. Strabo, the Greek
geographer and historian, speaks of this. The pale yellow shell is the
rarest and most expensive. Like the choicest jewels, specimens of this
sort find the best market in continental India, but the home
consumption of shell combs is enormous; every male Singhalese of any
pretension in the southern part of Ceylon wears one, and the majority
wear two in their long, straight hair.

The manner of dress among the Singhalese, the mode of wearing their
hair, and the assumption of shell combs by the men afford singular
evidence of the unchanging habits of an Eastern race. Seventeen
hundred years ago, Ptolemy, speaking of these people, designates the
same peculiarities which exist to-day. "The men," he says, "who
inhabit Ceylon allow their hair an unlimited growth, and bind it on
the crown of their heads, after the manner of women." It is also
curious that this custom should be confined to the Singhalese of the
southwest coast near Colombo. It is not a custom of the interior, or
of the northern portion of the island.

Almost every stranger, upon first landing at the capital, speaks of
the effeminate appearance of the men. With their delicate features,
their lack of beards, their use of hair-combs and earrings, together
with the wearing of an article of dress almost precisely similar to a
petticoat, it is often difficult at first to distinguish them from the
other sex.




CHAPTER XVI.

     Point de Galle.--An Ancient Port, now mostly
     deserted.--Dangerous Harbor.--Environs of the City a
     Tropical Garden.--Paradise of Ferns and Orchids.--Neptune's
     Gardens.--Tides of the Ocean.--Severe Penalties.--Floating
     Islands of Seaweed.--Fable, like History, repeats
     itself.--Chewing the Betelnut.--An Asiatic Habit.--All
     Nations seek Some Stimulant.--Soil near Galle.--Cinnamon
     Stones.--Diamonds.--Workers in Tortoise-Shell.--Millions of
     Fruitful Palms.--Sanitary Conditions of Galle.


Next to Colombo, Point de Galle, with a population of about
thirty-three thousand, is the most important town in the island. The
port is somewhat difficult of access, and requires a local pilot to
effect a safe entrance, owing to the fact that there are several
sunken rocks very near the narrow channel. It is a treacherous harbor,
as all seamen trading upon this coast are well aware, and has, first
and last, swallowed up many a gallant vessel. Those early navigators,
the Phoenicians, the first really commercial people of whom history
informs us, made voyages to and from this port, and more than one
authority identifies it with the Tarshish of the Scriptures. Ptolemy
speaks of the Avium Promontorium,--"The Promontory of Birds,"--which
marks the entrance to Galle, and here the Arabians, in the reign of
Haroun al Raschid, came to meet the junks from China, and to
interchange merchandise with them. Sir Emerson Tennent, after
describing the charming first view of the place when he landed here,
says: "Galle is by far the most venerable emporium of foreign trade
now existing in the universe; it was the resort of merchant ships at
the earliest dawn of commerce. In modern times it was the mart of
Portugal and afterwards of Holland; and long before the flags of
either nation had appeared in these waters, it was one of the
entrepôts whence the Moorish traders of Malabar drew the productions
of the remoter East with which they supplied the Genoese and
Venetians, who distributed them over the countries of the West."

It is quite different at Point de Galle to-day. A significant state of
dullness reigns supreme in the ancient port, while the town seems to
be in a Rip Van Winkle sleep. How the early navigators so successfully
avoided the rocks and shoals of this coast, how they managed to
weather the confusing tides, hurricanes, and monsoons, is a mystery,
while so many of our stoutest ships, guided by experienced seamen, and
protected by all modern appliances, have been lost in the same tracks.
Is it possible that we of to-day are no better navigators than those
who sailed the Indian Ocean three thousand years ago? Were the voyages
of Columbus and his followers across the Atlantic in small,
half-decked caravels, miracles, or was the waste of waters so much
less tumultuous four centuries ago? A few steamships still make of
this place a coaling station, but these grow less in number annually,
though to maintain this small branch of business every facility is
freely given by the local authorities. If it were not that the English
officials devote all available pecuniary means and their tireless
energy to the advancement of the business interests of Colombo, quite
to the neglect of Point de Galle, the rocks which impede the entrance
of the latter port would long since have been treated to a liberal
dose of dynamite. Strangers express great surprise that these rocks,
which could so easily be demolished by well-known and inexpensive
means, should still be permitted to threaten navigation. We have seen
a record of thirteen steamships, up to January, 1893, which were
wrecked and entirely lost at various times, in attempting to enter the
harbor of Point de Galle. This is the more surprising because of the
general promptness of the English government in liberally furnishing
all possible marine improvements to her distant colonies.

The town is finely situated, crowning a steep, narrow, and rocky
promontory, on a bay opening to the south. The name Galle means, in
Singhalese, "a rock." The place is facetiously called, on the coast,
the metropolis of false stones and real glass gems. The snug harbor is
bordered by tropical vegetation to the very water's edge, including an
endless number of palms. The town is divided, like Colombo, into
European and native sections; the promontory, jutting southward, is
entirely occupied by the former, and is called the Fort. The
immediate environs of Galle form a natural tropical garden, over which
botanists never fail to grow eloquent, both on account of its variety
and its abundance of floral gems. One striking beauty in this
connection is the marvelous development of the fern family, which is
here seen as a low-growing creeper, and from that size to the
proportions of considerable trees, the feathery fronds varying from
lace-like consistency and size to that of broad and beautiful leaves
of various shades of green. As to orchids, the hothouse climate of
Ceylon develops them in marvelous beauty, both in the jungle and in
the open fields. Nowhere else has the author seen the extensive and
interesting family of ferns in such a state of thrift, except in New
Zealand.

The climate is equable, damp, and hot, thus forming a paradise for
ferns and orchids, which revel in their very opposite styles of
beauty. There are less than twenty degrees variation between the
warmest day and the coldest night of the year at Galle. The rankness
of the vegetation surrounding the town, and also its undrained, swampy
character, render it in some degree objectionable in point of health
to Americans and Europeans, though it is not nearly so much affected
in this respect as Trincomalee, where chills and fever always prevail
more or less among the foreign population.

Extensive and many-colored coral reefs lie at the foot of the rocks
which border the promontory in the harbor of Galle on the south and
west. The natives put this beautiful marine product to a very
unromantic use. Gathering it by the ton, they pile it up on the shore,
mingled with wood and dried seaweed, and burn it to powder, thereby
producing the lime with which the betelnut is mixed for chewing, as
well as employing it in the mortar used for building purposes. Among
these coral reefs one may see at any stage of the tide, when the sea
is calm, a similar display to that which delights the visitor at
Nassau, in the Bahamas,--submarine gardens, where various colored
animate and inanimate objects (if we may thus signify the difference
between animal and vegetable life), such as curiously shaped fish,
shells, and rainbow-hued anemone, form beneath the sea kaleidoscopic
pictures. Conspicuous among other varieties one sees the blue medusa,
twelve inches and more in diameter. Here also is the curious
globefish, with its balloon-like body and prickly hide. The clear
waters of the Indian Ocean show the bottom, lying four or five fathoms
below the surface, in charming colors and forms, like a well-arranged
flower garden, hedged about by strange water plants. The floor of the
sea, so to speak, is here studded with highly colored coralines and
zoöphytes. The observer will see swimming near the surface the queer
"flower parrot," so called, a fish having horizontal bands of silver,
blue, carmine, and green, with patches here and there of vivid yellow.
Verily, these Ceylon fishes display an oriental love of color. So
strong was the light from above that the hull of our small rowboat
cast its dark shadow fathoms deep upon the clear, white, sandy bottom.

