Title:   Eight Years' Wanderings in Ceylon

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Author:   Samuel White Baker

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Eight Years' Wanderings in Ceylon

Samuel White Baker



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Table of Contents

Eight Years' Wanderings in Ceylon ..................................................................................................................1

Samuel White Baker................................................................................................................................1


Eight Years' Wanderings in Ceylon

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Eight Years' Wanderings in Ceylon

Samuel White Baker

Chapter I 

Chapter II 

Chapter III 

Chapter IV 

Chapter V 

Chapter VI 

Chapter VII 

Chapter VIII 

Chapter IX 

Chapter X 

Chapter XI 

Chapter XII  

CHAPTER I.

Colombo  Dullness of the Town  Cinnamon Garden  A Cingalese Appo  Ceylon Sport  Jungle Fever 

Newera Ellia  Energy of Sir E. Barnes  Influence of the Governor  Projected Improvements.

It was in the year 1845 that the spirit of wandering allured me toward Ceylon: little did I imagine at that time

that I should eventually become a settler.

The descriptions of its sports, and the tales of hairbreadth escapes from elephants, which I had read in various

publications, were sources of attraction against which I strove in vain; and I at length determined upon the

very wild idea of spending twelve months in Ceylon jungles.

It is said that the delights of pleasures in anticipation exceed the pleasures themselves: in this case doubtless

some months of great enjoyment passed in making plans of every description, until I at length arrived in

Colombo, Ceylon's seaport capital.

I never experienced greater disappointment in an expectation than on my first view of Colombo. I had spent

some time at Mauritius and Bourbon previous to my arrival, and I soon perceived that the farfamed Ceylon

was nearly a century behind either of those small islands.

Instead of the bustling activity of the Port Louis harbor in Mauritius, there were a few vessels rolling about in

the roadstead, and some forty or fifty fishing canoes hauled up on the sandy beach. There was a peculiar

dullness throughout the town  a sort of something which seemed to say, "Coffee does not pay." There was a

want of spirit in everything. The illconditioned guns upon the fort looked as though not intended to defend

it; the sentinels looked parboiled; the very natives sauntered rather than walked; the very bullocks crawled

along in the midday sun, listlessly dragging the native carts. Everything and everybody seemed enervated,

except those frightfully active people in all countries and climates, "the customhouse officers:" these

necessary plagues to society gave their usual amount of annoyance.

What struck me the most forcibly in Colombo was the want of shops. In Port Louis the wide and wellpaved

streets were lined with excellent "magasins" of every description; here, on the contrary, it was difficult to find

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anything in the shape of a shop until I was introduced to a soidisant store, where everything was to be

purchased from a needle to a crowbar, and from satin to sailcloth; the useful predominating over the

ornamental in all cases. It was all on a poor scale and after several inquiries respecting the best hotel, I

located myself at that termed the Royal or Seager's Hotel. This was airy, white and clean throughout; but

there was a barnlike appearance, as there is throughout most private dwellings in Colombo, which banished

all idea of comfort.

A good tiffin concluded, which produced a happier state of mind, I ordered a carriage for a drive to the

Cinnamon Gardens. The general style of Ceylon carriages appeared in the shape of a caricature of a hearse:

this goes by the name of a palanquin carriage. Those usually hired are drawn by a single horse, whose natural

vicious propensities are restrained by a low system of diet.

In this vehicle, whose gaunt steed was led at a melancholy trot by an equally smallfed horsekeeper, I

traversed the environs of Colombo. Through the winding fort gateway, across the flat Galle Face (the

racecourse), freshened by the seabreeze as the waves break upon its western side; through the

Colpettytopes of cocoanut trees shading the road, and the houses of the better class of European residents to

the right and left; then turning to the left  a few minutes of expectation  and behold the Cinnamon Gardens!

What fairylike pleasuregrounds have we fondly anticipated! what perfumes of spices, and all that our

childish imaginations had pictured as the ornamental portions of a cinnamon garden!

A vast area of scrubby, low jungle, composed of cinnamon bushes, is seen to the right and left, before and

behind. Above, is a cloudless sky and a broiling sun; below, is snowwhite sand of quartz, curious only in the

possibility of its supporting vegetation. Such is the soil in which the cinnamon delights; such are the

Cinnamon Gardens, in which I delight not. They are an imposition, and they only serve as an addition to the

disappointments of a visitor to Colombo. In fact, the whole place is a series of disappointments. You see a

native woman clad in snowwhite petticoats, a beautiful tortoiseshell comb fastened in her raven hair; you

pass her  you look back  wonderful! she has a beard! Deluded stranger, this is only another

disappointment; it is a Cingalese Appo  a man  no, not a man  a something male in petticoats; a petty

thief, a treacherous, cowardly villain, who would perpetrate the greatest rascality had he only the pluck to

dare it. In fact, in this petticoated wretch you see a type of the nation of Cingalese.

On the morning following my arrival in Ceylon, I was delighted to see several persons seated at the

"tabled'hôte" when I entered the room, as I was most anxious to gain some positive information respecting

the game of the island, the best localities, etc., etc. I was soon engaged in conversation, and one of my first

questions naturally turned upon sport.

"Sport!" exclaimed two gentlemen simultaneously  "sport!" there is no sport to be had in Ceylon!"  "at

least the raceweek is the only sport that I know of," said the taller gentleman.

"No sport!" said I, half energetically and half despairingly. "Absurd! every book on Ceylon mentions the

amount of game as immense; and as to elephants "

Here I was interrupted by the same gentleman. "All gross exaggerations," said he "gross exaggerations; in

fact, inventions to give interest to a book. I have an estate in the interior, and I have never seen a wild

elephant. There may be a few in the jungles of Ceylon, but very few, and you never see them."

I began to discover the stamp of my companion from his expression, "You never see them." Of course I

concluded that he had never looked for them; and I began to recover front the first shock which his

exclamation, "There is no sport in Ceylon !" had given me.


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I subsequently discovered that my new and nonsporting acquaintances were coffeeplanters of a class then

known as the Galle Face planters, who passed their time in cantering about the Colombo racecourse and

idling in the town, while their estates lay a hundred miles distant, uncared for, and naturally ruining their

proprietors.

That same afternoon, to my delight and surprise, I met an old Gloucestershire friend in an officer of the

Fifteenth Regiment, then stationed in Ceylon. From him I soon learnt that the character of Ceylon for game

had never been exaggerated; and from that moment my preparations for the jungle commenced.

I rented a good airy house in Colombo as headquarters, and the verandas were soon strewed with

junglebaskets, boxes, tent, guncases, and all the paraphernalia of a shootingtrip.

What unforeseen and apparently trivial incidents may upset all our plans for the future and turn our whole

course of life! At the expiration of twelve months my shooting trips and adventures were succeeded by so

severe an attack of jungle fever that from a naturally robust frame I dwindled to a mere nothing, and very

little of my former self remained. The first symptom of convalescence was accompanied by a peremptory

order from my medical attendant to start for the highlands, to the mountainous region of Newera Ellia, the

sanita rium of the island.

A poor, miserable wretch I was upon my arrival at this elevated station, suffering not only from the fever

itself, but from the feeling of an exquisite debility that creates an utter hopelessness of the renewal of

strength.

I was only a fortnight at Newera Ellia. The resthouse or inn was the perfection of everything that was dirty

and uncomfortable. The toughest possible specimen of a beefsteak, black bread and potatoes were the

choicest and only viands obtainable for an invalid. There was literally nothing else; it was a land of

starvation. But the climate! what can I say to describe the wonderful effects of such a pure and unpolluted

air? Simply, that at the expiration of a fortnight, in spite of the tough beef, and the black bread and potatoes, I

was as well and as strong as I ever bad been; and in proof of this I started instanter for another shooting

excursion in the interior.

It was impossible to have visited Newera Ellia, and to have benefited in such a wonderful manner by the

climate, without contemplating with astonishment its povertystricken and neglected state.

At that time it was the most miserable place conceivable. There was a total absence of all ideas of comfort or

arrangement. The houses were for the most part built of such unsubstantial materials as stick and mud

plastered over with mortar  pretty enough in exterior, but rotten in ten or twelve years. The only really good

residence was a fine stone building erected by Sir Edward Barnes when governor of Ceylon. To him alone

indeed are we indebted for the existence of a sanitarium. It was he who opened the road, not only to Newera

Ellia, but for thirtysix miles farther on the same line to Badulla. At his own expense he built a substantial

mansion at a cost, as it is said, of eight thousand pounds, and with provident care for the health of the

European troops, he erected barracks and officers' quarters for the invalids.

Under his government Newera Ellia was rapidly becoming a place of importance, but unfortunately at the

expiration of his term the place became neglected. His successor took no interest in the plans of his

predecessor; and from that period, each successive governor being influenced by an increasing spirit of

parsimony, Newera Ellia has remained "in statu quo," not even having been visited by the present governor.

In a small colony like Ceylon it is astonishing how the movements and opinions of the governor influence the

public mind. In the present instance, however, the movements of the governor (Sir G. Anderson) cannot carry

much weight, as he does not move at all, with the exception of an occasional drive from Colombo to Kandy.


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His knowledge of the colony and of its wants or resources must therefore, from his personal experience, be

limited to the Kandy road. This apathy, when exhibited by her Majesty's representative, is highly contagious

among the public of all classes and colors, and cannot have other than a bad moral tendency.

Upon my first visit to Newera Ellia, in 1847, Lord Torrington was the governor of Ceylon, a man of active

mind, with an ardent desire to test its real capabilities and to work great improvements in the colony.

Unfortunately, his term as governor was shorter than was expected. The elements of discord were at that time

at work among all classes in Ceylon, and Lord Torrington was recalled.

>From the causes of neglect described, Newera Ellia was in the deserted and wretched state in which I saw it;

but so infatuated was I in the belief that its importance must be appreciated when the knowledge of its climate

was more widely extended that I looked forward to its becoming at some future time a rival to the

Neilgherries station in India. My ideas were based upon the natural features of the place, combined with its

requirements.

It apparently produced nothing except potatoes. The soil was supposed to be as good as it appeared to be. The

quality of the water and the supply were unquestionable; the climate could not be surpassed for salubrity.

There was a carriage road from Colombo, one hundred and fifteen miles, and from Kandy, fortyseven miles;

the last thirteen being the Rambodde Pass, arriving at an elevation of six thousand six hundred feet, from

which point a descent of two miles terminated the road to Newera Ellia.

The station then consisted of about twenty private residences, the barracks and officers' quarters, the

resthouse and the bazaar; the latter containing about two hundred native inhabitants.

Bounded upon all sides but the east by high mountains, the plain of Newera Ellia lay like a level valley of

about two miles in length by half a mile in width, bordered by undulating grassy knolls at the foot of the

mountains. Upon these spots of elevated ground most of the dwellings were situated, commanding a view of

the plain, with the river winding through its centre. The mountains were clothed from the base to the summit

with dense forests, containing excellent timber for building purposes. Good buildingstone was procurable

everywhere; limestone at a distance of five miles.

The whole of the adjacent country was a repetition Of the Newera Ellia plain with slight variations,

comprising a vast extent of alternate swampy plains and dense forests.

Why should this place lie idle? Why should this great tract of country in such a lovely climate be untenanted

and uncultivated? How often I have stood upon the hills and asked myself this question when gazing over the

wide extent of undulating forest and plain! How often I have thought of the thousands of starving wretches at

home, who here might earn a comfortable livelihood! and I have scanned the vast tract of country, and in my

imagination I have cleared the dark forests and substituted waving crops of corn, and peopled a hundred ideal

cottages with a thriving peasantry.

Why should not the highlands Of Ceylon, with an Italian climate, be rescued from their state of barrenness?

Why should not the plains be drained, the forests felled, and cultivation take the place of the rank pasturage,

and supplies be produced to make Ceylon independent of other countries? Why should not schools be

established, a comfortable hotel be erected, a church be built? In fact, why should Newera Ellia, with its

wonderful climate, so easily attainable, be neglected in a country like Ceylon, proverbial for its

unhealthiness?

These were my ideas when I first visited Newera Ellia, before I had much experience in either people or

things connected with the island. My twelve months' tour in Ceylon being completed, I returned to England

delighted with what I had seen of Ceylon in general, but, above all, with my short visit to Newera Ellia,


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malgre its barrenness and want of comfort, caused rather by the neglect of man than by the lack of resources

in the locality.

CHAPTER II.

Past Scenes  Attractions of Ceylon  Emigration  Difficulties in Settling  Accidents and Casualties  An

Eccentric Groom  Insubordination  Commencement of Cultivation  Sagacity of the Elephant 

Disappointments  "Death" in the Settlement  Shocking Pasturage  Success of Emigrants  "A Good

Knock about kind of a Wife".

I had not been long in England before I discovered that my trip to Ceylon had only served to upset all ideas of

settling down quietly at home. Scenes of former sports and places were continually intruding themselves

upon my thoughts, and I longed to be once more roaming at large with the rifle through the noiseless

wildernesses in Ceylon. So delightful were the recollections of past incidents that I could scarcely believe that

it lay within my power to renew them. Ruminating over all that bad happened within the past year, I conjured

up localities to my memory which seemed too attractive to have existed in reality. I wandered along London

streets, comparing the noise and bustle with the deep solitudes of Ceylon, and I felt like the sickly plants in a

London parterre. I wanted the change to my former life. I constantly found myself gazing into gunmakers'

shops, and these I sometimes entered abstractedly to examine some rifle exposed in the window. Often have I

passed an hour in boring the unfortunate gunmakers to death by my suggestions for various improvements in

rifles and guns, which, as I was not a purchaser, must have been extremely edifying.

Time passed, and the moment at length arrived when I decided once more to see Ceylon. I determined to

become a settler at Newera Ellia, where I could reside in a perfect climate, and nevertheless enjoy the sports

of the low country at my own will.

Thus, the recovery from a fever in Ceylon was the hidden cause of my settlement at Newera Ellia. The

infatuation for sport, added to a gypsylike love of wandering and complete independence, thus dragged me

away from home and from a muchloved circle.

In my determination to reside at Newera Ellia, I hoped to be able to carry out some of those visionary plans

for its improvement which I have before suggested; and I trusted to be enabled to effect such a change in the

rough face of Nature in that locality as to render a residence at Newera Ellia something approaching to a

country life in England, with the advantage of the whole of Ceylon for my manor, and no expense of

gamekeepers.

To carry out these ideas it was necessary to set to work; and I determined to make a regular settlement at

Newera Ellia, sanguinely looking forward to establishing a little English village around my own residence.

Accordingly, I purchased an extensive tract of land from the government, at twenty shillings per acre. I

engaged an excellent bailiff, who, with his wife and daughter, with nine other emigrants, including a

blacksmith, were to sail for my intended settlement in Ceylon.

I purchased farming implements of the most improved descriptions, seeds of all kinds, sawmills, etc., etc.,

and the following stock: A halfbred bull (Durham and Hereford), a wellbred Durham cow, three rams (a

Southdown, Leicester and Cotswold), and a thoroughbred entire horse by Charles XII.; also a small pack of

foxhounds and a favorite greyhound ("Bran").

My brother had determined to accompany me; and with emigrants, stock, machinery, hounds, and our

respective families, the good ship "Earl of Hardwick," belonging to Messrs. Green Co., sailed from London

in September, 1848. I had previously left England by the overland mail of August to make arrangements at


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Newera Ellia for the reception of the whole party.

I had as much difficulty in making up my mind to the proper spot for the settlement as Noah's dove

experienced in its flight from the ark. However, I wandered over the neighboring plains and jungles of

Newera Ellia, and at length I stuck my walkingstick into the ground where the gentle undulations of the

country would allow the use of the plough. Here, then, was to be the settlement.

I had chosen the spot at the eastern extremity of the Newera Ellia plain, on the verge of the sudden descent

toward Badulla. This position was two miles and a half from Newera Ellia, and was far more agreeable and

better adapted for a settlement, the land being comparatively level and not shut in by mountains.

It was in the dreary month of October, when the southwest monsoon howls in all its fury across the

mountains; the mist boiled up from the valleys and swept along the surface of the plains, obscuring the view

of everything, except the pattering rain which descended without ceasing day or night. Every sound was

hushed, save that of the elements and the distant murmuring roar of countless waterfalls; not a bird chirped,

the dank white lichens hung from the branches of the trees, and the wretchedness of the place was beyond

description.

I found it almost impossible to persuade the natives to work in such weather; and it being absolutely

necessary that cottages should be built with the greatest expedition, I was obliged to offer an exorbitant rate

of wages. In about fortnight, however, the wind and rain showed flags of truce in the shape of white clouds

set in a blue sky. The gale ceased, and the skylarks warbled high in air, giving life and encouragement to the

whole scene. It was like a beautiful cool midsummer in England.

I had about eighty men at work; and the constant clickclack of axes, the felling of trees, the noise of saws

and hammers and the perpetual chattering o the coolies gave a new character to the wild spot upon which I

had fixed.

The work proceeded rapidly; neat white cottages soon appeared in the forest; and I expected to have

everything in readiness for the emigrants on their arrival. I rented a tolerably good house in Newera Ellia, and

so far everything had progressed well.

The "Earl of Hardwick" arrived after a prosperous voyage, with passengers and stock all in sound health; the

only casualty on board had been to one of the hounds. In a few days all started from Colombo for Newera

Ellia. The only trouble was, How to get the cow up? She was a beautiful beast, a thoroughbred "shorthorn,"

and she weighed about thirteen hundredweight. She was so fat that a march of one hundred and fifteen miles

in a tropical climate was impossible. Accordingly a van was arranged for her, which the maker assured me

would carry an elephant. But no sooner had the cow entered it than the whole thing came down with a crash,

and the cow made her exit through the bottom. She was therefore obliged to start on foot in company with the

bull, sheep, horse and hounds, orders being given that ten miles a day, divided between morning and evening,

should be the maximum march during the journey.

The emigrants started per coach, while our party drove up in a new clarence which I had brought from

England. I mention this, as its untimely end will be shortly seen.

Four government elephantcarts started with machinery, farming implements, etc., etc., while a troop of

bullockbandies carried the lighter goods. I had a tame elephant waiting at the foot of the Newera Ellia Pass

to assist in carrying up the baggage and maidservants.

There had been a vast amount of trouble in making all the necessary arrangements, but the start was

completed, and at length we were all fairly off. In an enterprise of this kind many disappointments were


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necessarily to be expected, and I had prepared myself with the patience of Job for anything that might

happen. It was well that I had done so, for it was soon put to the test.

Having reached Ramboddé, at the foot of the Newera Ellia Pass, in safety, I found that the carriage was so

heavy that the horses were totally unable to ascend the pass. I therefore left it at the resthouse while we rode

up the fifteen miles to Newera Ellia, intending to send for the empty vehicle in a few days.

The whole party of emigrants and ourselves reached Newera Ellia in safety. On the following day I sent down

the groom with a pair of horses to bring up the carriage; at the same time I sent down the elephant to bring

some luggage from Ramboddé.

Now this groom, "Henry Perkes," was one of the emigrants, and he was not exactly the steadiest of the party;

I therefore cautioned him to be very careful in driving up the pass, especially in crossing the narrow bridges

and turning the corners. He started on his mission.

The next day a dirtylooking letter was put in my hand by a native, which, being addressed to me, ran

something in this style:

"Honord Zur "I'm sorry to hinform you that the carrige and osses has met with a haccidint and is tumbled

down a preccippice and its a mussy as I didn't go too. The preccippice isn't very deep bein not above heighy

feet or therabouts  the hosses is got up but is very bad  the carrige lies on its back and we can't stir it

nohow. Mr. _____ is very kind, and has lent above a hunderd niggers, but they aint no more use than cats at

liftin. Plese Zur come and see whats to be done. "Your Humbel Servt, "H. PERKES."

This was pleasant, certainly  a new carriage and a pair of fine Australian horses smashed before they

reached Newera Ellia!

This was, however, the commencement of a chapter of accidents. I went down the pass, and there, sure

enough, I had a fine bird'seye view of the carriage down a precipice on the road side. One horse was so

injured that it was necessary to destroy him; the other died a few days after. Perkes had been intoxicated; and,

while driving at a full gallop round a corner, over went the carriages and horses.

On my return to Newera Ellia, I found a letter informing me that the shorthorn cow had halted at

Amberpussé, thirtyseven miles from Colombo, dangerously ill. The next morning another letter informed

me that she was dead. This was a sad loss after the trouble of bringing so fine an animal from England; and I

regretted her far more than both carriage and horses together, as my ideas for breeding some thoroughbred

stock were for the present extinguished.

There is nothing like one misfortune for breeding another; and what with the loss of carriage, horses and cow,

the string of accidents had fairly commenced. The carriage still lay inverted; and although a tolerable

specimen of a smash, I determined to pay a certain honor to its remains by not allowing it to lie and rot upon

the ground. Accordingly, I sent the blacksmith with a gang of men, and Perkes was ordered to accompany the

party. I also sent the elephant to assist in battling the body of the carriage up the precipice.

Perkes, having been much more accustomed to riding than walking during his career as groom, was

determined to ride the elephant down the pass; and he accordingly mounted, insisting at the same time that

the mahout should put the animal into a trot. In vain the man remonstrated, and explained that such a pace

would injure the elephant on a journey; threats prevailed, and the beast was soon swinging along at full trot,

forced on by the sharp drivinghook, with the delighted Perkes striding across its neck, riding, an imaginary

race.


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On the following day the elephantdriver appeared at the front door, but without the elephant. I immediately

foreboded some disaster, which was soon explained. Mr. Perkes had kept up the pace for fifteen miles, to

Ramboddé, when, finding that the elephant was not required, he took a little refreshment in the shape of

brandy and water, and then, to use his own expression, "tooled the old elephant along till he came to a

standstill."

He literally forced the poor beast up the steep pass for seven miles, till it fell down and shortly after died.