These attractive marine spots where orange-yellow and emerald-green
mingle with ruby-red, and which are called coral gardens, we have
never seen surpassed, and only equaled in beauty of effect at Nassau.
The enchanting marine fauna and flora of the Indian Ocean are indeed
marvelous to one accustomed only to the cold, sandy ocean-bed of
northern latitudes. About three fourths of all kinds of seaweed are
now classed as animal, like the sponge, the coral, and the
sea-anemones; only one fourth are vegetable. Professor Rene Bache
tells us that the most thickly populated tropical jungle does not
compare in wealth of animal and vegetable life with a coral reef. On
the continental slopes, long stretches of bottom are actually carpeted
with brilliantly colored creatures closely packed together amid
forests of seaweeds.

There is so slight a rise and fall of the tide on the coast of Ceylon
that it is scarcely perceptible, never exceeding four feet and rarely
over three, but there are certain strong currents to be encountered on
both the east and west coasts, whose velocity is augmented by the
prevailing monsoon, and which cause some variations in the tide,
besides materially interfering with shore navigation.

No delights are wholly of a piece. All pleasures are qualified by some
inevitable conditions; temperate indulgence, even, has its price. As
he who enjoys with enthusiasm the delights of a tropical garden has
also to encounter the attacks of vicious mosquitoes, wiry land
leeches, stinging flies, biting scorpions, and poisonous cobras, so
the naturalist who dives among these submarine coral groves to secure
specimens, and to enjoy the marvelous sights below the surface of the
sea, meets with inevitable drawbacks. The millepora which float there
burn him like nettles; venomous fish sting his naked body, and
sea-urchins penetrate his flesh with their lance-like spines; while
the jagged points of the beautiful coral wound his hands like the
aggravating thorns on roses. These wounds inflicted beneath the water
sometimes entail serious consequences, creating painful sores which
last for weeks.

Off this southern coast of the island widespread moving fields of
brilliantly colored seaweed are seen at times, dense enough to form
quite an impediment to the progress of native boats which do not
successfully avoid them. So compact are these collections of vegetable
matter that they seem like a field of marshy land, rather than like a
floating substance. This weed gives shelter to many species of
mollusks and zoöphytes, quite similar to a collection of seaweed often
encountered in the waters of the West Indies. Over this marine verdure
hover great flocks of ocean birds. Now and then one alights to secure
some tidbit of edible substance detected by its keen vision amid the
thick branches and leaves. This mass of rockweed, so called, seems to
come from the Indian continent at the north, but the natives have a
theory that it is the cast-off growth of submerged islands, loosened
from its native soil by the chafing of the restless sea after the
raging of a severe storm. So the Singhalese have their "Atlantis;"
fable, like history, repeats itself. Plato tells us of a vast island
or continent, so named, which suddenly sank into the sea with a vast
population, nine thousand years before his time.

The natives here, and at Singapore, Penang, Colombo, and along the
Asiatic coast generally, when not sleeping or eating, are incessantly
chewing the betelnut, which, as before intimated, gives to their teeth
and lips a disagreeably suggestive color, as if they were covered with
blood. The men, and some of the women also, carry the means for this
indulgence about them at all times, secured in the folds of their one
garment wrapped about the loins. They inclose a piece of the nut in a
bit of green leaf, after adding a portion of quicklime, and thus form
a quid which they masticate with great earnestness, expectorating the
while as a person does who chews tobacco, for which it is an Eastern
substitute. Sometimes the mass is permitted to rest for a while
between the gums and the cheek, and though it is known to
occasionally produce cancer of the mouth, the natives give it not a
second thought. The betelnut is a tonic, though very little if any of
the nut is swallowed, nor is the saliva which it produces. In some
cases cardamom and pepper seeds are added to the quid to give it
pungency. It is claimed also that this combination counteracts
malarial influences, forming a preventive against fever, which attacks
natives as well as strangers in the lowlands. This habit becomes
inveterate with the Singhalese, just as smoking or chewing tobacco
does with those addicted to the weed. The men here would rather
abstain from food than from chewing this stimulating compound. It is
said that Europeans who have contracted the habit afterwards give it
up with equal difficulty. It is not alone the lower classes who chew
the betelnut. Persons of good social standing do it,--priests, native
officials, ladies in their boudoirs, and so on, just as some American
women are addicted to the secret use of cigarettes, wine, or liquor.

The practice of chewing the betelnut is so ancient in Ceylon, and
along the coast of India proper, that the Arabs and Persians who
visited these countries in the eighth century, or say a thousand years
ago, carried back the habit to their country, where it is still more
or less prevalent in the sea-coast district.

Thus mankind, civilized and barbarian, seek some stimulant other than
natural food and drink. In Europe and America, where tobacco is easily
obtained, it serves the purpose with the majority. In Peru, the
Indians universally chew the leaves of the coca for the stimulating
effect it produces. In China, opium takes the place of tobacco to a
certain extent, while in the region of which we are writing, the
betelnut yields a mild stimulant and sedative combined. The Ceylon and
Malacca men eagerly substitute tobacco when it is to be had, and
sometimes mix it with the betelnut. No gift to the savages of the
Magellan Strait is so acceptable or so eagerly sought for as tobacco.
The natives of Terra del Fuego, half-starved and almost wholly naked
in a frigid clime, will exchange anything they have for a few dried
plugs of this seductive weed. If you meet a North American Indian in
the wilds of the far West, the first thing he asks of you, with
extended hand, is "toback." The Japanese imbibes the subtle stimulus
of tea in excessive quantities; the people of the equatorial regions
get tipsy on palm toddy; the Chinese make a bedeviling liquor from
distilled rice; the Mexican gets his intoxicating pulque from the
agave plant; grapes yield the fiery brandy used by French and English
people; hops and malt stupefy the Germans; while corn and rye whiskey
turn men into brutes in this country.