Mr. Perkes was becoming an expensive man: a most sagacious and tractable elephant was now added to his

list of victims; and he had the satisfaction of knowing that he was one of the few men in the world who had

ridden an elephant to death.

That afternoon, Mr. Perkes was being wheeled about the bazaar in a wheelbarrow, insensibly drunk, by a

brother emigrant, who was also considerably elevated. Perkes had at some former time lost an eye by the kick

of a horse, and to conceal the disfigurement he wore a black patch, which gave him very much the expression

of a bull terrier with a similar mark. Notwithstanding this disadvantage in appearance, he was perpetually

making successful love to the maidservants, and he was altogether the most incorrigible scamp that I ever met

with, although I must do him the justice to say he was thoroughly honest and industrious.

I shortly experienced great trouble with the emigrants; they could not agree with the bailiff, and openly defied

his authority. I was obliged to send two of them to jail as an example to the others. This produced the desired

effect, and we shortly got regularly to work.

There were now about a hundred and fifty natives employed in the tedious process of exterminating jungle

and forest, not felling, but regularly digging out every tree and root, then piling, and burning the mass, and

leveling the cleared land in a state to receive the plough. This was very expensive work, amounting to about

thirty pounds per acre. The root of a large tree would frequently occupy three men a couple of days in its

extraction, which, at the rate of wages, at one shilling per diem, was very costly. The land thus cleared was a

light sandy loam, about eighteen inches in depth with a gravel subsoil, and was considered to be far superior

to the patina (or natural grassland) soil, which was, in appearance, black loam on the higher ground and of a

peaty nature in the swamps.

The bailiff (Mr. Fowler) was of opinion that the patina soil was the best; therefore, while the large native

force was engaged in sweeping the forest from the surface, operations were commenced according to

agricultural rules upon the patinas.

A tract of land known as the "Moon Plains," comprising about two hundred acres, was immediately

commenced upon. As some persons considered the settlement at Newera Ellia the idea of a lunatic, the

"Moon Plain" was an appropriate spot for the experiment. A tolerably level field of twenty acres was fenced

in, and the work begun by firing the patina and burning off all the grass. Then came three teams, as follows:

Lord Ducie's patent cultivator, drawn by an elephant; a skim, drawn by another elephant, and a long wood

plough, drawn by eight bullocks.

The field being divided into three sections, was thus quickly pared of the turf, the patent cultivator working

admirably, and easily drawn by the elephant.

The weather being very dry and favorable for the work, the turf was soon ready for burning; and being piled

in long rows, much trouble was saved in subsequently spreading the ashes. This being completed, we had six

teams at work, two horse, two bullock, and two elephant; and the ploughing was soon finished. The whole

piece was then sown with oats.


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It was an interesting sight to see the rough plain yielding to the power of agricultural implements, especially

as some of these implements were drawn by animals not generally seen in plough harness at home.

The "cultivator," which was sufficiently large to anchor any twenty of the small native bullocks, looked a

mere nothing behind the splendid elephant who worked it, and it cut through the wiry roots of the rank turf as

a knife peels an apple. It was amusing, to see this same elephant doing the work of three separate teams when

the seed was in the ground. She first drew a pair of heavy harrows; attached to these and following behind

were a pair of light harrows, and behind these came a roller. Thus the land had its first and second harrowing

at the same time with the rolling.

This elephant was particularly sagacious; and her farming work being completed, she was employed in

making, a dam across a stream. She was a very large animal, and it was beautiful to witness her wonderful

sagacity in carrying and arranging the heavy timber required. The rough trunks of trees from the lately felled

forest were lying within fifty yards of the spot, and the trunks required for the dam were about fifteen feet

long and fourteen to eighteen inches in diameter. These she carried in her mouth, shifting her hold along the

log before she raised it until she had obtained the exact balance; then, steadying it with her trunk, she carried

every log to the spot, and laid them across the stream in parallel rows. These she herself arranged, under the

direction of her driver, with the reason apparently of a human being.

The most extraordinary part of her performance was the arranging of two immense logs of red keenar (one of

the heaviest woods). These were about eighteen feet long and two feet in diameter, and they were in tended to

lie on either bank of the stream, parallel to the brook and close to the edge. These she placed greatest with the

care in their exact positions, unassisted by any one.* She rolled them gently over with her head, then with one

foot, and keeping her trunk on the opposite side of the log, she checked its way whenever its own momentum

would have carried it into the stream. Although I thought the work admirably done, she did not seem quite

satisfied, and she presently got into the stream, and gave one end of the log an extra push with her head,

which completed her task, the two trees lying exactly parallel to each other, close to the edge of either bank.

*Directed of course by her driver.

Tame elephants are constantly employed in building stone bridges, when the stones required for the

abutments are too heavy to be managed by crowbars.

Many were the difficulties to contend against when the first attempts were made in agriculture at Newera

Ellia. No sooner were the oats a few inches above ground than they were subjected to the nocturnal visits of

elk and hogs in such numbers that they were almost wholly destroyed.

A crop of potatoes of about three acres on the newlycleared forest land was totally devoured by grubs. The

bull and stock were nearly starved on the miserable pasturage of the country, and no sooner bad the clover

sprung up in the new clearings than the Southdown ram got hoven upon it and died. The two remaining rams,

not having been accustomed to much high living since their arrival at Newera Ellia, got pugnacious upon the

clover, and in a pitched battle the Leicester ram killed the Cotswold, and remained solus. An epidemic

appeared among the cattle, and twentysix fine bullocks died within a few days; five Australian horses died

during the first year, and everything seemed to be going into the next world as fast is possible.

Having made up my mind to all manner of disappointments, these casualties did not make much impression

on me, and the loss of a few crops at the outset was to be expected; but at length a deplorable and unexpected

event occurred.

The bailiff's family consisted of a wife and daughter; the former was the perfection of a respectable farmer's

wife, whose gentle manners and amiable disposition bad gained her many friends; the daughter was a very


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pretty girl of nineteen.

For some time Mrs. Fowler had been suffering from an illness of long standing, and I was suddenly called to

join in the mournful procession to her grave. This was indeed a loss which I deeply deplored.

At length death left the little settlement, and a ray of sunshine shone through the gloom which would have

made many despond. Fortune smiled upon everything. Many acres of forest were cleared, and the crops

succeeded each other in rapid succession. I had, however, made the discovery that without manure nothing

would thrive. This had been a great disappointment, as much difficulty lay in procuring the necessary item.

Had the natural pasturage been good, it would soon have been an easy matter to procure any amount of

manure by a corresponding number of cattle; but, as it happened, the natural pasturage was so bad that no

beast could thrive upon it. Thus everything, even grassland, had to be manured; and, fortunately, a cargo of

guano having arrived in the island, we were enabled to lay down some good clover and seeds.

The original idea of cultivation, driving the forests from the neighborhood of Newera Ellia, was therefore

dispelled. Every acre of land must be manured, and upon a large scale at Newera Ellia that is impossible.

With manure everything will thrive to perfection with the exception of wheat. There is neither lime nor

magnesia in the soil. An abundance of silica throws a good crop of straw, but the grain is wanting: Indian

corn will not form grain from the same cause. On the other hand, peas, beans, turnips, carrots, cabbages, etc.,

produce crops as heavy as those of England. Potatoes, being the staple article of production, are principally

cultivated, as the price of twenty pounds per ton yields a large profit. These, however, do not produce larger

crops than from four to six tons per acre when heavily manured; but as the crop is fit to dig in three months

from the day of planting, money is quickly made.

There are many small farmers, or rather gardeners, at Newera Ellia who have succeeded uncommonly well.

One of the emigrants who left my service returned to England in three years with three hundred pounds; and

all the industrious people succeed. I am now without one man whom I brought out. The bailiff farms a little

land of his own, and his pretty daughter is married ; the others are scattered here and there, but I believe all

are doing well, especially the blacksmith, upon whose anvil Fortune has smiled most kindly.

By the bye, that same blacksmith has the right stamp of a "better half" for an emigrant's wife. According to

his own description she is a "good knockabout kind of a wife." I recollect seeing her, during a press of work,

rendering assistance to her Vulcan in a manner worthy of a Cyclop's spouse. She was wielding an

eighteenpound sledgehammer, sending the sparks flying at every blow upon the hot iron, and making the

anvil ring again, while her husband turned the metal at every stroke, as if attending on Nasmyth's patent

steam hammer.

It has been a great satisfaction to me that all the people whom I brought out are doing well; even Henry

Perkes, of elephantjockeying notoriety, is, I believe, prospering as a groom in Madras.

CHAPTER III. Task Completed  The Mountaintop  Change in the Face of Nature  Original

Importance of Newera Ellia  "The Path of a Thousand Princes"  Vestiges of Former Population 

Mountains  The Highlands of Ouva  Ancient Methods of Irrigation  Remains of Aqueducts  The

Vale of Rubies  Ancient Ophir  Discovery of GoldMineral Resources  Native Blacksmiths.

In a climate like that of Newera Ellia, even twelve months make a great change in the appearance of a new

settlement; plants and shrubs spring up with wonderful rapidity, and a garden of one year's growth, without

attendance, would be a wilderness.


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A few years necessarily made a vast change in everything. All kinds of experiments had been made, and

those which succeeded were persevered in. I discovered that excellent beer might be made at this elevation

(six thousand two hundred feet), and I accordingly established a small brewery.

The solitary Leicester ram had propagated a numerous family, and a flock of fat ewes, with their lambs,

throve to perfection. Many handsome young heifers looked very like the emigrant bull in the face, and

claimed their parentage. The fields were green; the axe no longer sounded in the forests: a good house stood

in the centre of cultivation; a road of two miles in length cut through the estate, and the whole place looked

like an adopted "home." All the trials and disappointments of the beginning were passed away, and the real

was a picture which I had ideally contemplated years before. The task was finished.

In the interim, public improvements had not been neglected; an extremely pretty church had been erected and

a public readingroom established; but, with the exception of one good house which had been built, private

enterprise had lain dormant. As usual, from January to May, Newera Ellia was overcrowded with months of

visitors, and nearly empty during the other months of the year.

All Ceylon people dread the wet season at Newera Ellia, which continues from June to December.

I myself prefer it to what is termed the dry season, at which time the country is burnt up by drought. There is

never more rain at Newera Ellia than vegetation requires, and not onefourth the quantity fills at this

elevation, compared to that of the low country. It may be more continuous, but it is of a lighter character, and

more akin to "Scotch mist." The clear days during the wet season are far more lovely than the constant glare

of the summer months, and the rays of the sun are not so powerful.

There cannot be a more beautiful sight than the view of sunrise from the summit of Pedrotallagalla, the

highest mountain in Ceylon, which, rising to the height of 8300 feet, looks down upon Newera Ellia, some

two thousand feet below upon one side, and upon the interminable depths of countless ravines and valleys at

its base.

There is a feeling approaching the sublime when a solitary man thus stands upon the highest point of earth,

before the dawn of day, and waits the first rising of the sun. Nothing above him but the dusky arch of heaven.

Nothing on his level but empty space,  all beneath, deep beneath his feet. From childhood he has looked to

heaven as the dwelling of the Almighty, and he now stands upon that lofty summit in the silence of utter

solitude; his hand, as he raises it above his head, the highest mark upon the seagirt land; his form above all

mortals upon this land, the nearest to his God. Words, till now unthought of, tingle in his ears: "He went up

into a mountain apart to pray." He feels the spirit which prompted the choice of such a lonely spot, and he

stands instinctively uncovered, as the first ray of light spreads like a thread of fire across the sky.

And now the distant hilltops, far below, struggle through the snowy sheet of mist, like islands in a fairy sea;

and far, how far his eye can scan, where the faint line upon the horizon marks the ocean! Mountain and

valley, hill and plain, with boundless forest, stretch beneath his feet, far as his sight can gaze, and the scene,

so solemnly beautiful, gradually wakens to his senses; the birds begin to chirp; the dewdrops fall heavily

from the trees, as the light breeze stirs from an apparent sleep; a golden tint spreads over the sea of mist

below; the rays dart lightninglike upon the eastern sky; the mighty orb rises in all the fullness of his majesty,

recalling the words of Omnipotence: "Let there be light!"

The sun is risen! the misty sea below mounts like a snowy wreath around the hilltops, and then, like a

passing thought, it vanishes. A glassy clearness of the atmosphere reveals the magnificent view of Nature,

fresh from her sleep; every dewy leaf gilded by the morning sun, every rock glistening with moisture in his

bright rays, mountain and valley, wood and plain, alike rejoicing in his beams.


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And now, the sun being risen, we gaze from our lofty post upon Newera Ellia, lying at our feet. We trace the

river winding its silvery course through the plain, and for many miles the alternate plains and forests joining

in succession.

How changed are some features of the landscape within the few past years, and how wonderful the alteration

made by man on the face of Nature! Comparatively but a few years ago, Newera Ellia was undiscovered  a

secluded plain among the mountaintops, tenanted by the elk and boar. The wind swept over it, and the mists

hung around the mountains, and the bright summer with its spotless sky succeeded, but still it was unknown

and unseen except by the native beehunter in his rambles for wild honey. How changed! The road encircles

the plain, and carts are busy in removing the produce of the land. Here, where wild forests stood, are gardens

teeming with English flowers; rosyfaced children and ruddy countrymen are about the cottage doors;

equestrians of both sexes are galloping round the plain, and the cry of the hounds is ringing on the

mountainside.

How changed! There is an old tree standing upon a hill, whose gnarled trunk has been twisted by the winter's

wind for many an age, and so screwed is its old stem that the axe has spared it, out of pity, when its

companions were all swept away and the forest felled. And many a tale that old tree could tell of winter's

blasts and broken boughs, and storms which howled above its head, when all was wilderness around. The

eagle has roosted in its top, the monkeys have gamboled in its branches, and the elephants have rubbed their

tough flanks against its stem in times gone by; but it now throws a shadow upon a Christian's grave, and the

churchyard lies beneath its shade. The churchbell sounds where the elephant trumpeted of yore. The

sunbeam has penetrated where the forest threw its dreary shade, and a ray of light has shone through the

moral darkness of the spot.

The completion of the church is the grand improvement in Newera Ellia.

Although Newera Ellia was in the wild state described when first discovered by Europeans, it is not to be

supposed that its existence was unknown to the Cingalese. The name itself proves its former importance to

the kings of Kandy, as Newera Ellia signifies "Royal Plains." Kandy is termed by the Cingalese "Newera," as

it was the capital of Ceylon and the residence of the king.

However wild the country may be, and in many portions unvisited by Europeans, still every high mountain

and every little plain in this wilderness of forest is not only known to the natives of the adjacent low country,

but has its separate designation. There is no feature of the country without its name, although the immense

tracts of mountain are totally uninhabited, and the nearest villages are some ten or twelve miles distant,

between two and three thousand feet below.

There are native paths from village to village across the mountains, which, although in appearance no more

than deerruns, have existed for many centuries, and are used by the natives even to this day. The great range

of forestcovered Newera Ellia mountains divides the two districts of Ouva and Kotmalie, and these native

paths have been formed to connect the two by an arduous accent upon either side, and a comparatively level

cut across the shoulders of the mountains, through alternate plain and forest, for some twentyfive miles.

These paths would never be known to Europeans were it not for the distant runs of the hounds, in following

which, after some hours of fatiguing junglework, I have come upon a path. The notches on the treestems

have proved its artificial character, and by following its course I have learnt the country.

There is not a path, stream, hill, or plain, within many miles of Newera Ellia, that I do not know intimately,

although, when the character of the country is scanned by a stranger from some mountaintop, the very act of

traversing it appears impossible. This knowledge has been gained by years of unceasing hunting, and by

perseveringly following up the hounds wherever they have gone. From sunrise till nightfall I have often

ploughed along through alternate jungles and plains, listening eagerly for the cry of the hounds, and at length


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discovering portions of the country which I had never known to exist.

There is a great pleasure in thus working out the features of a wild country, especially in an island like

Ceylon, which, in every portion, exhibits traces of former prosperity and immense population. Even these

uninhabited and chilly regions, up to an elevation of seven thousand feet, are not blank pages in the book of

Nature, but the hand of man is so distinctly traced that the keen observer can read with tolerable certainty the

existence of a nation long since passed away.

As I before mentioned, I pitched my settlement on the verge of the highland, at the eastern extremity of the

Newera Ellia plain, where the high road commences a sudden descent toward Badulla, thirtythree miles

distant. This spot, forming, a shallow gap, was the ancient native entrance to Newera Ellia from that side, and

the Cingalese designation for the locality is interpreted "the Path of a Thousand Princes." This name assists in

the proof that Newera Ellia was formerly of some great importance. A far more enticing name gives an

interest to the first swampy portion of the plain, some three hundred paces beyond, viz., "the Valley of

Rubies."

Now, having plainly discovered that Newera Ellia was of some great importance to the natives, let us

consider in what that value consisted. There are no buildings remaining, no ruins, as in other parts of Ceylon,

but a liquid mine of wealth poured from these lofty regions. The importance of Newera Ellia lay first in its

supply of water, and, secondly, in its gems.

In all tropical countries the first principle of cultivation is the supply of water, without which the land would

remain barren. In a ricegrowing country like Ceylon, the periodical rains are insufficient, and the whole

system of native agriculture depends upon irrigation. Accordingly, the mountains being the reservoirs from

which the rivers spring, become of vital importance to the country.

The principal mountains in Ceylon are Pedrotallagalla, eight thousand two hundred and eighty feet;

Kirigallapotta, seven thousand nine hundred; Totapella, eight thousand feet; and Adam's Peak, seven

thousand seven hundred; but although their altitude is so considerable, they do not give the idea of grandeur

which such an altitude would convey. They do not rise abruptly from a level base, but they are merely the

loftiest of a thousand peaks towering from the highlands of Ceylon.

The greater portion of the highland district may therefore be compared to one vast mountain; hill piled upon

hill, and peak rising over peak; ravines of immense depth, forming innumerable conduits for the mountain

torrents. Then, at the elevation of Newera Ellia the heavings of the land appear to have rested, and gentle

undulations, diversified by plains and forests, extend for some thirty miles. From these comparatively level

tracts and swampy plains the rivers of Ceylon derive their source and the three loftiest peaks take their base;

Pedrotallagalla rising from the Newera Ellia Plain, "Totapella" and Kirigallapotta from the Horton Plains.

The whole of the highland district is thus composed of a succession of ledges of great extent at various

elevations, commencing with the highest, the Horton Plains, seven thousand feet above the sea.

Seven hundred feet below the Horton Plain, the Totapella Plains and undulating forests continue at this

elevation as far as Newera Ellia for about twenty miles, thus forming the second ledge.

Six miles to the west of Newera Ellia, at a lower elevation of about nine hundred feet, the district of

Dimboola commences, and extends at this elevation over a vast tract of forestcovered country, stretching

still farther to the west, and containing a small proportion of plain.

At about the same elevation, nine miles on the north of Newera Ellia, we descend to the Elephant Plains; a

beautiful tract of fine grass country, but of small extent. This tract and that of Dimboola form the third ledge.


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Nine miles to the east of Newera Ellia, at a lower elevation of one thousand five hundred feet, stretches the

Ouva country, forming the fourth ledge.

The features of this country are totally distinct from any other portion of Ceylon. A magnificent view extends

as far as the horizon, of undulating open grassland, diversified by the rich crops of paddy which are grown in

each of the innumerable small valleys formed by the undulations of the ground. Not a tree is to be seen except

the low brushwood which is scantily distributed upon its surface. We emerge suddenly from the

forestcovered mountains of Newera Ellia, and, from a lofty point on the high road to Badulla, we look down

upon the splendid panorama stretched like a waving sea beneath our feet. The road upon which we stand is

scarped out of the mountain's side. The forest has ceased, dying off gradually into isolated patches and long

ribbonlike strips on the sides of the mountain, upon which rich grass is growing, in vivid contrast to the rank

and coarse herbage of Newera Ellia, distant only five miles from the point upon which we stand.

Descending until we reach Wilson's Plain, nine miles from Newera Ellia, we arrive in the district of Ouva,

much like the Sussex Downs as any place to which it can be compared.

This district comprises about six hundred square miles, and forms the fourth and last ledge of the high lands

of Ceylon. Passes from the mountains which form the walllike boundaries of this tableland descend to the

low country in various directions.

The whole of the Ouva district upon the one side, and of the Kotmalee district on the other side, of tilt

Newera Ellia range of mountains, are, with the exception of the immediate neighborhood of Kandy and

Colombo, the most populous districts of Ceylon.

This is entirely owing, to the neverfailing supply of water obtained from the mountains; and upon this

supply the wealth and prosperity of the country depend.

The ancient history of Ceylon is involved in much obscurity, but nevertheless we have sufficient data in the

existing traces of its former population to form our opinions of the position and power which Ceylon

occupied in the Eastern Hemisphere when England was in a state of barbarism. The wonderful remains of

ancient cities, tanks and watercourses throughout the island all prove that the now desolate regions were

tenanted by a multitude  not of savages, but of a race long since passed away, full of industry and

intelligence.

Among the existing traces of former population few are more interesting than those in the vicinity of Newera

Ellia.

Judging from the present supply of water required for the cultivation of a district containing a certain

population, we can arrive at a tolerably correct idea of the former population by comparing the present supply

of water with that formerly required.

Although the district of Ouva is at present well populated, and every hollow is taken advantage of for the

cultivation of paddy, still the demand for water in proportion to the supply is comparatively small.

The system of irrigation has necessarily involved immense labor. For many miles the water is conducted from

the mountains through dense forests, across ravines, round the steep sides of opposing hills, now leaping into

a lower valley into a reservoir, from which it is again led through this arduous country until it at length

reaches the land which it is destined to render fertile.

There has been a degree of engineering skill displayed in forming aqueducts through such formidable

obstacles; the hills are lined out in every direction with these proofs of industry, and their winding course can


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be traced round the grassy sides of the steep mountains, while the paddyfields are seen miles away in the

valleys of Ouva stretched far beneath.

At least eight out of ten of these watercourses are dry, and the masonry required in the sudden angles of

ravines, has, in most cases, fallen to decay. Even those watercourses still in existence are of the second

class; small streams have been conducted from their original course, and these serve for the supply of the

present population.

>From the remains of deserted watercourses of the first class, it is evident that more than fifty times the

volume of water was then required that is in use at present, and in the same ratio must have been the amount

of population. In those days rivers were diverted from their natural channels; opposing hills were cut through,

and the waters thus were led into another valley to join a stream flowing in, its natural bed, whose course,

eventually obstructed by a dam, poured its accumulated waters into canals which branched to various

localities. Not a river in those times flowed in vain. The hillsides were terraced out in beautiful cultivation,

which are now waving with wild vegetation and rank lemon grass. The remaining traces of stone walls point

out the ancient boundaries far above the secluded valley now in cultivation.

The nation has vanished, and with it the industry and perseverance of the era.

We now arrive at the cause of the former importance of Newera Ellia, or the "Royal Plains."

It has been shown that the very existence of the population depended upon the supply of water, and that

supply was obtained from the neighborhood of Newera Ellia. Therefore, a king in possession of Newera Ellia

had the most complete command over his subjects; he could either give or withhold the supply of water at his

pleasure, by allowing its free exit or by altering its course.

Thus, during rebellion, he could starve his people into submission, or lay waste the land in time of foreign

invasion. I have seen in an impregnable position the traces of an ancient fort, evidently erected to defend the

pass to the main watercourse from the low country.

This gives us a faint clue to the probable cause of the disappearance of the nation.

In time of war or intestine commotion, the water may have been cut off from the low country, and the

exterminating effects of famine may have laid the whole land desolate. It is, therefore, no longer a matter of

astonishment that the present plain of Newera Ellia should have received its appellation of the "Royal Plain."

In those days there was no very secure tenure to the throne, and by force alone could a king retain it. The

more bloodthirsty and barbarous the tyrant, the more was he dreaded by the awestricken and trembling

population. The power of such a weapon of annihilation as the command of the waters may be easily

conceived as it invested a king with almost divine authority in the eyes of his subjects.

Now there is little doubt that the existence of precious gems at Newera Ellia may have been accidentally

discovered in digging the numerous watercourses in the vicinity; there is, however, no doubt that at some

former period the east end of the plain, called the "Vale of Rubies," constituted the royal "diggings." That the

king of Kandy did not reside at Newera Ellia there is little wonder, as a monarch delighting in a temperature

of 85 Fahrenheit would have regarded the climate of a mean temperature of 60 Fahrenheit as we should that

of Nova Zembla.

We may take it for granted, therefore, that when the king came to Newera Ellia his visit had some object, and

we presume that he came to look at the condition of his watercourses and to superintend the digging for

precious stones; in the same manner that Ceylon governors of past years visited Arippo during the

pearlfishing.


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The "diggings" of the kings of Kandy must have been conducted on a most extensive scale. Not only has the

Vale of Rubies been regularly turned up for many acres, but all the numerous plains in the vicinity are full of

pits, some of very large size and of a depth varying from three to seventeen feet. The Newera Ellia Plain, the

Moonstone Plain, the Kondapallé Plain, the Elk Plains, the Totapella Plains, the Horton Plains, the

Bopatalava Plains, the Augara Plains (translated "the Diggings"), and many others extending over a surface

of thirty miles, are all more or less studded by deep pits formed by the ancient searchers for gems, which in

those days were a royal monopoly.

It is not to be supposed that the search for gems would have been thus persevered in unless it was found to be

remunerative; but it is a curious fact that no Englishmen are ever to be seen at work at this employment. The

natives would still continue the search, were they permitted, upon the "Vale of Rubies;" but I warned them

off on purchasing the land; and I have several good specimens of gems which I have discovered by digging

two feet beneath the surface.

The surface soil being of a light, peaty quality, the stones, from their greater gravity, lie beneath, mixed with

a rounded quartz gravel, which in ages past must have been subjected to the action of running water. This

quartz gravel, with its mixture of gems, rests upon a stiff white pipeclay.

In this stratum of gravel an infinite number of small, and for the most part worthless, specimens of gems are

found, consisting of sapphire, ruby, emerald, jacinth, tourmaline, chrysoberyl, zircon, cat'seye,

"moonstone," and "starstone." Occasionally a stone of value rewards the patient digger; but, unless he

thoroughly understands it, he is apt to pass over the gems of most value as pieces of ironstone.

The mineralogy of Ceylon has hitherto been little understood. It has often been suggested as the "Ophir" of

the time of Solomon, and doubtless, from its production of gems, it might deserve the name.

It has hitherto been the opinion of most writers on Ceylon that the precious metals do not exist in the island;

and Dr. Davy in his work makes an unqualified assertion to that effect. But from the discoveries recently

made, I am of opinion that it exists in very large quantities in the mountainous districts of the island.

It is amusing to see the positive assertions of a clever man upset by a few uneducated sailors.

A few men of the latter class, who had been at the gold diggings both in California and Australia, happened

to engage in a ship bound for Colombo. Upon arrival they obtained leave from the captain for a stroll on

shore, and they took the road toward Kandy, and when about halfway it struck them, from the appearance of

the rocks in the uneven bed of a river, called the Maha Oya, "that gold must exist in its sands." They had no

geological reason for this opinion; but the river happened to be very like those in California in which they had

been accustomed to find gold. They accordingly set to work with a tin pan to wash the sand, and to the

astonishment of every one in Ceylon, and to the utter confusion of Dr. Davy's opinions, they actually

discovered gold!

The quantity was small, but the men were very sanguine of success, and were making their preparations for

working on a more extensive scale, when they were all prostrated by jungle fever  a guardianspirit of the

gold at Amberpussé, which will ever effectually protect it from Europeans.

They all returned to Colombo, and, when convalescent, they proceeded to Newera Ellia, naturally concluding

that the gold which existed in dust in the rivers below must be washed down from the richer stores of the

mountains.

Their first discovery of gold at Newera Ellia was on the 14th June, 1854, on the second day of their search in

that locality. The first gold was found in the "Vale of Rubies."


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I had advised them to make their first search in that spot for this reason: that, as the precious stones had there

settled in the largest numbers, from their superior gravity, it was natural to conclude that, if gold should exist,

it would, from its gravity, be somewhere below the precious stones or in their vicinity.

>From the facility with which it has been discovered, it is impossible to form an opinion as to the quantity or

the extent to which it will eventually be developed. It is equally impossible to predict the future discoveries

which may be made of other minerals. It is well known that quicksilver was found at Cotta, six miles from

Colombo, in the year 1797. It was in small quantities, and was neglected by the government, and no extended

search was prosecuted. The present search for gold may bring to light mineral resources of Ceylon which

have hitherto lain hidden.

The minerals proved to exist up to the present time are gold, quicksilver, plumbago and iron. The two latter

are of the finest quality and in immense abundance. The rocks of Ceylon are primitive, consisting of granite,

gneiss and quartz. Of these the two latter predominate. Dolomite also exists in large quantities up to an

elevation of five thousand feet, but not beyond this height.

Plumbago is disseminated throughout the whole of both soil and rocks in Ceylon, and may be seen covering

the surface in the drains by the road side, after a recent shower.

It is principally found at Ratnapoora and at Belligam, in large, detached kidneyshaped masses, from four to

twenty feet below the surface. The cost of digging and the transport are the only expenses attending it, as the

supply is inexhaustible. Its component parts are nineteen of carbon and one of iron.

It exists in such quantities, in the gneiss rocks that upon their decomposition it is seen in bright specks like

silver throughout.

This gneiss rock, when in a peculiar stage of decomposition, has the appearance and consistency of yellow

brick, speckled with plumbago. It exists in this state in immense masses, and forms a valuable buildingstone,

as it can be cut with ease to any shape required, and, though soft when dug, it hardens by exposure to the air.

It has also the valuable property of withstanding the greatest heat; and for furnace building it is superior to the

best Stourbridge firebricks.

The finest quality of iron is found upon the mountains in various forms, from the small ironstone gravel to

large masses of many tons in weight protruding from the earth's surface.

So fine is that considered at Newera Ellia and the vicinity that the native blacksmiths have been accustomed

from time immemorial to make periodical visits for the purpose of smelting the ore. The average specimens

of this produce about eighty per cent. of pure metal, even by the coarse native process of smelting. The

operations are as follows:

Having procured the desired amount of ore, it is rendered as small as possible by pounding with a hammer.

A platform is then built of clay, about six feet in length by three feet in height and width.

A small well is formed in the centre of the platform, about eighteen inches in depth and diameter,

eggshaped.

A few inches from the bottom of this well is an airpassage, connected with a pipe and bellows.

The well is then filled with alternate layers of charcoal and pulverized iron ore; the fire is lighted, and the

process of smelting commences.


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The bellows are formed of two inflated skins, like a double "bagpipe." Each foot of the "bellowsblower" is

strapped to one skin, the pipes of the bellows being fixed in the airhole of the blast. He then works the skins

alternately by moving his feet up and down, being assisted in this treadmill kind of labor by the elasticity of

two bamboos, of eight or ten feet in length, the butts of which, being firmly fixed in the ground, enable him

to retain his balance by grasping one with either hand. From the yielding top of each bamboo, a string

descends attached to either big toe; thus the downward pressure of each foot upon the bellows strains upon

the bamboo top as a fish bears upon a fishingrod, and the spring of the bamboo assists him in lifting up his

leg. Without this assistance, it would be impossible to continue the exertion for the time required.

While the "bellowsblower" is thus getting up a blaze, another man attends upon the well, which he

continues to feed alternately with fresh ore and a corresponding amount of charcoal, every now and then

throwing in a handful of fine sand as a flux.

The return for a whole day's puffing and blowing will be about twenty pounds weight of badlysmelted iron.

This is subsequently remelted, and is eventually worked up into hatchets, hoes, betelcrackers, etc., etc. being

of a superior quality to the best Swedish iron.

If the native blacksmith were to value his time at only sixpence per diem from the day on which he first

started for the mountains till the day that he returned from his ironsmelting expedition, he would find that

his iron would have cost him rather a high price per hundredweight; and if he were to make the same

calculation of the value of time, he would discover that by the time he had completed one axe he could have

purchased ready made, for onethird the money, an English tool of superior manufacture. This, however, is

not their style of calculation. Time has no value, according to their crude ideas; therefore, if they want an

article, and can produce it without the actual outlay of cash, no matter how much time is expended, they will

prefer that method of obtaining it.

Unfortunately, the expense of transit is so heavy from Newera Ellia to Colombo, that this valuable metal, like

the fine timber of the forests, must remain useless.

CHAPTER IV. Poverty of Soil  Ceylon Sugar  Fatality of Climate  Supposed Fertility of Soil  Native

Cultivation  Neglect of Rice Cultivation  Abandoned Reservoirs  Former Prosperity  Ruins of Cities

Pollanarua  The Great Dagoba  Architectural Relics  The Rock Temple  Destruction of Population

Neglected Capabilities  Suggestions for Increasing Population  Progress of Pestilence  Deserted

Villages  Difficulties in the Cultivation of Rice  Division of Labor  Native Agriculture.

>From the foregoing description, the reader will have inferred that Newera Ellia is a delightful place of

residence, with a mean temperature of 60 Fahrenheit, abounding with beautiful views of mountain and plain

and of boundless panoramas in the vicinity. He will also have discovered that, in addition to the healthiness

of its climate, its natural resources are confined to its timber and mineral productions, as the soil is decidedly

poor.

The appearance of the latter has deceived every one, especially the black soil of the patina, which my bailiff,

on his first arrival declared to be excellent. Lord Torrington, who is well known as an agriculturist, was

equally deceived. He was very confident in the opinion that "it only required draining to enable it to produce

anything." The real fact is, that it is far inferior to the forestland, and will not pay for the working.

Nevertheless, it is my decided opinion that the generality of the forestland at Newera Ellia and the vicinity

is superior to that in other parts of Ceylon.

There are necessarily rich lots every now end then in such a large extent as the surface of the low country; but

these lots usually lie on the banks of rivers which have been subjected to inundations, and they are not fair


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samples of Ceylon soil. A river's bank or a valley's bottom must be tolerably good even in the poorest

country.

The great proof of the general poverty of Ceylon is shown in the failure of every agricultural experiment in

which a rich soil is required.

Cinnamon thrives; but why? It delights in a soil of quartz sand, in which nothing else would grow.

Cocoanut trees flourish for the same reason ; sea air, a sandy soil and a dry subsoil are all that the cocoanut

requires.

On the other hand, those tropical productions which require a strong soil invariably prove failures, and sugar,

cotton, indigo, hemp and tobacco cannot possibly be cultivated with success.

Even on the alluvial soil upon the banks of rivers sugar does not pay the proprietor. The only sugar estate in

the island that can keep its head above water is the Peredinia estate, within four miles of Kandy. This, again,

lies upon the bank of the Mahawelli river, and it has also the advantage of a home market for its produce, as it

supplies the interior of Ceylon at the rate of twentythree shillings per cwt. upon the spot.

Any person who thoroughly understands the practical cultivation of the sugarcane can tell the quality of

sugar that will be produced by an examination of the soil. I am thoroughly convinced that no soil in Ceylon

will produce a sample of fine, strawcolored, dry, bright, largecrystaled sugar. The finest sample ever

produced of Ceylon sugar is a dull gray, and always moist, requiring a very large proportion of lime in the

manufacture, without which it could neither be cleansed nor crystalized.

The sugar cane, to produce fine sugar, requires a rich, stiff, and very dry soil. In Ceylon, there is no such

thing as a stiff soil existing. The alluvial soil upon the banks of rivers is adapted for the growth of cotton and

tobacco, but not for the sugarcane. In such light and moist alluvial soil the latter will grow to a great size,

and will yield a large quantity of juice in which the saccharometer may stand well; but the degree of strength

indicated will proceed from an immense proportion of mucilage, which will give much trouble in the

cleansing during boiling; and the sugar produced must be wanting in dryness and fine color.

There are several rivers in Ceylon whose banks would produce good cotton and tobacco, especially those in

the districts of Hambantotte and Batticaloa; such as the "Wallawé," the "Yallé river," the "Koombookanaar,"

etc.; but even here the good soil is very limited, lying on either bank for only a quarter of a mile in width. In

addition to this, the unhealthiness of the climate is so great that I am convinced no European constitution

could withstand it. Even the natives are decimated at certain seasons by the most virulent fevers and

dysentery.

These diseases generally prevail to the greatest extent during the dry season. This district is particularly

subject to severe droughts; months pass away without a drop of rain or a cloud upon the sky. Every pool and

tank is dried up; the rivers forsake their banks, and a trifling stream trickles over the sandy bed. Thus all the

rotten wood, dead leaves and putrid vegetation brought down by the torrent during the wet season are left

upon the dried bed to infect the air with miasma.

This deadly climate would be an insurmountable obstacle to the success of estates. Even could managers be

found to brave the danger, one season of sickness and death among the coolies would give the estate a name

which would deprive it of all future supplies of labor.

Indigo is indigenous to Ceylon, but it is of an inferior quality, and an experiment made in its cultivation was a

total failure.


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In fact, nothing will permanently succeed in Ceylon soil without abundance of manure, with the exception of

cinnamon and cocoanuts. Even the native gardens will not produce a tolerable sample of the common sweet

potato without manure, a positive proof of the general poverty of the soil.

Nevertheless, Ceylon has had a character for fertility. Bennett, in his work entitled "Ceylon and its

Capabilities," describes the island in the most florid terms, as "the most important and valuable of all the

insular possessions of the imperial crown." Again he speaks of "its fertile soil, and indigenous vegetable

productions," etc., etc. Again: "Ceylon, though comparatively but little known, is preeminent in natural

resources." All this serves to mislead the public opinion. Agricultural experiments in a tropical country in a

little garden highly manured may be very satisfactory and very amusing. Everything must necessarily come

to perfection with great rapidity; but these experiments are no proof of what Ceylon will produce, and the

popular idea of its fertility has been at length proved a delusion.

It is a dangerous thing for any man to sit down to "make" a book. If he has had personal experience, let him

write a description of those subjects which he understands; but if he attempts to "make" a book, he must

necessarily collect information from hearsay, when he will most probably gather some chaff with his grain.

Can any man, when describing the "fertility" of Ceylon, be aware that newlycleared forestland will only

produce one crop of the miserable grain called korrakan? Can he understand why the greater portion of

Ceylon is covered by dense thorny jungles? It is simply this  that the land is so desperately poor that it will

only produce one crop, and thus an immense acreage is required for the support of a few inhabitants; thus,

from ages past up to the present time, the natives have been continually felling fresh forest and deserting the

last clearing, which has accordingly grown into a dense, thorny jungle, forming what are termed the Chénars"

of Ceylon.

So fully aware are the natives of the impossibility of getting more than one crop out of the land that they

plant all that they require at the same time. Thus may be seen in a field of korrakan (a small grain), Indian

corn, millet and pumpkins, all growing together, and harvested as they respectively become ripe.

The principal articles of native cultivation are rice, korrakan, Indian corn, betel, arecanuts, pumpkins,

onions, garlic, gingellyoil seed, tobacco, millet, red peppers, curry seed and sweet potatoes.

The staple articles of Ceylon production are coffee cinnamon and cocoanut oil, which are for the most part

cultivated and manufactured by Europeans.

The chief article of native consumption, "rice," should be an export from Ceylon; but there has been an

unaccountable neglect on the part of government regarding the production of this important grain, for the

supply of which Ceylon is mainly dependent upon importation. In the hitherto overrated general resources of

Ceylon, the cultivation of rice has scarcely been deemed worthy of notice; the allabsorbing subject of coffee

cultivation has withdrawn the attention of the government from that particular article, for the production of

which the resources of Ceylon are both naturally and artificially immense.

This neglect is the more extraordinary as the increase of coffee cultivation involves a proportionate increase

in the consumption of rice, by the additional influx of coolie labor from the coast of India; therefore the price

and supply of rice in Ceylon become questions of similar importance to the price of corn in England. This

dependence upon a foreign soil for the supply involves the necessary fluctuations in price caused by uncertain

arrivals and precarious harvests; and the importance of an unlimited supply at an even rate may be imagined

when it is known that every native consumes a bushel of rice per month, when he can obtain it.

Nevertheless, the great capabilities of Ceylon for the cultivation of this allimportant "staff of life" are

entirely neglected by the government. The tanks which afforded a supply of water for millions in former ages


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now lie idle and out of repair; the pelican sails in solitude upon their waters, and the crocodile basks upon

their shores; the thousands of acres which formerly produced rice for a dense population are now matted over

by a thorny and impenetrable jungle. The wild buffalo, descendant from the ancient stock which tilled the

ground of a great nation, now roams through a barren forest, which in olden times was a soil glistening with

fertility. The ruins of the mighty cities tower high above the trees, sad monuments of desolation, where all

was once flourishing, and where thousands dwelt within their walls.

All are passed away; and in the wreck of past ages we trace the great resources of the country, which

produced sufficient food to support millions; while for the present comparatively small population Ceylon is

dependent upon imports.

These lakes, or tanks, were works of much art and of immense labor for the purpose of reservoirs, from the

supply of which the requisite amount of land could be irrigated for rice cultivation. A valley of the required

extent being selected, the courses of neighboring or distant rivers were conducted into it, and the exit of the

waters was prevented by great causeways, or dams, of solid masonry, which extended for some miles across

the lower side of the valley thus converted into a lake. The exit of the water was then regulated by means of

sluices, from which it was conducted by channels to the ricelands.

These tanks are of various extent, and extremely numerous throughout Ceylon. The largest are those of

Minneria, Kandellai, Padavellkiellom, and the Giant Tank. These are from fifteen to twentyfive miles in

circumference; but in former times, when the sluices were in repair and the volume of water at its full height,

they must have been much larger.

In those days the existence of a reservoir of water was a certain indication of a populous and flourishing

neighborhood; and the chief cities of the country were accordingly situated in those places which were

always certain of a supply. So careful were the inhabitants in husbanding those liquid resources upon which

their very existence depended that even the surplus waters of one lake were not allowed to escape unheeded.

Channels were cut, connecting a chain of tanks of slightly varying elevations, over an extent of sixty or

seventy miles of apparently flat country, and the overflow of one tank was thus conducted in succession from

lake to lake, until they all attained the desired level.

In this manner was the greater portion of Ceylon kept in the highest state of cultivation. From the north to the

south the island was thickly peopled, and the only portions which then remained in the hands of nature were

those which are now seen in the state of primeval forest.

Well may Ceylon in those times have deserved the name of the "Paradise of the East." The beauties which

nature has showered upon the land were heightened by cultivation; the forestcapped mountains rose from a

waving sea of green; the valleys teemed with wealth; no thorny jungles gave a barren terminable prospect,

but the golden tints of ripening crops spread to the horizon. Temples stood upon the hilltops; cities were

studded over the land, their lofty dagobas and palaces reflected on the glassy surface of the lakes, from which

their millions of inhabitants derived their food, their wealth and their very life.

The remains of these cities sufficiently attest the former amount of population and the comparative

civilization which existed at that remote era among the progenitors of the present degraded race of barbarians.

The ruins of "Anaradupoora," which cover two hundred and fiftysix square miles of ground, are all that

remain of the noble city which stood within its walls in a square of sixteen miles. Some idea of the amount of

population may be arrived at, when we consider the present density of inhabitants in all Indian houses and

towns. Millions must, therefore, have streamed from the gates of a city to which our modern London was

comparatively a village.


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There is a degree of sameness in the ruins of all the ancient cities of Ceylon which renders a description

tedious. Those of "Anaradupoora" are the largest in extent, and the buildings appear to have been more lofty,

the great dagoba having exceeded four hundred feet in height; but the ruins do not exhibit the same "finish" in

the style of architecture which is seen in the remains of other towns.