Immediately inland from Point de Galle, the surface of the ground
rests upon a stratum of decomposed coral, and collections of
sea-shells are found buried in agglutinated sand in situations raised
far above the level of the sea, corroborating the supposition that
Ceylon has been gradually rising above the ocean for many ages. The
soil hereabouts is of a deep red hue, caused by the admixture of iron,
and, being largely composed of lime from the comminuted coral, it is
extremely fertile, producing certain crops of great luxuriance,
yielding sometimes two and even three harvests annually. At Belligam,
a short distance eastward from Galle, there is a large detached rock,
two thirds of which is composed of the gem known as cinnamon stone. It
is carried away in pieces of considerable size for the purpose of
extracting and polishing it for ornamental uses. The author has seen,
near Fort Wrangell, Alaska, a similar conglomerate of garnets, an
interesting evidence of the erratic freaks of nature. The cinnamon
stone is a crystal of a rich yellowish-brown tint, but little prized
in Ceylon. As soon as such stones are found in large quantities they
drop in market price; it is rarity which makes their value. When
moonstones were first brought to the notice of Europeans, they were
nearly as expensive as opals; now, they are sold by the pound or the
hundred, for a few shillings the lot. Were all the diamonds to be put
upon the market which are hoarded by certain large European dealers,
those precious stones would diminish one half in value. Fashion and
scarcity are the standards of value.

When we hear the topaz mentioned, we recall a stone of a pale, golden
hue, which is its most common aspect; but in Ceylon, where it is very
abundant, it is found in every variety of color,--amber, brown, red,
blue, and sometimes having yellow and blue mingled in the same stone,
forming a harlequin gem.

Galle has a large population of Moormen among its residents, who are
generally dealers in gems, or engaged as manufacturing jewelers and
practical lapidaries. As workers in tortoise-shell they have acquired
great facility and exquisite skill. Calamander and sandal woods, ivory
and ebony, are also wrought into delicate forms by these people, who
are excellent cabinet-makers, and who with a few rude tools turn out
very admirable work, imitating any desired model which is furnished
for the purpose with admirable fidelity and beauty.

One of the pleasant excursions from Galle is by a fine road leading
southeast among the undulating hills near the coast. The spot is known
as the Hill of Wackwelle, is surrounded by cocoanut groves, and is
often the resort of picnic parties from the port. A very fair house of
refreshment is kept here, and the view from the elevation is extremely
fine, embracing the valley of the Gindura, which winds its devious
course to the sea near to Galle, irrigating the low-lying rice-fields,
by means of artificial canals, for many miles. The mountain range of
the central district is in full view.

South of Galle, along the shore to Dondra Head, the southern extreme
of the island, the coast is lined with grand cocoanut palms, whose
annual product is truly immense. Near to Belligam, situated on a bay
of the same name, is a statue dedicated to an Indian prince, who is
said to have taught the Singhalese the importance of cultivating this
beautiful and profitable tree. Belligam is a large Singhalese village,
inhabited mostly by fishermen and farmers, numbering perhaps four
thousand souls, among whom are few if any Europeans. A beautiful
feature of the shore in this neighborhood is the numerous river-mouths
which empty into the sea from out the dense cocoanut woods. The bay is
rich in corals and beautiful shells. Belligam was a famous resort of
devout pilgrims in olden times, and there is still an ancient Buddhist
temple here which is much visited by people from afar. In no other
part of the world does the cocoanut palm flourish more luxuriantly
than it does in this district. One intelligent writer estimates that
the province lying between Dondra Head and Calpentyn contains between
ten and twelve million fruitful palms. The productiveness of the
cocoanut is most extraordinary. As long as the tree lives, it
continues to bear; blossoms and ripe nuts are frequently seen on it at
the same time. The natives have a saying here that it will not thrive
beyond the sound of the human voice, and it is very certain that it is
most fruitful and flourishing among the native cabins, where there is
plenty of domestic refuse to enrich the ground about its roots. The
fertilizing principle is not to be forgotten even in tropical regions.

This recalls the astute saying of a profound philosopher, who declared
that Providence always turned the course of large and navigable rivers
to run by big towns.

As regards healthfulness, the region round about Point de Galle can
hardly be commended, and there are some local features not to be
forgotten. Elephantiasis prevails among the natives, and leprosy is by
no means unknown. Goitre is not uncommon among the native women,
Europeans not being affected by it. In Switzerland, where the people
so frequently suffer from goitre, it is attributed to drinking snow
water; but some other cause must be found for its prevalence here. The
most singular thing in connection with the strange guttural
protuberance which this disease develops is that females only are
liable to it; at least, this seems to be the case in this island. That
leprosy is on the increase in Ceylon cannot be denied. There is a
leper hospital four or five miles from Colombo, where between two and
three hundred poor creatures afflicted with this disease are supported
by the government. Besides this fact, it is well known that scores of
lepers wander about the capital unrestrained. This is a serious
reproach to the authorities. Published statistics show that there are
nearly two thousand lepers living upon the island.

One other matter, in this connection, requires prompt attention.
Vaccination should be made compulsory. In common with ignorant people
wherever found, the Singhalese and Tamils object to this process of
protection from what sometimes proves to be in Ceylon a sweeping
pestilence before it runs itself out. The records of the island show
terrible fatality from the visits of smallpox in past years, which
might easily have been prevented.




CHAPTER XVII.

     Dondra Head.--"The City of the Gods."--A Vast Temple.--A
     Statue of Solid Gold.--A Famous Rock-Temple.--Buddhist
     Monastery.--Caltura and its Distilleries.--Edible Bird's
     Nests.--Basket-Making.--The Kaluganga.--Cinnamon
     Gardens.--"The City of Gems."--A Magnificent Ruby.--The True
     Cat's-Eye.--Vast Riches hidden in the Mountains.--Plumbago
     Mining.--Iron Ore.--Kaolin.--Gem-Cutting.--Native
     Swindlers.--Demoralizing Effect of Gem Digging.


At Dondra Head, which is now only a small fishing village, the
mouldering remains of a grand and ancient temple are seen, which are
believed to antedate those of Anuradhapura, though probably built by
the same race of people. It is well known that this locality was the
annual resort of multitudes of devotees, from the remotest ages.
Indeed, such was its sanctity that two thousand years ago it was
called Devi-nuwara,--"The City of the Gods." Ptolemy describes the
place as being the most renowned point of interest, for pilgrims, on
the island. There was a temple here, built by the Hindus in honor of
Vishnu, so gigantic that its dimensions sound to us almost fabulous.
Some of the finely carved columns which were once part of the
structure are still extant, though partially covered with jungle grass
and tangled vines. "So vast was this temple," says an ancient
historian, "that from the sea it had the appearance of a large city."
Tradition says that this shrine contained a thousand idols of stone
and bronze, and that there were a thousand Brahman priests attached to
it besides five hundred dancing-girls. We need not be surprised at
this, since these trained performers still form part of the equipment
of all temples in southern India, doubtless constituting priestly
harems.