Among these, "Toparé," anciently called "Pollanarua," stands foremost. This city appears to have been laid

out with a degree of taste which would have done credit to our modern towns.

Before its principal gate stretched a beautiful lake of about fifteen miles circumference (now only nine). The

approach to this gate was by a broad road, upon the top of a stone causeway, of between two and three miles

in length, which formed a massive dam to the waters of the lake which washed its base. To the right of this

dam stretched many miles of cultivation; to the left, on the farther shores of the lake, lay parklike

grasslands, studded with forest trees, some of whose mighty descendants still exist in the noble "tamarind,"

rising above all others. Let us return in imagination to Pollanarua as it once stood. Having arrived upon the

causeway in the approach to the city, the scene must have been beautiful in the extreme: the silvery lake, like

a broad mirror, in the midst of a tropical park; the flowering trees shadowing its waters; the groves of

tamarinds sheltering its many nooks and bays; the gorgeous blossoms of the pink lotus resting on its glassy

surface; and the carpetlike glades of verdant pasturage, stretching far away upon the opposite shores,

covered with countless elephants, tamed to complete obedience. Then on the right, below the massive granite

steps which form the causeway, the water rushing from the sluice carries fertility among a thousand fields,

and countless laborers and cattle till the ground: the sturdy buffaloes straining at the plough, the women,

laden with golden sheaves of corn and baskets of fruit, crowding along the palmshaded road winding toward

the city, from whose gate a countless throng are passing and returning. Behold the mighty city! rising like a

snowwhite cloud from the broad margin of the waters. The groves of cocoanuts and palms of every kind,

grouped in the inner gardens, throwing a cool shade upon the polished walls; the lofty palaces towering

among the stately areca trees, and the gilded domes reflecting a blaze of light from the rays of a midday sun.

Such let us suppose the exterior of Pollanarua.

The gates are entered, and a broad street, straight as an arrow, lies before us, shaded on either side by rows of

palms. Here stand, on either hand, the dwellings of the principal inhabitants, bordering the wide space, which

continues its straight and shady course for about four miles in length. In the centre, standing in a spacious

circle, rises the great Dagoba, forming a grand coup d'oeil from the entrance gate. Two hundred and sixty feet

from the base the Dagoba rears its lofty summit. Two circular terraces, each of some twenty feet in height,

rising one upon the other, with a width of fifty feet, and a diameter at the base of about two hundred and fifty,

from the steplike platform upon which the Dagoba stands. These are ascended by broad flights of steps,

each terrace forming a circular promenade around the Dagoba; the whole having the appearance of white

marble, being covered with polished stucco ornamented with figures in basrelief. The Dagoba is a solid

mass of brickwork in the shape of a dome, which rises from the upper terrace. The whole is covered with

polished stucco, and surmounted by a gilded spire standing upon a square pedestal of stucco, highly

ornamented with large figures, also in basrelief; this pedestal is a cube of about thirty feet, supporting the

tall gilded spire, which is surmounted by a golden umbrella.

Around the base of the Dagoba on the upper terrace are eight small entrances with highlyornamented

exteriors. These are the doors to eight similar chambers of about twelve feet square, in each of which is a

small altar and carved golden idol. This Dagoba forms the main centre of the city, from which streets branch

off in all directions, radiating from the circular space in which it stands.

The main street from the entrancegate continues to the further extremity of the city, being crossed at right

angles in the centre by a similar street, thus forming two great main streets through the city, terminating in

four great gates or entrances to the town  north, south, east and west. Continuing along the main street from

the great Dagoba for about a mile, we face another Dagoba of similar appearance, but of smaller dimensions,


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also standing in a spacious circle. Near this rises the king's palace, a noble building of great height, edged at

the corner by narrow octagon towers.

At the further extremity of this main street, close to the opposite entrance gate, is the rock temple, with the

massive idols of Buddha flanking the entrance.

This, from the form and position of the existing ruins, we may conceive to have been the appearance of

Pollanarua in its days of prosperity. But what remains of its grandeur? It has vanished like "a tale that is told;"

it is passed away like a dream; the palaces are dust; the grassy sod has grown in mounds over the ruins of

streets and fallen houses; nature has turfed them in one common grave with their inhabitants. The lofty palms

have faded away and given place to forest trees, whose roots spring from the crumbled ruins; the bear and the

leopard crouch in the porches of the temples; the owl roosts in the casements of the palaces; the jackal roams

among the ruins in vain; there is not a bone left for him to gnaw of the multitudes which have passed away.

There is their handwriting upon the temple wall, upon the granite slab which has mocked at Time; but there is

no man to decipher it. There are the gigantic idols before whom millions have bowed; there is the same

vacant stare upon their features of rock which gazed upon the multitudes of yore; but they no longer stare

upon the pomp of the glorious city, but upon ruin, and rank weeds, and utter desolation. How many suns have

risen and how many nights have darkened the earth since silence has reigned amidst the city, no man can tell.

No mortal can say what fate befell those hosts of heathens, nor when they vanished from the earth. Day and

night succeed each other, and the shade of the setting sun still falls from the great Dagoba; but it is the "valley

of the shadow of death" upon which that shadow falls like a pall over the corpse of a nation.

The great Dagoba now remains a heap of mouldering brickwork, still retaining its form, but shorn of all its

beauty. The stucco covering has almost all disappeared, leaving a patch here and there upon the most

sheltered portions of the building. Scrubby brushwood and rank grass and lichens have for the most part

covered its surface, giving it the appearance rather of a huge mound of earth than of an ancient building. A

portion of the palace is also standing, and, although for the most part blocked up with ruins, there is still

sufficient to denote its former importance. The bricks, or rather the tiles, of which all the buildings are

composed, are of such an imperishable nature that they still adhere to each other in large masses in spots

where portions of the buildings have fallen.

In one portion of the ruins there are a number of beautiful fluted columns, with carved capitals, still

remaining in a perfect state. Among these are the ruins of a large flight of steps; near them, again, a

stonelined tank, which was evidently intended as a bath; and everything denotes the former comfort and

arrangement of a firstclass establishment. There are innumerable relics, all interesting and worthy of

individual attention, throughout the ruins over a surface of many miles, but they are mostly overgrown with

jungle or covered with rank grass. The apparent undulations of the ground in all directions are simply the

remains of fallen streets and buildings overgrown in like manner with tangled vegetation.

The most interesting, as being the most perfect, specimen, is the small rock temple, which, being hewn out of

the solid stone, is still in complete preservation. This is a small chamber in the face of an abrupt rock, which,

doubtless, being partly a natural cavern, has been enlarged to the present size by the chisel; and the entrance,

which may have been originally a small hole, has been shaped into an arched doorway. The interior is not

more than perhaps twentyfive feet by eighteen, and is simply fitted up with an altar and the three figures of

Buddha, in the positions in which he is usually represented the sitting, the reclining and the standing

postures.

The exterior of the temple is far more interesting. The narrow archway is flanked on either side by two

inclined planes, hewn from the face of the rock, about eighteen feet high by twelve in width. These are

completely covered with an inscription in the old Pali language, which has never been translated. Upon the

left of one plain is a kind of sunken area hewn out of the rock, in which sits a colossal figure of Buddha,


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about twenty feet in height. On the right of the other plane is a figure in the standing posture about the same

height; and still farther to the right, likewise hewn from the solid rock, is an immense figure in the recumbent

posture, which is about fiftysix feet in length, or, as I measured it, not quite nineteen paces.

These figures are of a far superior class of sculpture to the idols usually seen in Ceylon, especially that in the

reclining posture, in which the impression of the head upon the pillow is so well executed that the massive

pillow of gneiss rock actually appears yielding to the weight of the head.

This temple is supposed to be coeval with the city, which was founded about three hundred years before

Christ, and is supposed to have been in ruins for upward of six hundred years. The comparatively recent date

of its destruction renders its obscurity the more mysterious, as there is no mention made of its annihilation in

any of the Cingalese records, although the city is constantly mentioned during the time of its prosperity in the

native history of Ceylon. It is my opinion that its destruction was caused by famine.

In those days the kings of Ceylon were perpetually at war with each other. The Queen of the South, from the

great city of Mahagam in the Hambantotte district, made constant war with the kings of Pollanarua. They

again made war with the Arabs and Malabars, who had invaded the northern districts of Ceylon; and as in

modern warfare the great art consists in cutting off the enemy's supplies, so in those days the first and most

decisive blow to be inflicted was the cutting off the "water." Thus, by simply turning the course of a river

which supplied a principal tank, not only would that tank lose its supply, but the whole of the connected

chain of lakes dependent upon the principal would in like manner be deprived of water.

This being the case, the first summer or dry season would lay waste the country. I have myself seen the lake

of Minneria, which is twentytwo miles in circumference, evaporate to the small dimensions of four miles

circuit during a dry season.

A population of some millions wholly dependent upon the supply of rice for their existence would be thrown

into sudden starvation by the withdrawal of the water. Thus have the nations died out like a fire for lack of

fuel. This cause will account for the decay of the great cities of Ceylon. The population gone, the wind and

the rain would howl through the deserted dwellings, the white ants would devour the supporting beams, the

elephants would rub their colossal forms against the already tottering houses, and decay would proceed with a

rapidity unknown in a cooler clime. As the seed germinates in a few hours in a tropical country, so with equal

haste the body of both vegetable and animal decays when life is extinct. A perpetual and hurrying change is

visible in all things. A few showers, and the surface of the earth is teeming with verdure; a few days of

drought, and the seeds already formed are falling to the earth, springing in their turn to life at the approach of

moisture. The same rapidity of change is exhibited in their decay. The heaps of vegetable putridity upon the

banks of rivers, when a swollen torrent has torn the luxuriant plants from the loosened soil, are but the effects

of a few hours' change. The tree that arrives at maturity in a few years rots in as short a time when required

for durability: thus it is no mystery, that either a house or a city should shortly fall to decay when the

occupant is gone.

In like manner, and with still greater rapidity, is a change effected in the face of nature. As the flowers usurp

the place of weeds under the care of man, so, when his hand is wanting, a few short weeks bury them beneath

an overwhelming mass of thorns. In one year a jungle will conceal all signs of recent cultivation. Is it,

therefore, a mystery that Ceylon is covered with such vast tracts of thorny jungle, now that her inhabitants are

gone?

Throughout the world there is a perpetual war between man and nature, but in no country has the original

curse of the earth been carried out to a fuller extent than in Ceylon: "thorns also and thistles shall it bring

forth to thee." This is indeed exemplified when a few months neglect of oncecultivated land renders it

almost impassable, and where man has vanished from the earth and thorny jungles have covered the once


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broad tracts of prosperous cultivation.

A few years will thus produce an almost total ruin throughout a deserted city. The air of desolation created by

a solitude of six centuries can therefore be easily imagined. There exists, however, among the ruins of

Pollanarua a curious instance of the power of the smallest apparent magnitude to destroy the works of man.

At some remote period a bird has dropped the seed of the banian tree (ficus Indicus) upon the decaying

summit of a dagoba. This, germinating has struck its root downward through the brickwork, and, by the

gradual and insinuating progress of its growth, it has split the immense mass of building into two sections;

the twisted roots now appearing through the clefts, while the victorious tree waves in exultation above the

ruin: an emblem of the silent growth of "civilization" which will overturn the immense fabric of heathen

superstition.

It is placed beyond a doubt that the ricegrowing resources of Ceylon have been suffered to lie dormant since

the disappearance of her ancient population; and to these neglected capabilities the attention of government

should be directed.

An experiment might be commenced on a small scale by the repair of one tank  say Kandellai, which is only

twentysix miles from Trincomalee on the highroad to Kandy. This tank, when the dam and sluices were

repaired, would rise to about nine feet above its present level, and would irrigate many thousand acres.

The grand desideratum in the improvement of Ceylon is the increase of the population; all of whom should,

in some measure, be made to increase the revenue.

The government should therefore hazard this one experiment to induce the emigration of the industrious class

of Chinese to the shores of Ceylon. Show them a neverfailing supply of water and land of unlimited extent

to be hid on easy terms, and the country would soon resume its original prosperity. A tax of five per cent.

upon the produce of the land, to commence in the ratio of 0 per cent. for the first year, three per cent. for the

second and third, and the full amount of five for the fourth, would be a fair and easy rent to the settler, and

would not only repay the government for the cost of repairing the tank, but would in a few cars become a

considerable source of revenue, in addition to the increased value of the land, now worthless, by a system of

cultivation.

Should the first experiment succeed, the plan might be continued throughout Ceylon, and the soil of her own

shores would produce a supply for the island consumption. The revenue would be derived direct from the

land which now produces nothing but thorny jungle. The import trade of Ceylon would be increased in

proportion to the influx of population, and the duties upon enlarged imports would again tend to swell the

revenue of the country.

The felling and clearing of the jungle, which cultivation would render necessary, would tend, in a great

measure, to dispel the fevers and malaria always produced by a want of free circulation of air. In a

junglecovered country like Ceylon, diseases of the most malignant character are harbored in these dense and

undisturbed tracts, which year after year reap a pestilential harvest from the thinlyscattered population.

Cholera, dysentery, fever and smallpox all appear in their turn and annually sweep whole villages away. I

have frequently hailed with pleasure the distant tope of waving cocoanut trees after a long day's journey in a

broiling sun, when I have cantered toward these shady warders of cultivation in hopes of a night's halt at a

village. But the palms have sighed in the wind over tenantless abodes, and the mouldering dead have lain

beneath their shade. Not a living soul remaining; all swept away by pestilence; huts recently fallen to decay,

fruits ripening, on the trees, and no hand left to gather them; the shaddock and the lime falling to the earth to

be preyed upon by the worm, like their former masters. All dead; not one left to tell the miserable tale.


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The decay of the population is still progressing, and the next fifty years will see whole districts left

uninhabited unless something can be done to prevent it. There is little doubt that if land and water could be

obtained from government in a comparatively healthy and populous neighborhood, many would migrate to

that point from the halfdeserted districts, who might assist in the cultivation of the country instead of rotting

in a closing jungle.

One season of pestilence, even in a large village, paves the road for a similar visitation in the succeeding

year, for this reason:

Say that a village comprising two hundred men is reduced by sickness to a population of one hundred. The

remaining one hundred cannot keep in cultivation the land formerly open; therefore, the jungle closes over

the surface and rapidly encroaches upon the village. Thus the circulation of air is impeded and disease again

halves the population. In each successive year the wretched inhabitants are thinned out, and disease becomes

the more certain as the jungle continues to advance. At length the miserable few are no longer sufficient to

cultivate the ricelands; their numbers will not even suffice for driving their buffaloes. The jungle closes

round the village; cholera finishes the scene by sweeping off the remnant; and groves of cocoanut trees,

towering over the thorny jungle, become monuments sacred to the memory of an exterminated village.

The number of villages which have thus died out is almost incredible. In a day's ride of twenty miles, I have

passed the remains of as many as three or four, how many more may have vanished in the depths of the

jungle!

Wherever the cocoanut trees are still existing, the ruin of the village must have been comparatively recent,

as the wild elephants generally overturn them in a few years after the disappearance of the inhabitants,

browsing upon the succulent tops, and destroying every trace of a former habitation.

There is no doubt that when sickness is annually reducing the population of a district, the inhabitants, and

accordingly the produce of the land, must shortly come to an end. In all times of pestilence the first impulse

among the natives is to fly from the neighborhood, but at present there is no place of refuge. It is, therefore, a

matter of certainty that the repair of one of the principal tanks would draw together in thousands the survivors

of many halfperished villages, who would otherwise fall victims to succeeding years of sickness.

The successful cultivation of rice at all times requires an extensive population, and large grazinggrounds for

the support of the buffaloes necessary for the tillage of the land.

The labor of constructing dams and forming watercourses is performed by a general gathering, similar to the

American principle of a "bee;" and, as "many hands make light work," the cultivation proceeds with great

rapidity. Thus a large population can bring into tillage a greater individual proportion of ground than a

smaller number of laborers, and the rice is accordingly produced at a cheaper rate.

Few people understand the difficulties with which a small village has to contend in the cultivation of rice.

The continual repairs of temporary dams, which are nightly trodden down and destroyed by elephants; the

filling up of the watercourses from the same cause; the nocturnal attacks upon the crops by elephants and

hogs; the devastating attacks of birds as the grain becomes ripe; a scarcity of water at the exact moment it is

required; and other numerous difficulties which are scarcely felt by a large population.

By the latter the advantage is enjoyed of the division of labor. The dams are built of permanent material;

every work is rapidly completed; the nightfires blaze in the lofty watchhouse,, while the shouts of the

watchers scare the wild beasts from the crops. Hundreds of children are daily screaming from their high

perches to scare away the birds. Rattles worked by long lines extend in every direction, unceasingly pulled by

the people in the watchhouses; windclackers (similar to our cherryclackers) are whirling in all places; and


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by the division of the toil among a multitude the individual work proceeds without fatigue.

Every native is perfectly aware of this advantage in rice cultivation; and were the supply of water ensured to

them by the repair of a principal tank, they would gather around its margin. The thorny jungles would soon

disappear from the surface of the ground, and a denselypopulated and prosperous district would again exist

where all has been a wilderness for a thousand years.

The system of rice cultivation is exceedingly laborious. The first consideration being a supply of water, the

second is a perfect level, or series of levels, to be irrigated. Thus a hillside must be terraced out into a

succession of platforms or steps; and a plain, however apparently flat, must, by the requisite embankments,

be reduced to the most perfect surface.

This being completed, the water is laid on for a certain time, until the soil has become excessively soft and

muddy. It is then run off, and the land is ploughed by a simple implement, which, being drawn by two

buffaloes, stirs up the soil to a depth of eighteen inches. This finished, the water is again laid on until the mud

becomes so soft that a man will sink kneedeep. In this state it is then trodden over by buffaloes, driven

backward and forward in large gangs, until the mud is so thoroughly mixed that upon the withdrawal of the

water it sinks to a perfect level.

Upon this surface the paddy, having been previously soaked in water, is now sown; and, in the course of a

fortnight, it attains a height of about four inches. The water is now again laid on, and continued at intervals

until within a fortnight of the grain becoming ripe. It is then run off; the ground hardens, the ripe crop is

harvested by the sickle, and the grain is trodden out by buffaloes. The rice is then separated from the paddy or

husk by being pounded in a wooden mortar.

This is a style of cultivation in which the Cingalese particularly excel; nothing can be more beautifully

regular than their flights of green terraces from the bottoms of the valleys to the very summits of the hills:

and the labor required in their formation must be immense, is they are frequently six feet one above the other.

The Cingalese are peculiarly a ricegrowing nation; give them an abundant supply of water and land on easy

terms, and they will not remain idle.

CHAPTER V. Real Cost of Land  Want of Communication  Coffeeplanting  Comparison between

French and English Settlers  Landslips  Forestclearing  Manuring  The Coffee Bug  Rats 

Fatted Stock  Suggestions for Sheepfarming  Attack of a Leopard  Leopards and Chetahs  Boy

Devoured  Traps  Musk Cats and the Mongoose  Vermin of Ceylon.

What is the government price of land in Ceylon? and what is the real cost of the land? These are two

questions which should be considered separately, and with grave attention by the intending settler or

capitalist.

The upset price of government land is twenty shillings per acre; thus, the inexperienced purchaser is very apt

to be led away by the apparently low sum per acre into a purchase of great extent. The question of the real

cost will then be solved at his expense. There are few colonies belonging to Great Britain where the

government price of land is so high, compared to the value of the natural productions of the soil.

The staple commodity of Ceylon being coffee, I will assume that a purchase is concluded with the

government for one thousand acres of land, at the upset price of twenty shillings per acre. What has the

purchaser obtained for this sum? One thousand acres of dense forest, to which there is no road. The one

thousand pounds passes into the government chest, and the purchaser is no longer thought of; he is left to

shift for himself and to make the most of his bad bargain.


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He is, therefore, in this position: He has parted with one thousand pounds for a similar number of acres of

land, which will not yield him one penny in any shape until he has cleared it from forest. This he immediately

commences by giving out contracts, and the forest is cleared, lopped and burnt. The ground is then planted

with coffee and the planter has to wait three years for a return. By the time of full bearing the whole cost of

felling, burning, planting and cleaning will be about eight pounds per acre; this, in addition to the prime cost

of the land, and about two thousand pounds expended in buildings, machinery etc., etc., will bring the price

of the land, when in a yielding condition, to eleven pounds an acre at the lowest calculation. Thus before his

land yields him one fraction, he will have invested eleven thousand pounds, if he clears the whole of his

purchase. Many persons lose sight of this necessary outlay when first purchasing their land, and subsequently

discover to their cost that their capital is insufficient to bring the estate into cultivation.

Then comes the question of a road. The government will give him no assistance; accordingly, the whole of

his crop must be conveyed on coolies' heads along an arduous path to the nearest highway, perhaps fifteen

miles distant. Even this rough path of fifteen miles the planter must form at his own expense.

Considering the risks that are always attendant upon agricultural pursuits, and especially upon

coffeeplanting, the price of rough land must be acknowledged as absurdly high under the present conditions

of sales. There is a great medium to be observed, however, in the sales of crown land; too low a price is even

a greater evil than too high a rate, as it is apt to encourage speculators in land, who do much injury to a

colony by locking up large tracts in an uncultivated state, to take the chance of a future rise in the price.

This evil might easily be avoided by retaining the present bona fide price of the land per acre, qualified by an

arrangement that onehalf of the purchase money should be expended in the formation of roads from the land

in question. This would be of immense assistance to the planters, especially in a populous planting

neighborhood, where the purchases of land were large and numerous, in which case the aggregate sum would

be sufficient to form a carriage road to the main highway, which might be kept in repair by a slight toll. An

arrangement of this kind is not only fair to the planters, but would be ultimately equally beneficial to the

government. Every fresh sale of land would ensure either a new road or the improvement of an old one; and

the country would be opened up through the most remote districts. This very fact of good communication

would expedite the sales of crown lands, which are now valueless from their isolated position.

Coffeeplanting in Ceylon has passed through the various stages inseparable from every "mania."

In the early days of our possession, the Kandian district was little known, and sanguine imaginations painted

the hidden prospect in their ideal colors, expecting that a trace once opened to the interior would be the road

to fortune.

How these golden expectations have been disappointed the broken fortunes of many enterprising planters can

explain.

The protective duty being withdrawn, a competition with foreign coffee at once reduced the splendid prices

of olden times to a more moderate standard, and took forty per cent. out of the pockets of the planters.

Coffee, which in those days brought from one hundred shillings to one hundred and forty shillings per

hundredweight, is now reduced to from sixty shillings to eighty shillings.

This sudden reduction created an equally sudden panic among the planters, many of whom were men of

straw, who had rushed to Ceylon at the first cry of coffee "fortunes," and who had embarked on an extensive

scale with borrowed capital. These were the first to smash. In those days the expenses of bringing land into

cultivation were more than double the present rate, and, the cultivation of coffee not being so well

understood, the produce per acre was comparatively small. This combination of untoward circumstances was

sufficient cause for the alarm which ensued, and estates were thrust into the market and knocked down for


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whatever could be realized. Mercantile houses were dragged down into the general ruin, and a dark cloud

settled over the Cinnamon isle.

As the after effects of a "hurricane" are a more healthy atmosphere and an increased vigor in all vegetation,

so are the usual sequels to a panic in the commercial world. Things are brought down to their real value and

level; men of straw are swept away, and affairs are commenced anew upon a sound and steady basis. Capital

is invested with caution, and improvements are entered upon step by step, until success is assured.

The reduction in the price of coffee was accordingly met by a corresponding system of expenditure and by an

improved state of cultivation; and at the present time the agricultural prospects of the colony are in a more

healthy state than they have ever been since the commencement of coffee cultivation.

There is no longer any doubt that a coffee estate in a good situation in Ceylon will pay a large interest for the

capital invested, and will ultimately enrich the proprietor, provided that he has his own capital to work his

estate, that he gives his own personal superintendence and that he understands the management. These are the

usual conditions of success in most affairs; but a coffeeestate is not unfrequently abused for not paying

when it is worked with borrowed capital at a high rate of interest under questionable superintendence.

It is a difficult thing to define the amount which constitutes a "fortune:" that which is enough for one man is a

pittance for another; but one thing is certain, that, no matter how small his first capital, the coffeeplanter

hopes to make his "fortune."

Now, even allowing a net profit of twenty per cent. per annum on the capital invested, it must take at least ten

years to add double the amount to the first capital, allowing no increase to the spare capital required for

working the estate. A rapid fortune can never be made by working a coffee estate. Years of patient industry

and toil, chequered by many disappointments, may eventually reward the proprietor; but it will be at a time of

life when a long residence in the tropics will have given him a distaste for the chilly atmosphere of old

England; his early friends will have been scattered abroad, and he will meet few faces to welcome him on his

native shores. What cold is so severe as a cold reception?  no thermometer can mark the degree. No fortune,

however large, can compensate for the loss of home, and friends, and early associations.

This feeling is peculiarly strong throughout the British nation. You cannot convince an English settler that he

will be abroad for an indefinite number of years; the idea would be equivalent to transportation: he consoles

himself with the hope that something will turn up to alter the apparent certainty of his exile; and in this hope,

with his mind ever fixed upon his return, he does nothing for posterity in the colony. He rarely even plants a

fruit tree, hoping that his stay will not allow him to gather from it. This accounts for the poverty of the

gardens and enclosures around the houses of the English inhabitants, and the general dearth of any fruits

worth eating.

How different is the appearance of French colonies, and how different are the feelings of the settler! The

word "adieu" once spoken, he sighs an eternal farewell to the shores of "La belle France," and, with the

natural lightheartedness of the nation, he settles cheerfully in a colony as his adopted country. He lays out

his grounds with taste, and plants groves of exquisite fruit trees, whose produce will, he hopes, be tasted by

his children and grandchildren. Accordingly, in a French colony there is a tropical beauty in the cultivated

trees and flowers which is seldom seen in our possessions. The fruits are brought to perfection, as there is the

same care taken in pruning and grafting the finest kinds as in our gardens in England.

A Frenchman is necessarily a better settler; everything is arranged for permanency, from the building of a

house to the cultivation of an estate. He does not distress his land for immediate profit, but from the very

commencement he adopts a system of the highest cultivation.


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The latter is now acknowledged as the most remunerative course in all countries; and its good effects are

already seen in Ceylon, where, for some years past, much attention has been devoted to manuring on coffee

estates.

No crop has served to develop the natural poverty of the soil so much as coffee; and there is no doubt that,

were it possible to procure manure in sufficient quantity, the holes should be well filled at the time of

planting. This would give an increased vigor to the young plant that would bring the tree into bearing at an

earlier date, as it would the sooner arrive at perfection.

The present system of coffeeplanting on a good estate is particularly interesting. It has now been proved that

the best elevation in Ceylon to combine fine quality with large crops is from twentyfive hundred to four

thousand feet. At one time it was considered that the finest quality was produced at the highest range; but the

estates at an elevation of five thousand feet are so long at arriving at perfection, and the crop produced is so

small, that the lower elevation is preferred.

In the coffee districts of Ceylon there is little or no level ground to be obtained, and the steep sides of the hills

offer many objections to cultivation. The soil, naturally light and poor, is washed by every shower, and the

more soluble portions, together with the salts of the manure applied to the trees, are being continually robbed

by the heavy rains. Thus it is next to impossible to keep an estate in a high state of cultivation, without an

enormous expense in the constant application of manure.

Many estates are peculiarly subject to landslips, which are likewise produced by the violence of the rains. In

these cases the destruction is frequently to a large extent; great rocks are detached from the summits of the

hills, and sweep off whole lines of trees in their descent.

Wherever landslips are frequent, they may be taken as an evidence of a poor, clay subsoil. The rain soaks

through the surface; and not being able to percolate through the clay with sufficient rapidity, it lodges

between the two strata, loosening the upper surface, which slides from the greasy clay; launched, as it were,

by its own gravity into the valley below.

This is the worst kind of soil for the coffee tree, whose long taproot is ever seeking nourishment from

beneath. On this soil it is very common to see a young plantation giving great promise; but as the trees

increase in growth the taproot reaches the clay subsoil and the plantation immediately falls off. The subsoil

is of far more importance to the coffeetree than the upper surface; the latter may be improved by manure,

but if the former is bad there is no remedy.

The first thing to be considered being the soil, and the planter being satisfied with its quality, there is another

item of equal importance to be taken into consideration when choosing a locality for a coffee estate. This is

an extent of grazing land sufficient for the support of the cattle required for producing manure.

In a country with so large a proportion of forest as Ceylon, this is not always practicable; in which case land

should be cleared and grass planted, as it is now proved that without manure an estate will never pay the

proprietor.

The locality being fixed upon, the clearing of the forest is commenced. The felling is begun from the base of

the hills, and the trees being cut about half through, are started in sections of about an acre at one fall. This is

easily effected by felling some large tree from the top, which, falling upon its halfdivided neighbor, carries

everything before it like a pack of cards.

The number of acres required having been felled, the boughs and small branches are all lopped, and, together

with the cleared underwood, they form a mass over the surface of the ground impervious to man or beast.


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This mass, exposed to a powerful sun, soon becomes sufficiently dry for burning, and, the time of a brisk

breeze being selected,. the torch is applied.

The magnificent sight of so extensive a fire is succeeded by the desolate appearance of blackened stumps and

smouldering trunks of trees: the whole of the branches and tinderwood having been swept away by the

mighty blaze, the land is comparatively clear.

Holes two feet square are now dug in parallel lines at a distance of from six to eight feet apart throughout the

estate, and advantage being taken of the wet season, they are planted with young coffee trees of about twelve

inches high. Nothing is now required but to keep the land clean until the trees attain the height of four feet

and come into bearing. This, at an elevation of three thousand feet, they generally do in two years and a half.

The stem is then topped, to prevent its higher growth and to produce a large supply of lateral shoots.

The system of pruning is the same as with all fruit trees; the old wood being kept down to induce fruit

bearing shoots, whose number must be proportioned to the strength of the tree.

The whole success of the estate now depends upon constant cleaning, plentiful manuring and careful pruning,

with a due regard to a frugal expenditure and care in the upkeep of buildings, etc., etc. Much attention is

also required in the management of the cattle on the estate, for without a proper system the amount of manure

produced will be proportionately small. They should be bedded up every night hock deep with fresh litter and

the manure thus formed should be allowed to remain in the shed until it is between two and three feet deep. It

should then be treated on a "Geoffrey" pit (named after its inventor).

This is the simplest and most perfect method for working up the weeds from an estate, and effectually

destroying their seeds at the same time that they are converted into manure.

A watertight platform is formed of stucco  say forty feet square  surrounded by a wall two feet high, so as

to form a tank. Below this is a sunken cistern say eight feet square  into which the drainage would be

conducted from the upper platform. In this cistern a forcepump is fitted, and the cistern is half filled with a

solution of saltpetre and salammoniac.

A layer of weeds and rubbish is now laid upon the platform for a depth of three feet, surmounted by a layer of

good dung from the cattle sheds of one foot thick. These layers are continued alternately in the proportion of

three to one of weeds, until the mass is piled to a height of twenty feet, the last layer being good dung. Upon

this mass the contents of the cistern are pumped and evenly distributed by means of a spreader.

This mixture promotes the most rapid decomposition of vegetable matter, and, combining with the juices of

the weeds and the salts of the dung, it drains evenly through the whole mass, forming a most perfect compost.

The surplus moisture, upon reaching the bottom of the heap, drains from the slightly inclined platform into

the receiving cistern, and is again pumped over the mass.

This is the cheapest and best way of making manure upon an estate, the cattle sheds and pits being arranged

in the different localities most suitable for reducing the labor of transport.

The coffee berry, when ripe, is about the size of a cherry, and is shaped like a laurel berry. The flesh has a

sweet but vapid taste, and encloses two seeds of coffee. These are carefully packed by nature in a double

skin.

The cherry coffee is gathered by coolies at the rate of two bushels each per diem, and is cleared from the

flesh by passing through a pulper, a machine consisting of cylindrical copper graters, which tear the flesh

from the berry and leave the coffee in its second covering of parchment, The coffee is then exposed to a


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partial fermentation by being piled for some hours in a large heap. This has the effect of loosening the fleshy

particles, which, by washing in a cistern of running water, are detached from the berry. It is then rendered

perfectly dry in the sun or by means of artificially heated air; and, being packed in bags, it is forwarded to

Colombo. Here, it is unpacked and sent to the mill, which, by means of heavy rollers, detaches the parchment

and under silver skin, and leaves the grayishblue berry in a state for market. The injured grains are sorted

out by women, and the coffee is packed for the last time and shipped to England.

A good and wellmanaged estate should produce an average crop of ten hundredweight per acre, leaving a

net profit of fifteen shillings per hundredweight under favorable circumstances. Unfortunately, it is next to

impossible to make definite calculations in all agricultural pursuits: the inclemency of seasons and the attacks

of vermin are constantly marring the planter's expectations. Among the latter plagues the "bug" stands

foremost. This is a minute and gregarious insect, which lives upon the juices of the coffee tree, and

accordingly is most destructive to an estate. It attacks a variety of plants, but more particularly the tribe of

jessamine; thus the common jessamine, the "Gardenia" (Cape jessamine) and the coffee (Jasminum

Arabicum) are more especially subject to its ravages.

The dwelling of this insect is frequently confounded with the living creature itself. This dwelling is in shape

and appearance like the back shell of a tortoise, or, still more, like a "limpet," being attached to the stem of

the tree in the same manner that the latter adheres to a rock. This is the nest or house, which, although no

larger than a split hempseed contains some hundreds of the "bug." As some thousands of these scaly nests

exist upon one tree, myriads of insects must be feeding upon its juices.

The effect produced upon the tree is a blackened and sooty appearance, like a London shrub; the branches

look withered, and the berries do not plump out to their full size, but, for the most part, fall unripened from

the tree. This attack is usually of about two years' duration; after which time the tree loses its blackened

appearance, which peels off the surface of the leaves like goldbeaters' skin, and they appear in their natural

color. Coffee plants of young growth are liable to complete destruction if severely attacked by " bug."

Rats are also very destructive to an estate ; they are great adepts at pruning, and completely strip the trees of

their young shoots, thus utterly destroying a crop. These vermin are more easily guarded against than the

insect tribe, and should be destroyed by poison. Hog's lard, ground cocoanut and phosphorus form the most

certain bait and poison combined.

These are some of the drawbacks to coffeeplanting, to say nothing of bad seasons and fluctuating prices,

which, if properly calculated, considerably lessen the average profits of an estate, as it must be remembered

that while a crop is reduced in quantity, the expenses continue at the usual rate, and are severely felt when

consecutive years bring no produce to meet them.

Were it not for the poverty of the soil, the stock of cattle required on a coffee estate for the purpose of manure

might be made extremely profitable, and the gain upon fatted stock would pay for the expense of manuring

the estate. This would be the first and most reasonable idea to occur to an agriculturist  "buy poor cattle at a

low price, fatten them for the butcher, and they give both profit and manure."

Unfortunately, the natural pasturage is not sufficiently good to fatten beasts indiscriminately. There are some

few out of a herd of a hundred who will grow fat upon anything, but the generality will not improve to any

great degree. This accounts for the scarcity of fine meat throughout Ceylon. Were the soil only tolerably

good, so that oats, vetches, turnips and mangel wurtzel could be could be grown on virgin land without

manure, beasts might be stallfed, the manure doubled by that method, and a profit made on the animals. Pigs

are now kept extensively on coffee estates for the sake of their manure, and being fed on Mauritius grass (a

coarse description of gigantic " couch") and a liberal allowance of cocoanut oil cake ("poonac"), are found

to succeed, although the manure is somewhat costly.


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English or Australian sheep have hitherto been untried  for what reason I cannot imagine, unless from the

expense of their prime cost, which is about two pounds per head. These thrive to such perfection at Newera

Ellia, and also in Kandy, that they should succeed in a high degree in the medium altitudes of the coffee

estates. There are immense tracts of country peculiarly adapted for sheepfarming throughout the highlands

of Ceylon, especially in the neighborhood of the coffee estates. There are two enemies, however, against

which they would have to contend  viz., "leopards" and "leeches." The former are so destructive that the

shepherd could never lose sight of his flock without great risk; but the latter, although troublesome, are not to

be so much dreaded as people suppose. They are very small, and the quantity of blood drawn by their bite is

so trifling that no injury could possibly follow, unless from the flies, which would be apt to attack the sheep

on the smell of blood. These are drawbacks which might be easily avoided by common precaution, and I feel

thoroughly convinced that sheepfarming upon the highland pasturage would be a valuable adjunct to a

coffee estate, both as productive of manure and profit. I have heard the same opinion expressed by an

experienced Australian sheepfarmer.

This might be experimented upon in the "down" country of Ouva with great hopes of success, and by a

commencement upon a small scale the risk would be trifling. Here there is an immense tract of country with a

peculiar short grass in every way adapted for sheeppasturage, and with the additional advantage of being

nearly free from leopards. Should sheep succeed on an extensive scale the advantage to the farmer and to the

colony would be mutual.

The depredations of leopards among cattle are no inconsiderable causes of loss. At Newera Ellia hardly a

week passes without some casualty among the stock of different proprietors. Here the leopards are

particularly daring, and cases have frequently occurred where they have effected their entrance to a

cattleshed by scratching a hole through the thatched roof. They then commit a wholesale slaughter among

sheep and cattle. Sometimes, however, they catch a "Tartar." The native cattle are small, but very active, and

the cows are particularly savage when the calf is with them.

About three years ago a leopard took it into his head to try the beefsteaks of a very savage and sharphorned

cow, who with her calf was the property of the blacksmith. It was a dark, rainy night, the blacksmith and his

wife were in bed, and the cow and her calf were nestled in the warm straw in the cattleshed. The door was

locked, and all was apparently secure, where the hungry leopard prowled stealthily round the cowhouse,

sniffing the prey within. The scent of the leopard at once aroused the keen senses of the cow, made doubly

acute by her anxiety for her little charge, and she stood ready for the danger as the leopard, having mounted

on the roof, commenced scratching his way through the thatch.

Down he sprang! but at the same instant, with a splendid charge, the cow pinned him against the wall, and a

battle ensued which can easily be imagined. A coolie slept in the corner of the cattleshed, whose wandering

senses were completely scattered when he found himself the unwilling umpire of the fight. He rushed out and

shut the door. In a few minutes he succeeded in awakening the blacksmith, who struck a light and proceeded

to load a pistol, the only weapon that he possessed. During the whole of this time the bellowing of the cow,

the roars of the leopard and the thumping, trampling and shuffling which proceeded from the cattleshed,

explained the savage nature of the fight.

The blacksmith, who was no sportsman, shortly found himself with a lanthorn in one hand, a pistol in the

other, and no idea of what he meant to do. He waited, therefore, at the cattleshed door, and holding the light

so as to shine through the numerous small apertures in the shed, he looked in.

The leopard no longer growled; but the cow was mad with fury. She alternately threw a large dark mass

above her head, then quickly pinned it to the ground on its descent, then bored it against the wall as it crawled

helplessly toward a corner of the shed. This was the "beefeater" in reduced circumstances! The gallant little

cow had nearly killed him, and was giving him the finishing strokes. The blacksmith perceived the leopard's


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helpless state, and, boldly opening the door, he discharged his pistol, and the next moment was bolting as

hard as he could run, with the warlike cow after him. She was regularly "up," and was ready for anything or

anybody. However, she was at length pacified, and the dying leopard was put out of his misery.

There are two distinct species of the leopard in Ceylon  viz., the "chetah," and the "leopard" or "panther."

There have been many opinions on the subject, but I have taken particular notice of the two animals, and

nothing can be more clear than the distinction.

The "chetah" is much smaller than the leopard, seldom exceeding seven feet from the nose to the end of tile

tail. He is covered with round black "spots" of the size of a shilling, and his weight rarely exceeds ninety

pounds.

The leopard varies from eight to nine feet in length, and has been known to reach even ten feet. His body is

covered with black "rings," with a rich brown centre  his muzzle and legs are speckled with black "spots,"

and his weight is from one hundred and ten to one hundred and seventy pounds. There is little or no

distinction between the leopard and the panther, they are synonymous terms for a variety of species in

different countries. In Ceylon all leopards are termed "chetahs" which proceeds from the general ignorance of

the presence of the two species.

The power of a leopard is wonderful in proportion to his weight. I have seen a fullgrown bullock with its

neck broken by the leopard that attacked it. It is the popular belief that the effect is produced by a blow of the

paw; this is not the case; it is not simply the blow, but it is the combination of the weight, the power and the

momentum of the spring which renders the effects of a leopard's attack so surprising.

Few leopards rush boldly to the attack like a dog; they stalk their game and advance crouchingly, making use

of every object that will afford them cover until they are within a few bounds of their prey. Then the immense

power of muscle is displayed in the concentrated energy of the spring; he flies through the air and settles on

the throat, usually throwing his own body over the animal, while his teeth and claws are fixed on the neck;

this is the manner in which the spine of an animal is broken  by a sudden twist, and not by a blow.

The blow from the paw is nevertheless immensely powerful, and at one stroke will rip open a bullock like a

knife ; but the after effects of the wound are still more to be dreaded than the force of the blow. There is a

peculiar poison in the claw which is highly dangerous. This is caused by the putrid flesh which they are

constantly tearing, and which is apt to cause gangrene by inoculation.

It is a prevalent idea that a leopard will not eat putrid meat, but that he forsakes a rotten carcase and seeks

fresh prey. There is no doubt that a natural love of slaughter induces him to a constant search for prey, but it

has nothing to do with the daintiness of his appetite. A leopard will eat any stinking offal that offers, and I

once had a melancholy proof of this.

I was returning from a morning's hunting; it was a bitter day; the rain was pouring in torrents, the wind was

blowing a gale and sweeping the water in sheets along the earth. The hounds were following at my horse's

heels, with their cars and sterns down, looking very miserable, and altogether it was a day when man and

beast should have been at home. Presently, upon turning a corner of the road, I saw a Malabar boy of about

sixteen years of age, squatted shivering by the roadside. His only covering being a scanty cloth round his

loins, I told him to get up and go on or he would be starved with cold. He said something in reply, which I

could not understand, and repeating my first warning, I rode on. It was only two miles to my house, but upon

arrival I could not help thinking that the boy must be ill, and having watched the gate for some time to see if

he passed by, I determined to send for him.

Accordingly, I started off a couple of men with orders to carry him up if he were sick.


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They returned in little more than an hour, but the poor boy was dead!  sitting crouched in the same position

in which I had seen him. He must have died of cold and starvation; he was a mere skeleton.

I sent men to the spot, and had him buried by the roadside, and a few days after I rode down to see where

they had laid him.

A quantity of freshturned earth lay scattered about, mingled with fragments of rags. Bones much gnawed

lay here and there on the road, and a putrid skull rolled from a shapeless hole among a confused and horrible

heap. The leopards had scratched him up and devoured him; their footprints were still fresh upon the damp

ground.

Both leopards and chetahs are frequently caught at Newera Ellia. The common trap is nothing more or less

than an oldfashioned mousetrap, with a falling door on a large scale; this is baited with a live kid or sheep;

but the leopard is naturally so wary that he frequently refuses to enter the ominouslooking building,

although he would not hesitate to break into an ordinary shed. The best kind of trap is a gun set with a line,

and the bait placed so that the line must be touched as the animal advances toward it. This is certain

destruction to the leopard, but it is extremely dangerous, in case any stranger should happen to be in the

neighborhood who might inadvertently touch the cord.