These items are recorded by a Moorish traveler, John Battuta, who
visited the spot six hundred years ago. The same authority further
tells us that one of the most sacred idols was life-size, that is, as
large as an average man of his period, and was made of pure and solid
gold. "The eyes consisted of two rubies, of such lustre that they
shone like lanterns." The Portuguese first looted the temple, putting
its devotees to the sword, and then entirely demolished the edifice,
leaving it a shapeless mass of ruins. Over two hundred granite
monoliths, with many finely sculptured stones, still remain to testify
to the original character of this marvelous building.

About fifteen or twenty miles from Dondra, there is an ancient and
famous rock-temple after the style of that at Dambula, already
described. It is called the temple of Mulgirigalla, the place being
still a sacred shrine kept up for the benefit of the faithful. The
rock of which it is a portion rises over three hundred feet above the
level of the surrounding plain, the summit crowned by a large dagoba
containing relics of some Buddhist saint. On the face of the crag
below, there is a series of buildings still occupied by the
priesthood. The temple consists of several chambers or artificial
caves, decorated, after the usual manner of these shrines, with crude
paintings and stone statues. After twenty centuries of consecutive
occupancy, the place is still devoted to its original purpose. A
Buddhist monastery exists upon the crag, conducted by white-haired
priests like those of Kandy. Close at hand are the tombs containing
the ashes of the cremated high priests who have lived and died upon
the spot, during so many ages, in the service of the temple. Had the
old crag a ready tongue, what curious stories it might reveal of its
past history, depicting strange events which no pen has ever recorded.

At Caltura, situated on the coast between Galle and Colombo, about
thirty miles from the latter, in the midst of a district crowded with
cocoanut-trees, the distillation of arrack is carried on quite
extensively. Caltura is, and has long been considered as, a sanitarium
in the south part of the island. It is swept at all times by sea
breezes from the southwest, and is surrounded by delightful scenery.
The temperature averages from ten to fifteen degrees cooler than
Colombo. This point was considered of such special importance by the
Dutch that they erected elaborate fortifications here, the ruins of
which still form a prominent feature of the place. There are several
caves hereabouts where a species of the swallow--known as the
"swift"--constructs the edible nests so much valued as a table luxury
in China. Neither the native Singhalese nor the other inhabitants of
the island make use of these nests as food; in fact, they require to
be manipulated by expert cooks, in order to bring out their peculiar
properties. We are told that centuries ago the people of this
nationality came to Caltura to obtain these nests, so much valued as a
table luxury by the Mongolians, carefully transporting them to Pekin
and Hongkong, where great prices were, and still are, realized for
them. The edible nests are held to be the choicest dish to place
before the emperor. The best and most glutinous product of this
species of bird comes from Java, Borneo, and Sumatra, and the shores
of Malacca Straits, generally. Caltura is also famous for the
manufacture of fancy baskets of various shapes, made from palm leaf,
rice straw, and lemon grass. They are put up in nests of a dozen in a
package, one within another. These baskets find many purchasers among
those who come to the island, who are glad to carry away a souvenir of
their visit. Here the traveler will see that rare and favorite fruit,
the mangosteen, flourishing, and, so far as we could learn, it is one
of the few districts in Ceylon where it is to be found.

On returning from Adam's Peak, visitors often descend the Kaluganga in
boats to Caltura. The distance from the coast to the summit of the
mountain is about sixty-five miles. The country through which the
river passes is by no means thickly populated, but intersects some
native villages and towns, such as Hanwella and Avissawella, together
with numberless rice plantations and thrifty cocoanut groves.

This river, like nearly all in Ceylon, is more or less infested by
alligators. Like the tortoise and the turtle, they deposit eggs in the
sandy banks of the stream, where they can mature by the heat of the
sun. A certain species of the monkey tribe is very partial to new-laid
alligator eggs, and is on the watch much of the time to discover the
mother when she deposits them. After she has ingeniously covered them
and returned to her native element, the monkey feasts royally upon the
eggs, and he knows where to come again on the following day for a
renewal of the feast. As the alligators are not often disturbed by man
on this island, were Nature not to place some check upon their
breeding habits, they would soon overrun it. The Ceylon leopard, as it
is called, feeds upon the monkey, so that _his_ tribe may not become
too numerous.

The natives, who are believers in the doctrine of metempsychosis,
often express the wish that their post-mortem fate may be to reappear
in the shape of monkeys, because, in this land of perpetual summer,
the wild, free wood-life of that creature seems to them so delightful.
The tribe is a large one, and exhibits a great variety in Ceylon, from
tiny objects like dolls to gigantic fellows which would give Du
Chaillu's gorillas odds, and beat them out of sight. Bishop Heber
speaks of a Ceylon monkey that attacked a huntsman friend of his, and
broke his gun-barrel! One of the ridiculous fables connected with the
island's history is to the effect that in ancient days, "when time was
young," Ceylon was invaded and conquered by an army of monkeys. The
mendacity of these old legend-makers is equaled only by their
fertility of imagination. The more the credulity of the natives is
taxed, the better they like the fabrication, and we have no doubt that
there are many comparatively intelligent islanders who absolutely
believe this story of a conquering army of chimpanzees. The Kaluganga
is altogether a beautiful waterway, but little inferior to the Rhine
in breadth and volume. It is improved for transporting rice, areca
nuts, choice cabinet woods, and other inland products to the coast.
Lake Bolgodde, near Caltura, is the resort of innumerable waterfowl,
and, being so near the ocean, both salt and fresh water birds are
represented. Hither come European sportsmen to obtain good shooting.
There are some sugar plantations in the neighborhood, but, as we have
remarked, the cane does not flourish in any part of the island.
Continuing along the coast northward, we come to Morottu, about
fifteen miles south of Colombo. There the Cinnamon Gardens commence,
and extend nearly to the capital, forming a wilderness of green. The
surrounding atmosphere is very sweet and fragrant with the soft
breath of buds and flowers, not belonging, however, to the
cinnamon-trees. This favorite spice was the great specialty of
Ceylon's products in the days of the Portuguese and the Dutch, as well
as before and since their occupancy.

Ratnapura--the "City of Gems"--is situated about fifty miles southeast
of Colombo and twelve or fifteen miles from Adam's Peak, on the banks
of the Kaluganga, a hundred and fifty feet above sea level. There is
an official residence here, a small Episcopal chapel, a Roman Catholic
chapel, a jail, and a hospital. A rocky hillock is surmounted by a
small fort, within whose walls is a meteorological observatory. An
ancient mosque also testifies to the fact that Islamism is no new
profession here. Lofty hills tower all about, radiating from Adam's
Peak. A couple of miles west of Ratnapura is one of the richest
Buddhist temples in Ceylon; by rich, we mean most liberally endowed.
It has no architectural interest or beauty, but is quite like a score
of others met elsewhere inland.