Leopards are particularly fond of stealing dogs, and have frequently taken them from the very verandas of the

houses at Newera Ellia in the dusk of the evening. Two or three cases have occurred within the last two years

where they have actually sprung out upon dogs who have been accompanying their owners upon the high

road in broad daylight. Their destruction should be encouraged by a government reward of one pound per

head, in which case their number would be materially decreased in a few years.

The best traps for chetahs would be very powerful vermingins, made expressly of great size and strength, so

as to lie one foot square when open. Even a common jackaltrap would hold a leopard, provided the chain

was fastened to an elastic bough, so that it would yield slightly to his spring; but if it were secured to a post,

or to anything that would enable him to get a dead pull against it, something would most likely give way. I

have constantly set these traps for them, but always without success, as some other kind of vermin is nearly

certain to spring the trap before the chetah's arrival. Among the variety of small animals thus caught I have

frequently taken the civet cat. This is a very pretty arid curious creature, about forty inches long from nose to

tip of tail. The fur is ashgray, mottled with black spots, and the tail is divided by numerous black rings. It is

of the genius Viverra, and is exceedingly fierce when attacked. It preys chiefly upon fowls, hares, rats, etc. Its

great peculiarity is the muskbag or gland situated nearly under the tail; this is a projecting and valued gland,

which secretes the musk, and is used medicinally by the Cingalese, on which account it is valued at about six

shillings a pod. The smell is very powerful, and in my opinion very offensive, when the animal is alive; but

when a pod of musk is extracted and dried, it has nothing more than the wellknown scent of that used by

perfumers. The latter is more frequently the production of the muskdeer, although the scent is possessed by

many animals, and also insects, as the muskox, the muskdeer, the civet or muskcat, the muskrat, the

muskbeetle, etc.

Of these, the muskrat is a terrible plague, as he perfumes everything that he passes over, rendering fruit,

cake, bread, etc., perfectly uneatable, and even flavoring bottled wine by running over the bottles. This,

however, requires a little explanation, although it is the popular belief that he taints the wine through the

glass.

The fact is, he taints the cork, and the flavor of musk is communicated to the wine during the process of

uncorking the bottle.


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There is a great variety of rats in Ceylon, from the tiny shrew to the large "bandicoot". This is a most

destructive creature in all gardens, particularly among potato crops, whole rows of which he digs out and

devours. He is a perfect rat in appearance, but he would rather astonish one of our English tomcats if

encountered during his rambles in search of rats, as the "bandicoot" is about the same size as the cat.

There is an immense variety of vermin throughout Ceylon, including many of that useful species the

ichneumon, who in courage and strength stands first of his tribe. The destruction of snakes by this animal

renders him particularly respected, and no person ever thinks of destroying him. No matter how venomous

the snake, the ichneumon, or mongoose, goes straight at him, and never gives up the contest until the snake is

vanquished.

It is the popular belief that the mongoose eats some herb which has the property of counteracting the effects

of a venomous bite; but this has been proved to be a fallacy, as pitched battles have been witnessed between a

mongoose and the most poisonous snakes in a closed room, where there was no possibility of his procuring

the antidote. His power consists in his vigilance and activity; he avoids the dart of the snake, and adroitly pins

him by the back of the neck. Here he maintains his hold, in spite of the contortions and convulsive writhing

of the snake, until he succeeds in breaking the spine. A mongoose is about three feet long from the nose to the

tip of the tail, and is of the same genus as the civet cat. Unfortunately, he does not confine his destruction to

vermin, but now and then pays a visit to a henroost, and sometimes, poor fellow! he puts his foot in the

traps.

Ceylon can produce an enticing catalogue of attractions, from the smallest to the largest of the enemies to the

human race  ticks, bugs, fleas, tarantulas, centipedes, scorpions, leeches, snakes, lizards, crocodiles, etc., of

which more hereafter.

CHAPTER VI. "Game Eyes" for Wild Sports  Enjoyments of Wild Life  Cruelty of Sports  Native

Hunters  Moormen Traders  Their wretched Guns  Rifles and Smoothbores  Heavy Balls and

Heavy Metal  Beattie's Rifles  Balls and Patches  Experiments  The Doublegroove  Power of

Heavy Metal  Curious Shot at a Bull Elephant  African and Ceylon Elephants  Structure of Skull 

Lack of Trophies  Boarspears and Huntingknives  " Bertram"  A Boar Hunt  Fatal Cut.

In traveling through Ceylon, the remark is often made by the tourist that "he sees so little game." From the

accounts generally written of its birds and beasts, a stranger would naturally expect to come upon them at

every turn, instead of which it is a wellknown fact that one hundred miles of the wildest country may be

traversed without seeing a single head of game, and the uninitiated might become skeptical as to its existence.

This is accounted for by the immense proportion of forest and jungle, compared to the open country. The

nature of wild animals is to seek cover at sunrise, and to come forth at sunset; therefore it is not surprising

that so few are casually seen by the passing traveler. There is another reason, which would frequently apply

even in an open country. Unless the traveler is well accustomed to wild sports, he his not his "game eye"

open in fact; he either passes animals without observing them, or they see him and retreat from view before

he remarks them.

It is well known that the color of most animals is adapted by Nature to the general tint of the country which

they inhabit. Thus, having no contrast, the animal matches with surrounding objects, and is difficult to be

distinguished.

It may appear ridiculous to say that an elephant is very difficult to be seen!  he would be plain enough

certainly on the snow, or on a bright green meadow in England, where the contrasted colors would make him

at once a striking object; but in a dense jungle his skin matches so completely with the dead sticks and dry

leaves, and his legs compare so well with the surrounding treestems, that he is generally unperceived by a


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stranger, even when pointed out to him. I have actually been taking aim at an elephant within seven or eight

paces, when he has been perfectly unseen by a friend at my elbow, who was peering through the bushes in

quest of him.

Quickness of eye is an indispensable quality in sportsmen, the possession of which constitutes one of their

little vanities. Nothing is so conducive to the perfection of all the senses as the constant practice in wild and

dangerous sports. The eye and the ear become habituated to watchfulness, and their powers are increased in

the same proportion as the muscles of the body are by exercise. Not only is an animal immediately observed,

but anything out of the common among surrounding objects instantly strikes the attention; the waving of one

bough in particular when all are moving in the breeze; the switching of a deer's ear above the long grass; the

slight rustling of an animal moving in the jungle. The senses are regularly tuned up, and the limbs are in the

same condition from continual exercise.

There is a peculiar delight, which passes all description, in feeling thoroughly wellstrung, mentally and

physically, with a good rifle in your hand and a trusty gunbearer behind you with another, thus stalking

quietly through a fine country, on the lookout for "anything," no matter what. There is a delightful feeling of

calm excitement, if I might so express it, which nothing but wild sports will give. There is no time when a

man knows himself so thoroughly as when he depends upon himself, and this forms his excitement. With a

thorough confidence in the rifle and a bright lookout, he stalks noiselessly along the open glades, picking out

the softest places, avoiding the loose stones or anything that would betray his steps; now piercing the deep

shadows of the jungles, now scanning the distant plains, nor leaving a nook or hollow unsearched by his

vigilant gaze. The fresh breakage of a branch, the barking of a treestem, the lately nibbled grass, with the

sap still oozing from the delicate blade, the disturbed surface of a pool; everything is noted, even to the

alarmed chatter of a bird : nothing is passed unheeded by an experienced hunter.

To quiet, steadygoing people in England there is an idea of cruelty inseparable from the pursuit of large

game; people talk of "unoffending elephants," "poor buffaloes," "pretty deer," and a variety of nonsense

about things which they cannot possibly understand. Besides, the very person who abuses wild sports on the

plea of cruelty indulges personally in conventional cruelties which are positive tortures. His appetite is not

destroyed by the knowledge that his cook his skinned the eels alive, or that the lobsters were plunged into

boiling water to be cooked. He should remember that a small animal has the same feeling as the largest and if

he condemns any sport as cruel, he must condemn all.

There is no doubt whatever that a certain amount of cruelty pervades all sports. But in "wild sports" the

animals are for the most part large, dangerous and mischievous, and they are pursued and killed in the most

speedy, and therefore in the most merciful, manner.

The government reward for the destruction of elephants in Ceylon was formerly ten shillings per tail; it is

now reduced to seven shillings in some districts, and is altogether abolished in others, as the number killed

was so great that the government imagined they could not afford the annual outlay.

Although the number of these animals is still so immense in Ceylon, they must nevertheless have been much

reduced within the last twenty years. In those days the country was overrun with them, and some idea of their

numbers may be gathered from the fact that three firstrate shots in three days bagged one hundred and four

elephants. This was told to me by one of the parties concerned, and it throws our modern shooting into the

shade. In those days, however, the elephants were comparatively undisturbed, and they were accordingly

more easy to approach. One of the oldest native hunters has assured me that he has seen the elephants, when

attacked, recklessly expose themselves to the shots and endeavour to raise their dead comrades. This was at a

time when guns were first heard in the interior of Ceylon, and the animals had never been shot at. Since that

time the decrease in the game of Ceylon has been immense. Every year increases the number of guns in the

possession of the natives, and accordingly diminishes the number of animals. From the change which has


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come over many parts of the country within my experience of the last eight years, I am of opinion that the

next ten years will see the deershooting in Ceylon completely spoiled, and the elephants very much reduced.

There are now very few herds of elephants in Ceylon that have not been shot at by either Europeans or

natives, and it is a common occurrence to kill elephants with numerous marks of old bullet wounds. Thus the

animals are constantly on the "qui vive," and at the report of a gun every herd within hearing starts off for the

densest jungles.

A native can now obtain a gun for thirty shillings; and with two shillings' worth of ammunition, he starts on a

hunting trip. Five elephants, at a reward of seven shillings per tail, more than pay the prime cost of his gun, to

say nothing of the deer and other game that he has bagged in the interim.

Some, although very few, of the natives are good sportsmen in a potting way. They get close to their game,

and usually bag it. This is a terrible system for destroying, and the more so as it is increasing. There is no rest

for the animals; in the daytime they are tracked up, and on moonlight nights the drinkingplaces are

watched, and an unremitting warfare is carried on. This is sweeping both deer and buffalo from the country,

and must eventually almost annihilate them.

The Moormen are the best hunters, and they combine sport with trade in such a manner that "all is fish that

comes to their net." Five or six good hunters start with twenty or thirty bullocks and packs. Some of these are

loaded with common cloths, etc., to exchange with the village people for dried venison; but the intention in

taking so many bullocks is to bring borne the spoils of their hunting trip  in fact, to "carry the bag." They

take about a dozen leaves of the talipot palm to form a tent, and at nighttime, the packs, being taken off the

bullocks, are piled like a pillar in the centre, and the talipot leaves are formed in a circular roof above them.

The bullocks are then secured round the tent to long poles, which are thrown upon the ground and pinned

down by crooked pegs.

These people have an intimate knowledge of the country, and are thoroughly acquainted with the habits of the

animals and the most likely spots for game. Buffaloes, pigs and deer are indiscriminately shot, and the flesh

being cut in strips from the bones is smoked over a greenwood fire, then thoroughly dried in the sun and

packed up for sale. The deer skins are also carefully dried and rolled up, and the buffaloes' and deer horns are

slung to the packs.

Many castes of natives will not eat buffalo meat, others will not eat pork, but all are particularly fond of

venison. This the Moorman fully understands, and overcomes all scruples by a general mixture of the

different meats, all of which he sells as venison. Thus no animal is spared whose flesh can be passed off for

deer. Fortunately, their guns are so common that they will not shoot with accuracy beyond ten or fifteen

paces, or there would be no game left within a few years. How these common guns stand the heavy charges

of powder is a puzzle. A native thinks nothing of putting four drachms down a gun that I should be sorry to

fire off at any rate. It is this heavy charge which enables such tools to kill elephants which would otherwise

be impossible. These natives look upon a firstclass English rifle with a sort of veneration. Such a weapon

would be a perfect fortune to one of these people, and I have often been astonished that robberies of such

things are not more frequent.

There is much difference of opinion among Ceylon sportsmen as to the style of gun for elephantshooting.

But there is one point upon which all are agreed, that no matter what the size of the bore may be, all the guns

should be alike, and the battery for one man should consist of four doublebarrels. The confusion in hurried

loading where guns are of different calibres is beyond conception.

The size and the weight of guns must depend as much on the strength and build of a man as a ship's

armament does upon her tonnage; but let no man speak against heavy metal for heavy game, and let no man

decry rifles and uphold smoothbores (which is very general), but rather let him say, "I cannot carry a heavy


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gun," and "I cannot shoot with a rifle."

There is a vast difference between shooting at a target and shooting at live game. Many men who are capital

shots at targetpractice cannot touch a deer, and cannot even use the rifle as a rifle at live game, but actually

knock the sights out and use it as a smoothbore. This is not the fault of the weapon; it is the fault of the man.

It is a common saying in Ceylon, and also in India, that you cannot shoot quick enough with the rifle, because

you cannot get the proper sight in an instant.

Whoever makes use of this argument must certainly be in the habit of very random shooting with a

smoothbore. How can he possibly get a correct aim with "ball" out of a smoothbore, without squinting along

the barrel and taking the muzzlesight accurately? The fact is, that many persons fire so hastily at game that

they take no sight at all, as though they were snipeshooting with many hundred grains of shot in the charge.

This will never do for ballpractice, and when the rifle is placed in such hands, the breechsights naturally

bother the eye which is not accustomed to recognize any sight; and while the person is vainly endeavouring

to get the sight correctly on a moving object, the animal is increasing his distance. By way of cutting the

Gordian knot, he therefore knocks his sight out, and accordingly spoils the shooting of the rifle altogether.

Put a rifle in the hands of a man who knows how to handle it, and let him shoot against the mutilated weapon

deprived of its sight, and laugh at the trial. Why, a man might as well take the rudder off a ship because he

could not steer, and then abuse the vessel for not keeping her course!

My idea of guns and rifles is this, that the former should be used for what their makers intended them, viz.,

shotshooting, and that no ball should be fired from any but the rifle. Of course it is just as easy and as

certain to kill an elephant with a smoothbore as with a rifle, as he is seldom fired at until within ten or

twelve paces; but a man, when armed for wild sport, should be provided with a weapon which is fit for any

kind of ballshooting at any reasonable range, and his battery should be perfect for the distance at which he is

supposed to aim.

I have never seen any rifles which combine the requisites for Ceylon shooting to such a degree as my four

doublebarreled No. 10, which I had made to order. Then some persons exclaim against their weight, which

is fifteen pounds per gun. But a word upon that subject.

No person who understands anything about a rifle would select a light gun with a large bore, any more than

he would have a heavy carriage for a small horse. If the man objects to the weight of the rifle, let him content

himself with a smaller bore, but do not rob the barrels of their good metal for the sake of a heavy ball. The

more metal that the barrel possesses in proportion to the diameter of the bore, the better will the rifle carry,

nine times out of ten. Observe the Swiss rifles for accurate targetpractice  again, remark the American pea

rifle; in both the thickness of metal is immense in proportion to the size of the ball, which, in great measure,

accounts for the precision with which they carry.

In a light barrel, there is a vibration or jar at the time of explosion, which takes a certain effect upon the

direction of the ball. This is necessarily increased by the use of a heavy charge of powder; and it is frequently

seen that a rifle which carries accurately enough with a very small charge, shoots wide of the mark when the

charge is increased. This arises from several causes, generally from the jar of the barrel in the stock,

proceeding either from the want of metal in the rifle or from improper workmanship in the fittings.

To avoid this, a rifle should be made with double bolts and a silver plate should always be let into the stock

under the breech; without which the woodwork will imperceptibly wear, and the barrel will become loose in

the stock and jar when fired.


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There is another reason for the necessity of heavy barrels, especially for twogrooved rifles. Unless the

grooves he tolerably deep, they will not hold the ball when a heavy charge is behind it; it quits the grooves,

strips its belt, and flies out as though fired from a smoothbore.

A largebore rifle is a useless incumbrance, unless it is so constructed that it will bear a proportionate charge

of powder, and shoot as accurately with its proof charge as with a single drachm. The object in a large bore is

to possess an extra powerful weapon, therefore the charge of powder must be increased in proportion to the

weight of the ball, or the extra power is not obtained. Nevertheless, most of the heavy rifles that I have met

with will not carry an adequate charge of powder, and they are accordingly no more powerful than guns of

lighter bore which carry their proportionate charge  the powder has more than its fair amount of work.

Great care should be therefore taken in making rifles for heavy game. There cannot be a better calibre than

No 10; it is large enough for any animal in the world, and a doublebarreled rifle of this bore, without a

ramrod, is not the least cumbersome, even at the weight of fifteen pounds. A ramrod is not required to be in

the gun for Ceylon shooting, as there is always a man behind with a spare rifle, who carries a loading rod, and

were a ramrod fitted to a rifle of this size, it would render it very unhandy, and would also weaken the stock.

The sights should be of platinum at the muzzle, and blue steel, with a platinum strip with a broad and deep

letter V cut in the breechsights. In a gloomy forest it is frequently difficult to catch the muzzle sight, unless

it is of some bright metal, such as silver or platinum; and a broad cut in the breechsights, if shaped as

described, allows a rapid aim, and may be taken fine or coarse at option.

The charge of powder must necessarily depend upon its strength. For elephantshooting, I always rise six

drachms of the best powder for the No. 10 rifles, and four drachms as the minimum charge for deer and

general shooting; the larger charge is then unnecessary; it both wastes ammunition and alarms the country by

the loudness of the report.

There are several minutiae to be attended to in the sports of Ceylon. The caps should always be carried in a

shotcharger (one of the common springlid chargers) and never be kept loose in the pocket. The heat is so

intense that the perspiration soaks through everything, and so injures the caps that the very best will

frequently miss fire.

The powder should be dried for a few minutes in the sun before it is put into the flask, and it should be well

shaken and stirred to break any lumps that may be in it. One of these, by obstructing the passage in the flask,

may cause much trouble in loading quickly, especially when a wounded elephant is regaining his feet. In such

a case you must keep your eyes on the animal when loading, and should the passage of the powderflask be

stopped by a lump, you may fancy the gun is loaded when in fact not a grain of powder has entered it.

The patches should be of silk, soaked in a mixture of one part of beeswax and two of fresh hog's lard, free

from salt. If they are spread with pure grease, it melts out of them in a hot country, and they become dry. Silk

is better than linen as it is not so liable to be cut down by the sharp grooves of the rifle. It is also thinner than

linen or calico, and the ball is therefore more easily rammed down.

All balls should be made of pure lead, without any hardening mixture. It was formerly the fashion to use zinc

balls, and lead with a mixture of tin, etc., in elephantshooting. This was not only unnecessary, but the balls,

from a loss of weight by admixture with lighter metals, lost force in a proportionate degree. Lead may be a

soft metal, but it is much harder than any animal's skull, and if a tallow candle can be shot through a deal

board, surely a leaden bullet is hard enough for an elephant's head.

I once tried a very conclusive experiment on the power of balls of various metals propelled by an equal

charge of powder.


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I had a piece of wrought iron fiveeights of an inch thick, and six feet high by two in breadth. I fired at this at

one hundred and seventy yards with my twogrooved fourounce rifle, with a reduced charge of six drachms

of powder and a ball of pure lead. It bulged the iron like a piece of putty, and split the centre of the bulged

spot into a star, through the crevice of which I could pass a penblade.

A ball composed of half zinc and half lead, fired from the same distance, hardly produced a perceptible effect

upon the iron target. It just slightly indented it.

I then tried a ball of onethird zinc and twothirds lead, but there was no perceptible difference in the effect.

I subsequently tried a tin bill, and again a zinc ball, but neither of them produced any other effect than

slightly to indent the iron.

I tried all these experiments again at fifty yards' range, with the same advantage in favor of the pure lead; and

at this reduced distance a doublebarreled No. 16 smoothbore, with a large charge of four drachms of powder

and a lead ball, also bulged and split the iron into a star. This gun, with a hard tin ball and the same charge of

powder, did not produce any other effect than an almost imperceptible indentation.

if a person wishes to harden a bill for any purpose, it should be done by an admixture of quicksilver to the

lead while the latter is in a state of fusion, a few seconds before the ball is cast. The mixture must be then

quickly stirred with an iron rod, and formed into the moulds without loss of time, as at this high temperature

the quicksilver will evaporate. Quicksilver is heavier than lead, and makes a ball excessively hard; so much

so that it would very soon spoil a rifle. Altogether, the hardening of a ball has been shown to be perfectly

unnecessary, and the latter receipt would be found very expensive.

If a wonderful effect is required, the steeltipped conical ball should be used. I once shot through fourteen

elm planks, each one inch thick, with a fourounce steeltipped cone, with the small charge (for that rifle) of

four drachms of powder. The proper charge for that gun is onefourth the weight of the ball, or one ounce of

powder, with which it carries with great nicety and terrific effect, owing to its great weight of metal

(twentyone pounds); but it is a small piece of artillery which tries the shoulder very severely in the recoil.

I have frequently watched a party of soldiers winding along a pass, with their white trousers, red coats, white

crossbelts and brass plates, at about four hundred yards, and thought what a raking that rifle would give a

body, of troops in such colors for a mark. A ball of that weight with an ounce of powder, would knock down

six or eight men in a row. A dozen of such weapons well handled on board a ship would create an astonishing

effect; but for most purposes the weight of the ammunition is a serious objection.

There is a great difference of opinion among sportsmen regarding the grooves of a rifle; some prefer the

twogroove and belted ball; others give preference to the eight or twelvegroove and smoothbore. There are

good arguments on both sides.

There is no doubt that the twogroove is the hardest hitter and the longest ranger; it also has the advantage of

not fouling so quickly as the manygrooved. On the other hand, the manygrooved is much easier to load; it

hits quite hard enough; and it ranges truly much farther than any person would think of firing at an animal.