About four or five years since, as the story is told, a ruby weighing
twenty-six carats was found at Ratnapura, which was valued in its
uncut condition, by the London jewelers to whom it was sent, at
twenty-five thousand dollars, and it is said that after it was cut it
lost but little of its weight, while it gained immensely in
brilliancy. This gem was sold to a royal party for forty thousand
dollars. Nearly all the high-cost jewels known to collectors of
precious stones, save the diamond, emerald, and turquoise, come from
the soil of this island. The true cat's-eye is a greenish, translucent
quartz, which presents, when cut and polished, an internal reflection;
hence the appropriate name which it bears. This gem is said to be
found only in Ceylon, though of this we are not certain. One sees
splendid native specimens here at Colombo, valued at three and four
thousand dollars each. As we have intimated, the finest gems produced
by Ceylon do not leave India. The Rajah of Jeypoor is said to have a
cat's-eye of fabulous size and beauty, valued at a king's ransom,
besides great wealth in other precious stones. Though this ruler is a
cultured man, like most of his nationality he is inclined to be
superstitious, and ascribes special protective virtues to his gems. It
is somewhat remarkable that diamonds are not indigenous here, since
the famous Golconda mines are so near at hand in southern India.

Occasional alexandrites, so called in honor of the Russian Czar, are
found in the island. Their color by daylight is a dark green,
bronze-like hue, but by artificial light the stone is a deep crimson,
and is highly prized for its distinctive properties.

Nearly every year, some fresh locality on the plains or in the valleys
is worked with profitable results by the gem seekers, but the rocky
regions of the mountains, whence these precious stones have been
washed in the process of disintegration which has been going on for
ages, have never been prospected. The vast richness which is hidden in
those primitive rocks will one day, perhaps, be brought to light,
rivaling the dazzling stories of the Arabian Nights, or the
fascinating extravagances of Jules Verne.

The choicest uncut stones which are still to be seen in the walls of
the Taj Mahal--that poem in marble at Agra, India, the tomb of the
wife of Emperor Shah Jehan--are said to have come originally from
Ratnapura. They were only crudely dressed by native skill for this
purpose, but the intrinsic value is there all the same.

Besides precious stones, Ceylon produces gold, quicksilver, plumbago
of the finest quality, and magnetic iron ore. Plumbago has at various
times formed quite an item in the exports of the island. The supply of
this article in the neighborhood of Ratnapura is practically
inexhaustible. It is found in large, detached masses of fine quality,
five or six feet below the surface of the ground. There is always a
sure market for plumbago, and it seems singular that a more organized
effort is not made to obtain it for export. The Colonial Blue Book
shows that in 1840 there were only about one thousand hundredweight
packages of plumbago or graphite exported from Ceylon. Each year since
has seen a large increase of these figures, until in 1891 there were
over four hundred thousand hundredweight packages sent from the
island, or say two hundred thousand tons. This aggregate, we are told,
will soon be largely increased by adopting American and European
machinery in mining the crude article. Some of these mines have
reached a depth of six and seven hundred feet. Plumbago mining may not
present the charm which attaches to the digging for rubies and
sapphires, but in the long run the cash results are far more
satisfactory. Even iron would pay better than gems, and it exists here
in inexhaustible quantities, particularly in the western and central
provinces, cropping out at the surface in great purity. The natives
have for centuries been in the habit of smelting this ore, and of
making it into such tools as they required. They are excellent
imitators in metal as well as in wood. In the Colombo Museum there is
a sample of the gun-barrels (really effective arms) which the natives
were accustomed to make, with such primitive tools as they possessed,
out of this home-smelted magnetic ore. The iron implements, which are
successfully wrought into various forms by the rude process of the
natives, are equal in temper to the very best Swedish work, showing
that the raw metal must be of a superior sort.

Long ago, the Chinese exported from this island large quantities of
kaolin (terra alba), for the manufacture of fine pottery, and it is an
article which is still abundant and easily procured here.

A considerable number of Tamils and Moormen are employed by dealers in
Colombo to examine the river-beds in mountain districts in search of
precious stones, and there are also certain individuals ready to act
as guides to those strangers disposed to try their luck in searching
for sparkling stones. Many casual visitors to the island do this, and
they are sometimes reasonably rewarded, but "big finds" do not often
come to such parties. There is another famous place besides Ratnapura
which produces gems. It is the flat country contiguous to Ballomgodde,
fifteen miles southeast of the City of Gems. Nearly all the valleys of
this, region have been receptacles at one time or another of the
gem-impregnated soil of the mountains, washed down by flooding rains
and former rivers, whose courses have since been diverted to further
the extended system of irrigation.

The valuable stones come into the dealers' hands in the rough state,
and to an inexperienced eye appear to be of little value. They receive
what may be called a preliminary cutting by natives who have acquired
some degree of skill at this business, but they are not really
marketable until they are recut by Europeans in London, Vienna, or
Hamburg, in an artistic and scientific manner. Probably far the
largest number of precious stones which are sold in Paris, or London,
or in America, excepting those we have already named, come from this
Indian island, but the reader may rely upon it that they can as a
rule be much more advantageously purchased elsewhere than in Colombo.
Let no person, unless he be an expert, trust to his own judgment in
purchases on the spot. The Moormen, in whose hands the trade almost
entirely rests, are a set of confirmed knaves and adroit swindlers,
whose cunning and dishonesty have become proverbial. If they cannot
cheat a purchaser in any other way, they will slyly substitute a piece
of worthless glass for a true stone at the last moment, after the
bargain has been made, and then disappear.

We heard some exasperating stories of these transactions, which should
put visitors on their guard. Almost every one who visits Ceylon,
whether he lands in the north or the south, is a witness of, or a
victim to, similar transactions.

For instance, you have been shown a really fine sapphire by a Moorman,
for which a sum is demanded which seems exorbitant. You would like to
possess the stone, and, after careful examination, offer forty pounds
for what was priced to you at sixty. It was a fair offer on your part,
and probably was very near its intrinsic value in the market. The
Moorman declares that he will not take one penny less than his
original price, and begs you to show it to your friends, and not to
lose a good bargain. He brings the beautiful gem to you several times
for further examination, at the same time watching your movements
carefully. Finally, the moment comes for you to embark on the
outgoing steamer. He is watchful and intercepts you, once more
offering the sapphire, while declaring that he is poor and cannot
afford to keep it, but must let you have it for the forty pounds you
offered; actual necessity compels him to sacrifice it at that price,
etc., etc. You hastily pay over the money, and receive the gem, as you
suppose, just as the boat pushes off from the shore, headed for the
ship. The anchor is already being hoisted, and in a few moments you
are under way. Curiosity causes you to take one more look at the
coveted treasure before putting it safely away. You seek the cabin in
order to get the effect of a strong artificial light upon the gem.
Somehow it does not look quite so brilliant and rich in color as you
expected. It must be the dampness of the ship which clouds the
sapphire. You look more closely. Is it possible? Yes, you hold in your
hand a piece of worthless glass, of the size and shape of the real gem
which had won your admiration from the first. You do not know the name
of the rascal who has so cunningly cheated you, and could prove
nothing if it were possible to return to Colombo. It is of no use to
sacrifice time and money in an attempt at recovery of your forty
pounds. You have to swallow your indignation and pocket the loss. The
author has thus given an extreme case, but it is a typical and a true
one, the actual experience of a person who related the circumstances
to him.