Therefore, for sporting purposes, the only advantage which the twogroove possesses is the keeping clean,

while the manygroove claims the advantage of quick loading.

The latter is by far the more important recommendation, especially as the manygroove can be loaded

without the assistance of the eye, as the ball, being smooth and round, can only follow the right road down

the barrel. The twogrooved rifle, when new, is particularly difficult to load, as the ball must be tight to avoid

windage, and it requires some nicety in fitting and pressing the belt of the ball into the groove, in such a


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manner that it shall start straight upon the pressure of the loadingrod. If it gives a slight heel to one side at

the commencement, it is certain to stick in its course, and it then occupies much time and trouble in being

rammed home. Neither will it shoot with accuracy, as, from the amount of ramming to get the ball to its

place, it has become so misshapen that it is a mere lump of lead, and no longer a rifleball. My

doublebarreled No. 10 rifles are twogrooved, and an infinity of trouble they gave me for the first two

years. Many a time I have been giving my whole weight to the loading rod, with a ball stuck halfway down

the barrel, while wounded elephants lay struggling upon the ground, expected every moment to rise. >From

constant use and repeated cleaning they have now become so perfect that they load with the greatest ease; but

guns of their age are not fair samples of their class, and for rifles in general for sporting purposes I should

give a decided preference to the manygroove. I have had a long twoounce rifle of the latter class, which I

have shot with for many years, and it certainly is not so hard a hitter as the twogrooved No. 10's; but it hits

uncommonly hard, too; and if I do not bag with it, it is always my fault, and no blame can be attached to the

rifle.

For heavy gameshooting, I do not think there can be a much fairer standard for the charge of powder than

onefifth the weight of the ball for all bores. Some persons do not use so much as this; but I am always an

advocate for strong guns and plenty of powder.

A heavy charge will reach the brain of an elephant, no matter in what position he may stand, provided a

proper angle is taken for attaining it. A trifling amount of powder is sufficient, if the elephant offers a front

shot, or the temple at right angles, or the ear shot; but if a man pretend to a knowledge of elephantshooting,

he should think of nothing but the brain, and his knowledge of the anatomy of the elephant's head should be

such that he can direct a straight line to this mark from any position. He then requires a rifle of such power

that the ball will crash through every obstacle along the course directed. To effect this he must not be stingy

of the powder.

I have frequently killed elephants by curious shots with the rifles in this manner; but I once killed a bull

elephant by one shot in the upper jaw, which will at once exemplify the advantage of a powerful rifle in

taking the angle for the brain.

My friend Palliser and I were out shooting on the day previous, and we had spent some hours in vainly

endeavouring to track up a single bull elephant. I forget what we bagged, but I recollect well that we were

unlucky in finding our legitimate game. That night at dinner we heard elephants roaring in the Yallé river,

upon the banks of which our tent was pitched in fine open forest. For about an hour the roaring was

continued, apparently on both sides the river, and we immediately surmised that our gentleman friend on our

side of the stream was answering the call of the ladies of some herd on the opposite bank. We went to sleep

with the intention of waking at dawn of day, and then strolling quietly along with only two gunbearers each,

who were to carry my four double No 10's, while we each carried a single barrel for deer.

The earliest gray tint of morning saw us dressed and ready, the rifles loaded, a preliminary cup of hot

chocolate swallowed, and we were off while the forest was still gloomy; the night seemed to hang about it,

although the sky was rapidly clearing above.

A noble piece of Nature's handiwork is that same Yallé forest. The river flows sluggishly through its centre in

a breadth of perhaps ninety yards, and the immense forest trees extend their giant arms from the high banks

above the stream, throwing dark shadows upon its surface, enlivened by the silvery glitter of the fish as they

dart against the current. Little glades of rank grass occasionally break the monotony of the dark forest; sandy

gullies in deep beds formed by the torrents of the rainy season cut through the crumbling soil and drain

toward the river. Thick brushwood now and then forms an opposing barrier, but generally the forest is

beautifully open, consisting of towering trees, the leviathans of their race, sheltering the scanty saplings

which have spring from their fallen seeds. For a few hundred yards on either side of the river the forest


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extends in a ribbonlike strip of lofty vegetation in the surrounding sea of low scrubby jungle. The animals

leave the low jungle at night, passing through the forest on their way to the river to bathe and drink; they

return to the low and thick jungle at break of day and we hoped to meet some of the satiated elephants on

their way to their dense habitations.

We almost made sure of finding our friend of yesterday's trek, and we accordingly kept close to the edge of

the river, keeping a sharp eye for tracks upon the sandy bed below.

We had strolled for about a mile along the high bank of the river without seeing a sign of an elephant, when I

presently heard a rustle in the branches before me, and upon looking up I saw a lot of monkeys gamboling in

the trees. I was carrying my long twoounce rifle, and I was passing beneath the monkeycovered boughs,

when I suddenly observed a young tree of the thickness of a man's thigh shaking violently just before me.

It happened that the jungle was a little thicker in his spot, and at the same moment that I observed the tree

shaking almost over me, I passed the immense stem of one of those smoothbarked trees which grow to such

an enormous size on the banks of rivers. At the same moment that I passed it I was almost under the trunk of

a single bull elephant, who was barking the stem with his tusk as high as he could reach, with his head

thrown back. I saw in an instant that the only road to his brain lay through his upper jaw, in the position in

which he was standing; and knowing that he would discover me in another moment, I took the eccentric line

for his brain, and fired upward through his jaw. He fell stone dead, with the silk patch of the rifle smoking in

the wound.

Now in this position no light gun could have killed that elephant; the ball had to pass through the roots of the

upper grinders, and keep its course through hard bones and tough membranes for about two feet before it

could reach the brain; but the line was all right, and the heavy metal and charge of powder kept the ball to its

work.

This is the power which every elephantgun should possess: it should have an elephant's head under

complete command in every attitude.

There is another advantage in heavy metal; a heavy ball will frequently stun a vicious elephant when in full

charge, when a light ball would not check him; his quietus is then soon arranged by another barrel. Some

persons, however, place too much confidence in the weight of the metal, and forget that it is necessary to hold

a powerful rifle as straight as the smallest gun. It is then very common during a chase of a herd to see the

elephants falling tolerably well to the shots, but on a return for their tails, it is found that the stunned brutes

have recovered and decamped.

Conical balls should never be used for elephants; they are more apt to glance, and the concussion is not so

great as that produced by a round ball. In fact there is nothing more perfect for sporting purposes than a good

rifle from a firstrate maker, with a plain ball of from No. 12 to No. 10. There can be no improvement upon

such a weapon for the range generally required by a good shot.

I am very confident that the African elephant would be killed by the brainshot by Ceylon sportsmen with as

much case as the Indian species. The shape of the head has nothing whatever to do with the shooting,

provided the guns are powerful and the hunter knows where the brain lies.

When I arrived in Ceylon one of my first visits was to the museum at Colombo where I carefully examined

the transverse sections of an elephant's skull, until perfectly acquainted with its details. From the museum I

cut straight to the elephantstables and thoroughly examined the head of the living animal, comparing it in

my own mind with the skull, until I was thoroughly certain of the position of the brain and the possibility of

reaching it from any position.


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An African sportsmen would be a long time in killing a Ceylon elephant, if he fired at the long range

described by most writers; in fact, he would not kill one out of twenty that he fired at in such a

junglecovered country as Ceylon, where, in most cases, everything depends upon the success of the first

barrel.

It is the fashion in Ceylon to get as close as possible to an elephant before firing; this is usually at about ten

yards' distance, at which range nearly every shot must be fatal. In Africa, according to all accounts, elephants

are fired at thirty, forty, and even at sixty yards. It is no wonder, therefore, that African sportsmen take the

shoulder shot, as the hitting of the brain would be a most difficult feat at such a distance, seeing that the even

and dusky color of an elephant's head offers no peculiar mark for a delicate aim.

The first thing that a good sportsmen considers with every animal is the point at which to aim so to bag him

as speedily as possible. It is well known that all animals, from the smallest to the largest, sink into instant

death when shot through the brain; and that a wound through the lungs or heart is equally fatal, though not so

instantaneous. These are accordingly the points for aim, the brain, from its small size, being the most difficult

to hit. Nevertheless, in a jungle country, elephants must be shot through the brain, otherwise they would not

be bagged, as they would retreat with a mortal wound into such dense jungle that no man could follow.

Seeing how easily they are dropped by the brainshot if approached sufficiently near to ensure the correctness

of the aim, no one would ever think of firing at the shoulder who had been accustomed to aim at the head.

A Ceylon sportsman arriving in Africa would naturally examine the skull of the African elephant, and when

once certain of the position of the brain he would require no further information. Leave him alone for hitting

it if he knew where it was.

What a sight for a Ceylon elephanthunter would be the first view of a herd of African elephants  all

tuskers! In Ceylon, a "tusker" is a kind of spectre, to be talked of by a few who have had the good luck to see

one. And when he is seen by a good sportsman, it is an evil hour for him  he is followed till he gives up his

tusks.

It is a singular thing that Ceylon is the only part of the world where the male elephant has no tusks; they have

miserable little grubbers projecting two or three inches from the upper jaw and inclining downward. Thus a

man may kill some hundred elephants without having a pair of tusks in his possession. The largest that I have

seen in Ceylon were about six feet long, and five inches in diameter in the thickest part. These would be

considered rather below the average in Africa, although in Ceylon they were thought magnificent.

Nothing produces either ivory or horn in fine specimens throughout Ceylon. Although some of the buffaloes

have tolerably fine heads, they will not bear a comparison with those of other countries. The horns of the

native cattle are not above four inches in length. The elk and the spotted deer's antlers are small compared

with deer of their size on the continent of India. This is the more singular, as it is evident from the geological

formation that at some remote period Ceylon was not an island, but formed a portion of the mainland, from

which it is now only separated by a shallow and rocky of some few miles. In India the bull elephants have

tusks, and the cattle and buffaloes have very large horns. My opinion is that there are elements wanting in the

Ceylon pasturage (which is generally poor) for the formation of both horn and ivory. Thus many years of

hunting and shooting are rewarded by few trophies of the chase. So great is the natural inactivity of the

natives that no one understands the preparation of the skins; thus all the elk and deer hides are simply dried in

the sun, and the hair soon rots and fills off. In India, the skin of the Samber deer (the Ceylon elk) is prized

above all others, and is manufactured into gaiters, belts, pouches, coats. breeches, etc.; but in Ceylon, these

things are entirety neglected by the miserable and indolent population, whose whole thoughts are

concentrated upon their bread, or rather their curry and rice.


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At Newera Ellia, the immense number of elk that I have killed would have formed a valuable collection of

skins had they been properly prepared, instead of which the hair has been singed from them, and they have

been boiled up for dogs' meat.

Boars' hides have shared the same fate. These are far thicker than those of the tame species, and should make

excellent saddles. So tough are they upon the live animal that it requires a very sharppointed knife to

penetrate them, and too much care cannot be bestowed upon the manufacture of a knife for this style of

hunting, as the boar is one of the fiercest and dangerous of animals.

Living in the thickest jungles, he rambles out at night in search of roots, fruits, large earthworms, or anything

else that he can find, being, like his domesticated brethren, omnivorous. He is a terrible enemy to the pack,

and has cost me several good dogs within the last few years. Without firstrate seizers it would be impossible

to kill him with the knife without being ripped, as he invariably turns to bay after a short run in the thickest

jungle he can find. There is no doubt that a good stout boarspear, with a broad blade and strong handle, is

the proper weapon for the attack; but a spear is very unhandy and even dangerous to carry in such a hilly

country as the neighbourhood of Newera Ellia. The forests are full of steep ravines and such tangled

underwood that following the hounds is always an arduous task, but with a spear in the hand it is still more

difficult, and the point is almost certain to get injured by striking against the numerous rocks, in which case it

is perfectly useless when perhaps most required. I never carry a spear for these reasons, but am content with

the knife, as in my opinion any animal that can beat off good bounds and a long knife deserves to escape.

My knife was made to my own pattern by Paget of Piccadilly. The blade is one foot in length, and two inches

broad in the widest part, and slightly concave in the middle. The steel is of the most exquisite quality, and the

entire knife weighs three pounds. The peculiar shape added to the weight of the blade gives an extraordinary

force to a blow, and the blade being doubleedged for three inches from the point, inflicts a fearful wound:

altogether it is a very desperate weapon, and admirably adapted for this kind of sport.

A feat is frequently performed by the Nepaulese by cutting off a buffalo's head at one blow of a sabre or

tulwal. The blade of this weapon is peculiar, being concave, and the extremity is far heavier than the hilt; the

animal's neck is tied down to a post, so as to produce a tension on the muscles, without which the blow,

however great, would have a comparatively small effect.

The accounts of this feat always appeared very marvellous to my mind, until I one day unintentionally

performed something similar on a small scale with the huntingknife.

I was out hunting in the Elk Plains, and having drawn several jungles blank, I ascended the mountains which

wall in the western side of the patinas (grassplains), making sure of finding an elk near the summit. It was a

lovely day, perfectly calm and cloudless; in which weather the elk, especially the large bucks, are in the habit

of lying high up the mountains.

I had nine couple of hounds out, among which were some splendid seizers, "Bertram," "Killbuck," "Hecate,"

"Bran," "Lucifer," and "Lena," the first three being progeny of the departed hero, old "Smut," who had been

killed by a boar a short time before. They were then just twelve months old, and "Bertram" stood

twentyeight and a half inches high at the shoulder. To him his sire's valor had descended untarnished, and

for a dog of his young age he was the most courageous that I have ever seen. In appearance he was a tall

Manilla bloodhound, with the strength of a young lion; very affectionate in disposition, and a general

favorite, having won golden opinions in every contest. Whenever a big buck was at bay, and punishing the

leading hounds, he was ever the first to get his hold; no matter how great the danger, he never waited but

recklessly dashed in. "There goes Bertram! Look at Bertram! Well done, Bertram!" were the constant

exclamations of a crowd of excited spectators when a powerful buck was brought to bay. He was a wonderful

dog, but I prophesied an early grave for him, as no dog in the world could long escape death who rushed so


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recklessly upon his dangerous game.* His sister "Hecate," was more careful, and she is alive at this moment,

and a capital seizer of great strength combined with speed, having derived the latter from her dam, "Lena," an

Australian greyhound, than whom a better or truer bitch never lived. "Old Bran," and his beautiful son

"Lucifer," were fine specimens of grayhound and deerhound, and as good as gold. *Speared through the body

by the horns of a buck elk and killed shortly after this was written.

There was not a single elk track the whole of the way up the mountain, and upon arriving at the top, I gave up

all hope of finding for that day, and I enjoyed the beautiful view over the vast valley of forest which lay

below, spangled with green plains, and bounded by the towering summit of Adam's Peak, at about

twentyfive miles' distance. The coffee estates of Dimboola lay far beneath upon the right, and the high

mountains of Kirigallapotta and Totapella bounded the view upon the left.

There is a good path along the narrow ridge on the summit of the Elk Plain hills, which has been made by

elephants. This runs along the very top of the knifelike ridge, commanding a view of the whole country to

the right and left. The range is terminated abruptly by a high peak, which descends in a sheer precipice at the

extremity.

I strolled along the elephantpath, intending to gain the extreme end of the range for the sake of the view,

when I suddenly came upon the track of a "boar," in the middle of the path. It was perfectly fresh, as were

also the ploughings in the ground close by, and the water of a small pool was still curling with clouds of mud,

showing most plainly that he had been disturbed from his wallowing by my noise in ascending the

mountainside.

There was no avoiding the find; and away went "Bluebeard," "Ploughboy," "Gaylass" and all the leading

hounds, followed by the whole pack, in full chorus, straight along the path at top speed. Presently they turned

sharp to the left into the thick jungle, dashing down the hillside as though off to the Elk Plains below. At this

pace I knew the hunt would not last long, and from my elevated stand I waited impatiently for the first sounds

of the bay. Round they turned again, up the steep hillside, and the music slackened a little, as the bounds had

enough to do in bursting through the tangled bamboo up the hill.

Presently, I heard the rush of the boar in the jungle, coming straight up the hill toward the spot where I was

standing; and, fearing that he might top the ridge and make down the other side toward Dimboola, I gave him

a halloo to head him back. Hark, forrrard to him! yooick! to him!

Such a yell, right in his road, astonished him, and, as I expected, he headed sharp back. Up came the pack,

going like racehorses, and wheeling off where the game had turned, a few seconds running along the side of

the mountain, and then such a burst of music! such a bay! The boar had turned sharp round, and had met the

hounds on a level platform on the top of a ridge.

"Lucifer" never leaves my side until we are close up to the bay; and plunging and tearing through the bamboo

grass and tangled nillho for a few hundred yards, I at length approached the spot, and I heard Lord Bacon

grunting and roaring loud above the din of the hounds.

Bertram has him for a guinea! Hold him, good lad! and away dashed "Lucifer" from my side at the halloo.

In another moment I was close up, and with my knife ready I broke through the dense jungle and was

immediately in the open space cleared by the struggles of the boar and pack. Unluckily, I had appeared full in

the boar's front, and though five or six of the large seizers had got their holds, he made a sudden charge at me

that shook them all off, except "Bertram" and "Lena."


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It was the work of an instant, as I jumped quickly on one side, and instinctively made a downward cut at him

in passing. He fell all of a heap, to the complete astonishment of myself and the furious pack.

He was dead! killed by one blow with the hunting knife. I had struck him across the back just behind the

shoulders, and the wound was so immense that he had the appearance of being nearly half divided. Not only

was the spine severed, but the blade had cut deep into his vitals and produced instant death.

One of the dogs was hanging on his hind quarters when he charged, and as the boar was rushing forward, the

muscles of the back were accordingly stretched tight, and thus the effect of the cut was increased to this

extraordinary degree. He was a middlingsized boar, as near as I could guess, about two and a half

hundredweight.

Fortunately, none of the pack were seriously hurt, although his tusks were as sharp as a knife. This was owing

to the short duration of the fight, and also to the presence of so many seizers, who backed each other up

without delay.

There is no saying to what size a wild boar grows. I have never killed them with the hounds above four

hundredweight; but I have seen solitary boars in the low country, that must have weighed nearly double.

I believe the flesh is very good; by the natives it is highly prized; but I have so strong a prejudice against it

from the sights I have seen of their feasting upon putrid elephants that I never touch it.

The numbers of wild hogs in the low country is surprising, and these are most useful in cleaning up the

carcases of dead animals and destroying vermin. I seldom or never fire at hog in those districts, as their

number is so great that there is no sport in shooting them. They travel about in herds of one and two hundred,

and even more. These are composed of sows and young boars, as the latter leave the herd when arrived at

maturity.

CHAPTER VII. Curious Phenomenon  Panorama of Ouva  Southwest Monsoon  Hunting Followers

Fort M'Donald  River  Jungle Paths  Dangerous Locality  Great Waterfall  Start for Hunting 

The Find  A Gallant Stag  "Bran" and Lucifer"  "Phrenzy's" Death  Buck at Bay  The Cave

Huntingbox "Madcap's" Dive  Elk Soup  Former Inundation  " Bluebeard" leads off  "

Hecate's" Course The Elk's Leap  Variety of Deer  The Axis  Ceylon Bears  Variety of Vermin 

Trials for Hounds  Hounds and their Masters  A Sportsman "shut up" A Corporal and Centipede.

>From June to November the southwest monsoon brings wind and mist across the Newera Ellia mountains.

Clouds of white fog boil up from the Dimboola valley like the steam from a huge cauldron, and invade the

Newera Ellia plain through the gaps in the mountains to the westward.

The wind howls over the high ridges, cutting the jungle with its keen edge, so that it remains as stunted

brushwood, and the opaque screen of driving fog and drizzling rain is so dense that one feels convinced there

is no sun visible within at least a hundred miles.

There is a curious phenomenon, however, in this locality. When the weather described prevails at Newera

Ellia, there is actually not one drop of rain within four miles of my house in the direction of Badulla. Dusty

roads, a cloudless sky and dazzling sunshine astonish the thoroughlysoaked traveler, who rides out of the

rain and mist into a genial climate, as though he passed through a curtain. The wet weather terminates at a

mountain called Hackgalla (or more properly Yakkadagalla, or iron rock). This bold rock, whose summit is

about six thousand five hundred feet above the sea, breasts the driving wind and seems to command the

storm. The rushing clouds halt in their mad course upon its crest and curl in sudden impotence around the


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craggy summits. The deep ravine formed by an opposite mountain is filled with the vanquished mist, which

sinks powerless in its dark gorge; and the bright sun, shining from the east, spreads a perpetual rainbow upon

the gauzelike cloud of fog which settles in the deep hollow.

This is exceedingly beautiful. The perfect circle of the rainbow stands like a fairy spell in the giddy depth of

the hollow, and seems to forbid the advance of the monsoon. All before is bright and cloudless; the lovely

panorama of the Ouva country spreads before the eye for many miles beneath the feet. All behind is dark and

stormy; the wind is howling, the forests are groaning, the rain is pelting upon the hills.

The change appears impossible; but there it is, ever the same; season after season, year after year, the rugged

top of Hackgalla struggles with the storms, and ever victorious the cliffs smile in the sunshine on the eastern

side; the rainbow reappears with the monsoon, and its vivid circle remains like the guardian spirit of the

valley,.

It is impossible to do justice to the extraordinary appearance of this scene by description. The panoramic

view in itself is celebrated; but as the point in the road is reached where the termination of the monsoon

dissolves the cloud and rain into a thin veil of mist, the panorama seen through the gauzelike atmosphere

has the exact appearance of a dissolving view; the depth, the height and distance of every object, all great in

reality, are magnified by the dim and unnatural appearance; and by a few steps onward the veil gradually

fades away, and the distant prospect lies before the eye with a glassy clearness made doubly striking by the

sudden contrast.