"These villainous Moormen all look alike," said the victim, "and I
very much doubt if I could identify the fellow if he were now standing
before me."

It is the same here in mining for precious stones as with gold-mining
in Australia and other countries. The majority of persons who engage
in the exciting occupation of gem hunting are irresponsible, and of
ill-regulated habits.

An intelligent resident of Ratnapura told the author that the presence
of these gems in the earth of Ceylon, so far from being of any real
advantage to the inhabitants or to the true prosperity of the island,
is a source of a vast amount of evil. "After a Singhalese has once
embarked in gem digging," he said, "he is good for nothing else;
henceforth he becomes a genuine loafer, ignoring all legitimate
occupation, while contracting most undesirable habits and
associations. He is generally employed at miserable wages by the
Moormen in Colombo, though he is paid a premium when he finds and
turns over a really good stone. But the constant aim of these
contracting parties is simply to defraud and cheat each other to the
greatest possible extent." The native who is thus engaged steals more
stones than he accounts for, and coolly pockets his wages.

Diamond mining in Africa is not more demoralizing than gem digging in
Ceylon. Men who have nothing to lose but everything to gain are the
class engaged in such enterprises. Regular and legitimate occupations
are neglected by those who become thus absorbed. It is a sort of
gambling, only in another and perhaps more fascinating form. Doubtless
all the precious stones secured in Ceylon annually would not exceed
one hundred thousand dollars at their true market value. Were this sum
to be equally divided among the thousands of natives who thus occupy
their time, it will be seen that a less exacting and laborious
occupation, industriously pursued, would give surer and more
satisfactory returns. There is always the delusive charm of
uncertainty--of possibility--in gem seeking, fascinating to the
average mind. Emerson tells us that "no gold-mining country is
traversed by good roads, nor are there good schools on the shore where
pearls are found!" As if in verification of this assertion, nothing
can exceed the desolation of the shore in the neighborhood of the
pearl-fishing banks near Aripo, on the west coast of Ceylon. During
the brief period devoted to the fishery, temporary huts and tents are
occupied by people immediately interested; but, the short season over,
the place relapses into a state of desolation. Like all lotteries,
there are more blanks than prizes connected with the pearl fisheries,
and for one person who is made joyful by the profits which are
realized, one hundred and more go away in utter disappointment.

A story is told of an occurrence at Aripo which happened not long
since, and which had a fatal termination. A certain foreigner had come
from a long distance, and at great cost, to venture his all in a
season's effort to secure rich and rare pearls. His inexperience was
great, and his misfortunes were in proportion. The season closed,
leaving him impoverished. His disappointment was too great for
endurance, and the poor fellow in his despair sought a suicide's grave
in the depths of the sea.




CHAPTER XVIII.

     Circumnavigating the Island.--Batticaloa, Capital of the
     Eastern Province.--Rice Culture.--Fish Shooting.--Point
     Pedro.--Jaffna.--Northern Province.--Oriental Bazaars.--Milk
     ignored.--The Clear Sea and White, Sandy Bottom.--American
     Missionaries.--A Medical Bureau.--Self-Respect a Lost
     Virtue.--Snake Temples.--Ramisseram.--Adam's Bridge.--A Huge
     Hindu Temple.--Island of Manaar.--Aripo.--The Port of
     Negombo.--Tamil Coolies.--Homeward Bound.--A Farewell View.


No one on visiting Ceylon, who can possibly spare the necessary time,
should fail to circumnavigate the island. Since 1889, a number of
lighthouses have been erected from Colombo round the entire southern
coast, adding a degree of security to navigation which was much
needed. These beacon stars are so numerous as to be almost within
sight of one another. That at Dondra Head stands one hundred and
seventy feet above sea level. The vessels which make this circuit stop
at each of the large ports to discharge and take on cargo, thus
enabling the traveler to land and get a very good general idea of each
place with its near surroundings. If the visitor desires to do so, he
can remain at any of these places until the boat comes again in its
regular course, when the journey may be resumed. It is well to stop at
Point Pedro and at Jaffna in this way, as they are neighborhoods of
more than ordinary interest, both present and historic. We should
advise a few days' delay also at Ramisseram, a part of the time being
divided between this place and the large island of Manaar, which is
quite accessible.

The pleasantest way to accomplish this circuit is to take the boat at
Point de Galle, the first place at which it is desirable to land being
Batticaloa, the capital of the eastern province. There is a bar at the
mouth of this harbor which is a serious impediment to making an
entrance into the little bay. When the sea breeze is strong, and
during the southeast monsoon, a line of breakers is created upon the
shoal, and no attempt is made to land. This is a great rice-raising
region, which gets its artificial water supply from two extensive
neighboring lakes or tanks. Twenty-five thousand acres of land may be
seen hereabouts under rice cultivation, yielding two crops per annum.
The Portuguese built a substantial stone fort at Batticaloa, which was
afterwards added to and strengthened by the Dutch, and latterly still
further improved by the English. There is plenty of wild game in this
region, including the huge elephant, though this animal is more
numerous in the central provinces and at the north. Here one has a
chance, upon a still night, of hearing the vocal performance of the
singing fishes, and also of witnessing the native sport of shooting
fish. The Tamils go out in boats just offshore, carrying lighted
torches, the fire of which attracts the curiosity of the fishes,
bringing them to the surface, when the boatmen shoot them with bows
and short arrows. To the latter a thin, light string is attached, by
which the fishes are promptly secured. From here the packet boat goes
north to Trincomalee, already described, thence to Point Pedro, the
extreme northern part of Ceylon,--Punta das Pedras, the "rocky cape."
We have said that this is the extreme northern point of Ceylon, but
let us qualify the remark. Though it is generally so considered, Point
Palmyra, a promontory situated a few miles to the westward, is really
still farther north. The humble Tamil women of this district are fine
upright figures in their simple costume, which consists of a long fold
of cotton cloth enveloping the body below the waist and thrown
carelessly over the left shoulder, leaving the right arm and bust
free. Women who from girlhood always carry burdens upon their heads
never fail to have an upright and stately carriage. As before
intimated, the Tamil women are far handsomer in features than the
Singhalese race. The Jaffna peninsula has been peopled by the Tamil
race for two thousand years or more.

Point Pedro is a small town, and the harbor does not deserve the name,
being only an open roadstead sheltered by a coral reef, where a number
of vessels of moderate size are nearly always to be seen. Its commerce
is limited to the export of tobacco, cocoanut oil, and cabinet woods.
The trade is almost entirely with continental India, from whence rice
is largely imported. Some cattle, sheep, and elephants are also
shipped from here to southern India, the government realizing a
royalty upon each of the last-named animals exported.

Jaffna is over two hundred miles from Colombo by land, and is peopled
mostly by Tamils, who have a record connected with their settlement
here reaching back for many centuries. The population of the entire
peninsula is recorded as being about two hundred thousand, to meet
whose spiritual wants there are said to be three hundred Hindu temples
in this northern province. The peninsula presents one uniform level,
and is unbroken by a single hill, scarcely varied, in fact, by an
undulation of more than a very few feet. This dead level renders the
country unfit for rice culture, as it prevents the advantageous flow
of an artificial supply of water. By much labor this difficulty is
partially overcome, and considerable rice is grown in various parts of
the district, but much more is imported. The best sheep in Ceylon are
raised in this part of the island; they have long hair in place of
wool, and to the uninitiated seem more like goats than sheep.

The Dutch left the impress of their residence here in the
characteristic style of the architecture,--low, substantial,
broad-spread stone buildings, which still remain. These homes are
detached, and surrounded by garden plots containing thrifty fruit
trees and charming flowers, supplemented by graceful creeping and
flowering vines upon the dark gray old walls of the dwellings. The
streets of the town are wide and regular, shaded by an abundance of
handsome tulip-trees. There are at least forty thousand people living
in and immediately around Jaffna. It has a certain oriental look,
especially in the quarters where the native bazaars are situated,
thronged by copper-colored men and women. This region is well wooded,
the predominating tree being the palmyra palm.

The dry grains, such as millet and the like, are much cultivated in
the north, while at the south the entire farming population seem to
devote their energy to the raising of rice. The soil throughout the
Jaffna peninsula is very light, requiring much careful culture in
order to produce satisfactory results. It was long before the
necessity of using fertilizers upon the soil was realized in this
region, but when the plan was once adopted and its importance thus
demonstrated, it was henceforth employed systematically. In the
neighborhood of populous centres in the island, north and south, the
natives milk their cows to supply a certain demand confined to
Europeans mostly, but do not themselves use milk to any great extent.
The calves have the benefit of this abstinence on the part of the
farmers. It is the same in China, where the people at large never use
milk. In this Jaffna district, goats' milk is made into excellent
cheese.

All along the shore in this neighborhood the bottom of the sea is
formed of pure white sand, and is as level as a parlor floor, while
the water is so clear that any object is distinctly seen below its
surface. One may behold a sort of Neptune's Garden at many points,
similar to, but not quite equaling, that described at Point de Galle.
The eye is delighted by bright-hued anemones, as large as a
cauliflower, together with strange fishes in vivid colors, extensive
coral, star-fish in blue and scarlet, and busy, smoky-groves of green
crabs in search of their marine food. Such spots form a sort of
museum, only Nature does these things with a royal hand, and not in a
penny-wise, showman fashion.

A repulsive-looking creature which is made a source of profit abounds
on this shore,--a flat slug, five or six inches long. Next to the
edible bird's nests, it is considered to be one of the greatest
luxuries in their country. They are found below the surface of the
water, at a depth varying from one to five fathoms, and the collection
of them forms a considerable occupation on the northwest coast. The
natives do not appreciate these slugs. They are cured and exported
solely by a small colony of Chinese, who have settled in this
neighborhood for the purpose, and who find ample support in the
occupation.

Jaffna is a great centre of American missionary work, and is also the
see of a Roman Catholic bishop. The American mission was begun here as
early as 1816, and has gone onward ever since, increasing in its
schools, chapels, and the number of instructors. An excellent work
consummated here, in connection with the American mission, is the
establishment of a Medical Bureau. The mission has long needed such an
aid in its own behalf, and its services are also freely extended to
the native population. Such practical benefit as must accrue to the
people at large will do more to abolish "devil-dancing" and other
absurdities, intended to exorcise evil spirits from the bodies of
invalids, than any amount of reasoning with the poor, ignorant
creatures. Within the old fort is the ancient Dutch Presbyterian
church, and facing the esplanade are the Anglican and Wesleyan
churches.

One sees comparatively few Singhalese proper in this region, or in
fact anywhere north of the central province. The habits of the common
people of the Jaffna peninsula are represented to be of a highly
objectionable character, which does not argue well for the
long-established missionaries who have such sway here. Self-respect is
said to be a forgotten virtue with both sexes of the Tamil race, as
well as with the other mixed nationalities. These people seem to be
born with strange proclivities in their blood, and there is certainly
very little improvement to be observed in their condition as regards
the influence of Christianity upon their daily lives.

In olden times, as already intimated, Ceylon was known in the East by the
name of Naga-dwipa,--"Snake Isle,"--and it would seem not without good
reason, for until quite lately there was a snake-temple on the island of
Naiwativoe, which lies just off the shore, west of Jaffna, where many
serpents were nourished and cared for, including a number of deadly cobras,
by an organized corps of priests. There is, or was very lately, a
cobra-temple upon what is known as the Twin Isle, twenty miles further
south, and eastward of Ramisseram. It is therefore plain enough that there
were once plenty of serpent-worshiping tribes in various parts of Ceylon.

We know that the worship of the snake is a very ancient creed.
Mexicans, Egyptians, Hindus, Babylonians, and Buddhists have been
devotees to this idea. All stories or legends of the creation contain
some reference to the serpent, which also, according to Biblical lore,
played its part in the expulsion of Adam and Eve from the Garden of
Eden.

We have failed to mention heretofore that the remains of certain
Druidical circles of stone are occasionally found in both the northern
and southern portions of Ceylon, indicating that the Druidical form of
worship, which is supposed to be that of the Phoenicians, must have
once prevailed upon this island. These tokens belong to a period a
thousand years prior to the founding of the "buried cities" which we
have described.

On leaving Jaffna, the coasting steamer steers southward through the
Gulf of Manaar, following the Paumben Channel, past Adam's Bridge. A
call is made at the "holy" island of Ramisseram, where a visit may be
made to the great Hindu temple situated on the east end of the island.
Ramisseram is fourteen miles long by about five in width. The
dimensions of the temple upon the ground are eight hundred and
sixty-eight feet by six hundred and seventy-two in width, far
exceeding any other shrine or building in the island of Ceylon. Like
the temples of Tanjore, Madura, and Trichinopoly in continental India,
it is massive and tawdry, but still is the annual resort of hosts of
devout pilgrims from vast distances, who have impoverished themselves,
probably, to perform this pilgrimage. They expect by such an
exhibition of reverence to be freed from all sin with the punishment
it entails, and to fully merit Paradise. The ceiling of the great
temple consists of vast masses of granite slabs supported by carved
stone pillars twelve feet high, each of which is a monolith. This
Hindu temple of Ramisseram is unique; as to its age, it is between
four and five hundred years old. The fables one hears relating to this
shrine are legion, all thoroughly tinctured with gross absurdities;
still, the place is well worth a visit, and careful study.

The island of Manaar, close at hand, off the west coast, and from
which Adam's Bridge extends towards the continent of India, is
eighteen miles long, and but three or four wide. There is nothing here
to invite a visit from the casual traveler. The soil is sandy and
poorly adapted to agriculture. It has, however, large groves of
cocoanut and palmyra palms, with very good pasturage. Goats and cattle
are bred here to a considerable extent, and a peculiar hard cheese is
an article of export. The island is a hundred and forty miles by water
from Colombo. There is a fort at the town of Manaar, situated on the
southeastern extremity of the island. The harbor is too shallow to
admit vessels drawing over eight or ten feet of water, but is
completely sheltered. There are some twenty villages on this
comparatively barren slip of land, but the people seem to be thrifty
and healthy. There is no malaria here. It is a Roman Catholic centre,
and most of the people are of that faith.

Again taking the steam packet, we proceed southward by Aripo, the
famous pearl-fishing grounds of the Gulf of Manaar, about one hundred
and fifty miles from the capital. If we pass near enough to the west
coast of the island to observe the shore in this vicinity, it will be
found that nothing can exceed the desolation which it presents. It is
barren, low, and sandy, with here and there a scrubby jungle and an
occasional reach of stunted herbage. It is difficult to realize that
such a locality can be the source of wealth of any sort, and
particularly that it is the natal place of that loveliest and purest
of gems, the oriental pearl.

Still sailing southward, we find ourselves in due time opposite
Negombo, seven or eight leagues north of Colombo. This little seaport
is the outlet to a fine agricultural country, where cattle and garden
products are raised for the support of the capital, with which it has
an inland water connection. This place is famous for its fruit
gardens,--exotic fruits, originally introduced from Java and the
Malacca peninsula. It is one of the most rural spots in the island,
famous for its cinnamon estates. The traveler's attention is sure to
be called to a noble specimen of the banian-tree at this attractive
seaside place, and also to an old and most curious, many-headed
cocoanut-tree. The town has a fine esplanade bordering the sea, and a
very comfortable rest-house for the stranger. After passing the Bight
of Negombo, we soon enter the harbor of Colombo, and as we do so, an
English mail steam packet is passed whose decks are crowded with
coolies bound for Tuticorin, a port two hundred miles away, across the
Gulf of Manaar. The planters of Ceylon import these dusky laborers
from southern India at harvest time, when the tea and coffee fields
yield their annual product. The poor creatures are very glad to earn a
small sum of money in this service, wherewith to eke out their
necessary home expenses. When the Ceylon harvest is over, they return
to their humble homes in this manner, the planters paying for their
transportation both ways.

From our standpoint on the bridge of the coasting steamer, we
overlook the forward deck of the mail packet, where the homeward bound
coolies form strangely picturesque groups in their rags and nakedness,
mingled with occasional bits of highly colored clothing. A white
turban, a red fez, a bandana kerchief bound about a woman's head,
whose infant is lashed to her back in sleepy unconsciousness, all
combine to produce a striking kaleidoscopic effect.

A southwest monsoon is coming on, and there will presently be a fierce
downpour of rain. The coolies will have but one night to pass on the
troubled sea, but it will be for them a wretched one,--seasick,
ill-fed, and poorly sheltered creatures. Their small annual pittance
is insignificant compensation for what they have to perform and what
they endure. There are two or three hundred of them, herded like
cattle; there is no cabin,--deck passage is all that is paid for; and
such is considered quite good enough accommodations for these very
humble Tamils. There is said to be compensation in the life of every
living being, but it is difficult to point out wherein the principle
applies to these low caste Indians.

       *       *       *       *       *

Before leaving Colombo, an earnest desire possessed the author to see
the town from the bay, under the charm imparted by an equatorial moon
and starlight. A couple of native oarsmen and a comfortable boat
afforded the means of gratifying this wish, all the stronger from the
fresh memory of a like experience, not long ago, off the historic
island of Malta. The view of Colombo, it must be acknowledged, was a
disappointment. It is too thickly embowered with palms to form a
pleasing picture of itself: but ah, the tropical night, luxurious and
calm, with its wonderful brilliancy above, and its dark, mysterious
shadows below! The molten silver on which we idly floated had just
ripple sufficient to double its reflective power, lit by an occasional
flash of phosphorescence when the oars were dipped. The hoarse murmur
of the outside sea beating against the stout breakwater; the head and
stern lights of the shipping at anchor, distributed here and there;
the flashing eye of fire from the lighthouse, casting its long golden
wake seaward; the dancing lamps on the low-lying shore of the
Singhalese capital, with the soft strains of music from an English
bungalow in the half-moon bend of the beach,--all together formed a
delightful picture, leaving a typical scene deeply engraved on the
memory.

Land, sea, and star-illumined sky, everything charmingly bright with
the tender kiss of moonlight, how absolutely perfect was our farewell
vision of this "utmost" Indian isle.

       *       *       *       *       *

By Maturin M. Ballou.


THE PEARL OF INDIA.
Crown 8vo, $1.50.

THE STORY OF MALTA.
Crown 8vo, $1.50.

EQUATORIAL AMERICA. Descriptive of a Visit to St. Thomas, Martinique,
Barbados, and the Principal Capitals of South America.
Crown 8vo, $1.50.

AZTEC LAND.
Crown 8vo, $1.50.

THE NEW ELDORADO. A Summer Journey to Alaska.
Crown 8vo, $1.50.

ALASKA. The New Eldorado. A Summer Journey to Alaska.
_Tourist's Edition_, with 4 maps. 16mo, $1.00.

DUE WEST; or, ROUND THE WORLD IN TEN MONTHS.
Crown 8vo, $1.50.

DUE SOUTH; or, CUBA PAST AND PRESENT.
Crown 8vo, $1.50.

UNDER THE SOUTHERN CROSS; or, TRAVELS IN AUSTRALASIA.
Crown 8vo, $1.50.

DUE NORTH; or, GLIMPSES OF SCANDINAVIA AND RUSSIA.
Crown 8vo, $1.50.

GENIUS IN SUNSHINE AND SHADOW.
Crown 8vo, $1.50.

EDGE-TOOLS OF SPEECH. Selected and edited by Mr. BALLOU.
8vo, $3.50.

A TREASURY OF THOUGHT. An Encyclopædia of Quotations.
8vo, full gilt, $3.50.

PEARLS OF THOUGHT.
16mo, full gilt, $1.25.

NOTABLE THOUGHTS ABOUT WOMEN.
Crown 8vo, $1.50.


HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & COMPANY,

BOSTON AND NEW YORK.

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