The road winds along about midway up the mountain, bounded on the right by the towering cliffs and sloping

forest of Hackgalla, and on the left by the almost precipitous descent of nearly one thousand feet, the sides of

which are clothed by alternate forest and waving grass. At the bottom flows a torrent, whose roar, ascending

from the hidden depth, increases the gloomy mystery of the scene.

On the north, east and southeast of Newera Ellia the sunshine is perpetual during the reign of the misty

atmosphere, which the southwest monsoon drives upon the western side of the mountains. Thus, there is

always an escape open from the wet season at Newera Ellia by a short walk of three or four miles.

A long line of dark cloud is then seen, terminated by a bright blue sky. So abrupt is the line and the cessation

of the rain that it is difficult to imagine how the moisture is absorbed.

This sudden termination of the cloudcapped mountain gives rise to a violent wind in the sunny valleys and

bare hills beneath. The chilled air of Newera Ellia pours down into the sunwarmed atmosphere below, and

creates a gale that sweeps across the grassy hilltops with great force, giving the sturdy rhododendrons an

inclination to the northeast which clearly marks the steadiness of the monsoon.

It is not to be supposed, however, that Newera Ellia lies in unbroken gloom for months together. One month

generally brings a share of uninterrupted bad weather; this is from the middle of June to the middle of July.

This is the commencement of the southwest monsoon, which usually sets in with great violence. The

remaining portion of what is called the wet season, till the end of November, is about as uncertain as the

climate of England  some days fine, others wet, and every now and then a week of rain at one bout.

A thoroughly saturated soil, with a cold wind, and driving rain and forests as full of water as sponges, are

certain destroyers of scent; hence, hunting at Newera Ellia is out of the question during such weather. The

hounds would get sadly out of condition, were it not for the fine weather in the vicinity which then invites a

trip.


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I have frequently walked ten miles to my hunting grounds, starting before daybreak, and then after a good

day's sport up and down the steep mountains, I have returned home in the evening. But this is twelve hours'

work, and it is game thrown away, as there is no possibility of getting the dead elk home. An animal that

weighs between four hundred and four hundred and fifty pounds without his insides, is not a very easy

creature to move; at any time, especially in such a steep mountainous country as the neighborhood of Newera

Ellia. As previously described, at the base of the mountains are cultivated ricelands, generally known as

paddyfields, where numerous villages have sprung up from the facility with which a supply of water is

obtained from the wild mountains above them. I have so frequently given the people elk and hogs which I

have killed on the heights above their paddyfields that they are always on the alert at the sound of the bugle,

and a few blasts from the mountaintop immediately creates a race up from the villages, some two or three

thousand feet below. Like vultures scenting carrion, they know that an elk is killed, and they start off to the

wellknown sound like a pack of trained hounds. Being thorough mountaineers, they are extraordinary

fellows for climbing the steep grassy sides. With a light stick about six feet long in one hand, they will start

from the base of the mountains and clamber up the hillsides in a surprisingly short space of time, such as

would soon take the conceit out of a "wouldbe pedestrian." This is owing to the natural advantages of naked

feet and no inexpressibles.

Whenever an elk has given a long run in the direction of this country, and after a persevering and arduous

chase of many hours, I have at length killed him on the grassy heights above the villages, I always take a

delight in watching the tiny specks issuing from the green strips of paddy as the natives start off at the sound

of the horn.

At this altitude, it requires a sharp eye to discern a man, but at length they are seen scrambling up the ravines

and gullies and breasting the sharp pitches, until at last the first man arrives thoroughly used up and a string

of fellows of lesser wind come in, in sections, all thoroughly blown.

However, the first man in never gets the lion's share, as the poor old men, with willing spirits and weak flesh,

always bring up the rear, and I insist upon a fair division between the old and young, always giving an extra

piece to a man who happens to know a little English. This is a sort of reward for acquirements, equivalent to a

university degree, and he is considered a literary character by his fellows.

There is nothing that these people appreciate so much as elk and hog's flesh. Living generally upon boiled

rice and curry composed of pumpkins and sweet potatoes, they have no opportunities of tasting meat unless

upon these occasions.

During the very wet weather at Newera Ellia I sometimes take the pack and bivouac for a fortnight in the

fineweather country. About a week previous I send down word to the village people of my intention, but

upon these occasions I never give them the elk. I always insist upon their bringing rice, etc., for the dogs and

myself in exchange for venison, otherwise I should have some hundreds of noisy, idle vagabonds flocking up

to me like carrioncrows.

Of course I give them splendid bargains, as I barter simply on the principle that no man shall come for

nothing. Thus, if a man assist in building the kennel, or carrying a load, or cutting bedgrass, or searching for

lost hounds, he gets a share of meat. The others bring rice, coffee, fowls, eggs, plantains, vegetables, etc.,

which I take at ridiculous ratesa bushel of rice for a fullgrown elk, etc., the latter being worth a couple of

pounds and the rice about seven shillings. Thus the hounds keep themselves in rice and supply me with

everything that I require during the trip, at the same time gratifying the natives.

The direct route to this country was unknown to Europeans at Newera Ellia until I discovered it one day,

accidentally, in following the hounds.


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A large tract of junglecovered hill stretches away from the Moon Plains at Newera Ellia toward the east,

forming a hog's back of about three and a half miles in length. Upon the north side this shelves into a deep

gorge, at the bottom of which flows, or rather tumbles, Fort M'Donald river on its way to the low country,

through forestcovered hills and perpendicular cliffs, until it reaches the precipitous patina mountains, when,

in a succession of large cataracts, it reaches the paddyfields in the first village of Peréwellé (guava

paddyfield). Thus the river in the gorge below runs parallel to the long hog's back of mountain. This is

bordered on the other side by another ravine and smaller torrent, to which the Badulla road runs parallel until

it reaches the mountain of Hackgalla, at which place the ravine deepens into the misty gorge already

described.

At one time, if an elk crossed the Badulla road and gained the Hog's Back jungle, both he and the hounds

were lost, as no one could follow through such impenetrable jungle without knowing either the distance or

direction.

"They are gone to Fort M'Donald river!" This was the despairing exclamation at all times when the pack

crossed the road, and we seldom saw the hounds again until late that night or on the following day. Many

never returned, and Fort M'Donald river became a byword as a locality to be always dreaded.

After a long run one day, the pack having gone off in this fatal direction, I was determined, at any price, to

hunt them up, and accordingly I went some miles down the Badulla road to the limestone quarries, which are

five miles from the Newera Ellia plain. From this point I left the road and struck down into the deep, grassy

valley, crossing the river (the same which runs by the road higher up) and continuing along the side of the

valley until I ascended the opposite range of hills. Descending the precipitous side, I at length reached the

paddyfields in the low country, which were watered by Fort M'Donald river, and I looked up to the lofty

range formed by the Hog's Back hill, now about three thousand feet above me. Thus I had gained the opposite

side of the Hog's Back, and, after a stiff pull lip the mountain, I returned home by a good path which I had

formerly discovered along the course of the river through the forest to Newera Ellia, via

RestandbeThankful Valley and the Barrack Plains, having made a circuit of about twentyfive miles and

become thoroughly conversant with all the localities. I immediately determined to have a path cut from the

Badulla Road across the Hog's Back jungle to the patinas which looked down upon Fort M'Donald on the

other side and, up which I had ascended on my return. I judged the distance would not exceed two miles

across, and I chose the point of junction with the Badulla road two miles and a half from my house. My

reason for this was, that the elk invariably took to the jungle at this place, which proved it to be the easiest

route.

This road, on completion, answered every expectation, connecting the two sides of the Hog's Back by an

excellent path of about two miles, and débouching on the opposite side on a high patina peak which

commanded the whole country. Thus was the whole country opened up by this single path, and should an elk

play his old trick and be off across the Hog's Back to Fort M'Donald river, I could be there nearly as soon as

he could, and also keep within hearing of the bounds throughout the run.

I was determined to take the tent and regularly hunt up the whole country on the other side of the Hog's Back,

as the weather was very bad at Newera Ellia, while in this spot it was beautifully fine, although very windy.

I therefore sent on the tent, kenneltroughs and pots, and all the paraphernalia indispensable for the jungle,

and on the 31st May, 1852, I started, having two companions  Capt. Pelly, Thirtyseventh Regiment, who

was then commandant of Newera Ellia, and his brother on a visit. It was not more than an hour and a half's

good walking from my house to the high patina peak upon which I pitched the tent, but the country and

climate are so totally distinct from anything at Newera Ellia that it gives every one the idea of being fifty

miles away.


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We hewed out a spacious arbor at the edge of the jungle, and in this I had the tent pitched to protect it from

the wind, which it did effectually, as well as the kennel, which was near the same spot. The servants made a

good kitchen, and the encampment was soon complete.

There never could have been a more romantic or beautiful spot for a bivouac. To the right lay the distant view

of the low country, stretching into an undefined distance, until the land and sky appeared to melt together.

Below, at a depth of about three thousand feet, the river boiled through the rocky gorge until it reached the

village of Peréwellé at the base of the line of mountains, whose cultivated paddyfields looked no larger than

the squares upon a chessboard. On the opposite side of the river rose a precipitous and impassable

mountain, even to a greater altitude than the facing ridge upon which I stood, forming as grand a foreground

as the eye could desire. Above, below, around, there was the bellowing sound of heavy cataracts echoed upon

all sides.

Certainly this country is very magnificent, but it is an awful locality for hunting, as the elk has too great an

advantage over both hounds and hunters. Mountainous patinas of the steepest inclination, broken here and

there by abrupt precipices, and with occasional level platforms of waving grass, descend to the river's bed.

These patina mountains are crowned by extensive forests, and narrow belts of jungle descend from the

summit to the base, clothing the numerous ravines which furrow the mountain's side. Thus the entire surface

of the mountains forms a series of rugged grasslands, so steep as to be ascended with the greatest difficulty,

and the elk lie in the forests on the summits and also in the narrow belts which cover the ravines.

The whole country forms a gorge, like a gigantic letter V. At the bottom roars the dreaded torrent, Fort

M'Donald river, in a succession of foaming cataracts, all of which, however grand individually, are

completely eclipsed by its last great plunge of three hundred feet perpendicular depth into a dark and narrow

chasm of wallbound cliffs.

The bed of the river is the most frightful place that can be conceived, being choked by enormous fragments of

rock, amidst which the irresistible torrent howls with a fury that it is impossible to describe.

The river is confined on either side by rugged cliffs of gneiss rock, from which these fragments have from

time to time become detached, and have accordingly fallen into the torrent, choking the bed and throwing the

obstructed waters into frightful commotion. Here they lie piled one upon the other, like so many inverted

cottages; here and there forming dripping caverns; now forming walls of slippery rock, over which the water

falls in thundering volumes into pools black from their mysterious depth, and from which there is no visible

means of exit. These dark and dangerous pools are walled in by hoarylooking rocks, beneath which the

pentup water dives and boils in subterranean caverns, until it at length escapes through secret channels, and

reappears on the opposite side of its prisonwalls; lashing itself into foam in its mad frenzy, it forms rapids of

giddy velocity through the rocky bounds; now flying through a narrowed gorge, and leaping, striving and

wrestling with unnumbered obstructions, it at length meets with the mighty fall, like death in a madman's

course. One plunge! without a single shelf to break the fall, and down, down it sheets; at first like glass, then

like the broken avalanche of snow, and lastly!  we cannot see more  the mist boils from the ruin of

shattered waters and conceals the bottom of the fall. The roar vibrates like thunder in the rocky mountain, and

forces the grandeur of the scene through every nerve.

No animal or man, once in those mysterious pools, could ever escape without assistance. Thus in years post,

when elk were not followed up in this locality, the poor beast, being hard pressed by the hounds, might have

come to bay in one of these fatal basins, in which case, both he and every bound who entered the trap found

sure destruction.

The hard work and the danger to both man and bound in this country may be easily imagined when it is

explained that the nature of the elk prompts him to seek for water as his place of refuge when hunted; thus he


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makes off down the mountain for the river, in which he stands at bay. Now the mountain itself is steep

enough, but within a short distance of the bottom the river is in many places guarded by precipices of several

hundred feet in depth. A few difficult passes alone give access to the torrent, but the descent requires great

caution.

Altogether, this forms the wildest and most arduous country that can be imagined for hunting, but it abounds

with elk.

The morning was barely gray when I woke up the servants and ordered coffee, and made the usual

preparations for a start. At last, thank goodness! the boots are laced! This is the troublesome part of dressing

before broad daylight, and nevertheless laced ankleboots must be worn as a protection against sprains and

bruises in such a country. Never mind the trouble of lacing them; they, are on now, and there is a good day's

work in store for them.

It was the 30th May, 1853, a lovely hunting morning and a fine dew on the patinas; rather too windy, but that

could not be helped.

Quiet now!  down, Bluebeard!  back, will you, Lucifer! Here's a smash! there goes the jungle kennel! the

pack squeezing out of it in every direction as they hear the preparations for departure.

Now we are all right; ten couple out, and all good ones. Come along, yooi, along here! and a note on the

horn brings the pack close together as we enter the forest on the very summit of the ridge. Thus the start was

completed just as the first tinge of gold spread along the eastern horizon, about ten minutes before sunrise.

The jungles were tolerably good, but there were not as many elk tracks as I had expected; probably the high

wind on the ridge had driven them lower down for shelter; accordingly I struck an oblique direction

downward, and I was not long before I discovered a fresh track; fresh enough, certainly, as the thick moss

which covered the ground showed a distinct path where the animal had been recently feeding.

Every hound had stolen away; even the greyhounds buried their noses in the broad track of the buck, so fresh

was the scent; and I waited quietly for "the find." The greyhounds stood round me with their cars cocked and

glistening eyes, intently listening for the expected sound.

There they are! all together, such a burst! They must have stolen away mute and have found on the other side

the ridge, for they were now coming down at full speed from the very summit of the mountain.

>From the amount of music I knew they had a good start, but I had no idea that the buck would stand to such

a pack at the very commencement of the hunt. Nevertheless there was a sudden bay within a few hundred

yards of me, and the elk had already turned to fight. I knew that he was an immense fellow from his track,

and I at once saw that he would show fine sport.

Just as I was running through the jungle toward the spot, the bay broke and the buck had evidently gone off

straight away, as I heard the pack in full cry rapidly increasing their distance and going off down the

mountain.

Sharp following was now the order of the day, and away we went. The mountain was so steep that it was

necessary every now and then to check the momentum of a rapid descent by clinging to the tough saplings.

Sometimes one would give way and a considerable spill would be the consequence. However, I soon got out

on the patina about onethird of the way down the mountain, and here I met one of the natives, who was well

posted. Not a sound of the pack was now to be heard; but this man declared most positively that the elk had

suddenly changed his course, and, instead of keeping down the hill, had struck off to his left along the side of


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the mountain. Accordingly, off I started as hard as I could go with several natives, who all agreed as to the

direction.

After running for about a mile along the patinas in the line which I judged the pack had taken, I heard one

hound at bay in a narrow jungle high up on my left. It was only the halt of an instant, for the next moment I

heard the same hound's voice evidently running on the other side of the strip of jungle, and taking off down

the mountain straight for the dreaded river. Here was a day's work cut out as neatly as could be.

Running toward the spot, I found the buck's track leading in that direction, and I gave two or three view

halloos at the top of my voice to bring the rest of the pack down upon it. They were close at hand, but the

high wind had prevented me from hearing them, and away they came from the jungle, rushing down upon the

scent like a flock of birds. I stepped of the track to let them pass as they swept by, and "Forrrard to

him! Forrrard!" was the word the moment they had passed, as I gave them a halloo down the hill. It was

a bad lookout for the elk now; every hound knew that his master was close up, and they went like demons.

The "Tamby" * was the only man up, and he and I immediately followed in chase down the precipitous

patinas; running when we could, scrambling, and sliding on our hams when it was too steep to stand, and

keeping good hold of the long tufts of grass, lest we should gain too great an impetus and slide to the bottom.

*An exceedingly active Moorman, who was my great ally in hunting.

After about half a mile passed in this manner, I heard the bay, and I saw the buck far beneath, standing upon a

level, grassy platform, within three hundred yards of the river. The whole pack was around him except the

greyhounds, who were with me; but not a hound had a chance with him, and he repeatedly charged in among

them, and regularly drove them before him, sending any single hound spinning whenever he came within his

range. But the pack quickly reunited, and always returned with fresh vigor to the attack. There was a narrow,

wooded ravine between me and them, and, with caution and speed combined, I made toward the spot down

the precipitous mountain, followed by the greyhounds " Bran" and Lucifer."

I soon arrived on a level with the bay, and, plunging into the ravine, I swung myself down from tree to tree,

and then climbed up the opposite side. I broke cover within a few yards of him. What a splendid fellow he

looked! He was about thirteen hands high, and carried the most beautiful head of horns that I had ever seen

upon an elk. His mane was bristled up, his nostril was distended, and, turning from the pack, he surveyed me,

as though taking the measure of his new antagonist. Not seeming satisfied, he deliberately turned, and,

descending from the level space, he carefully, picked his way. Down narrow elkruns along the steep

precipices, and, at a slow walk, with the whole pack in single file at his heels, he clambered down toward the

river. I followed on his track over places which I would not pass in cold blood; and I shortly halted above a

cataract of some eighty feet in depth, about a hundred paces from the great waterfall of three hundred feet.

It was extremely grand; the roar of the falls so entirely hushed all other sounds that the voices of the hounds

were perfectly inaudible, although within a few yards of me, as I looked down upon them from a rock that

overhung the river.

The elk stood upon the brink of the swollen torrent; he could not retreat, as the wall of rock was behind him,

with the small steplike path by which he had descended; this was now occupied by the yelling pack.

The hounds knew the danger of the place; but the buck, accustomed to these haunts from his birth, suddenly

leapt across the boiling rapids, and springing from rock to rock along the verge of the cataract, he gained the

opposite side. Here he had mistaken his landingplace, as a shelving rock, upon which he had alighted, was

so steep that he could not retain his footing, and he gradually slid down toward the river.


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At this moment, to my horror, both "Bran" and Lucifer" dashed across the torrent, and bounding from rock to

rock, they sprung at the already tottering elk, and in another moment both he and they rolled over in a

confused mass into the boiling torrent. One more instant and they reappeared, the buck gallantly stemming

the current, which his great length of limb and weight enabled him to do; the dogs, overwhelmed in the foam

of the rapids, were swept down toward the fall, in spite of their frantic exertions to gain the bank.

They were not fifteen feet from the edge of the fall, and I saw them spun round and round in the whirlpools

being hurried toward certain destruction. The poor dogs seemed aware of the danger, and made the most

extraordinary efforts to avoid their fate. They were my two favorites of the pack, and I screamed out words of

encouragement to them, although the voice of a cannon could not have been heard among the roar of waters.

They had nearly gained the bank oil the very vere of the fall, when a few tufts of lemon grass concealed

them from my view. I thought they were over, and I could not restrain a cry of despair at their horrible fate. I

felt sick with the idea. But the next moment I was shouting hurrah! they are all right, thank goodness, they

were saved. I saw them struggling up the steep bank, through the same lemon grass, which had for a moment

obscured their fate. They were thoroughly exhausted and half drowned.

In the mean time, the elk had manfully breasted the rapids, carefully choosing the shallow places; and the

whole pack, being mad with excitement, had plunged into the waters regardless of the danger. I thought every

hound would have been lost. For an instant they looked like a flock of ducks, but a few moments afterward

they were scattered in the boiling eddies, hurrying with fatal speed toward the dreadful cataract. Poor

"Phrenzy!" round she spun in the giddy vortex; nearer and nearer she approached the verge  her struggles

were unavailing  over she went, and was of course never heard of afterward.

This was a terrible style of hunting; rather too much so to be pleasant. I clambered down to the edge of the

river just in time to see the elk climbing, as nimbly as a cat up the precipitous bank on the opposite side,

threading his way at a slow walk under the overhanging rocks, and scrambling up the steep mountain with a

long string of hounds at his heels in single file. "Valiant," "Tiptoe" and "Ploughboy" were close to him, and I

counted the other hounds in the line, fully expecting to miss half of them. To my surprise and delight, only

one was absent; this was poor "Phrenzy." The others had all managed to save themselves. I now crossed the

river by leaping from rock to rock with some difficulty, and with hands and knees I climbed the opposite

bank. This was about sixty feet high, from the top of which the mountain commenced its ascent, which,

though very precipitous was so covered with long lemon grass that it was easy enough to climb. I looked

behind me, and there was the Tamby, all right, within a few paces.

The elk was no longer in sight, and the roar of the water was so great that it was impossible to hear the

hounds. However, I determined to crawl along his track, which was plainly discernible, the high grass being

broken into a regular lane which skirted the precipice of the great waterfall in the direction of the villages.

We were now about a hundred feet above, and on one side of the great fall, looking into the deep chasm into

which the river leapt, forming a cloud of mist below. The lemon grass was so high in tufts along the rocks

that we could not see a foot before us, and we knew not whether the next step would land us on firm footing,

or deposit us some hundred feet below. Clutching fast to the long grass, therefore, we crept carefully on for

about a quarter of a mile, now climbing the face of the rocks, now descending by means of their irregular

surfaces, but still stirring the dark gorge down which the river fell.

At length, having left the fall some considerable distance behind us, the ear was somewhat relieved from the

bewildering noise of water, and I distinctly heard the pack at bay not very far in advance. In another moment

I saw the elk standing on a platform of rock about a hundred yards ahead, on a lower shelf of the mountain,

and the whole pack at bay. This platform was the top of a cliff which overhung the deep gorge; the river

flowing in the bottom after its great fall, and both the elk and hounds appeared to be in "a fix." The descent

had been made to this point by leaping down places which he could not possibly reascend, and there was only


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one narrow outlet, which was covered by the hounds. Should he charge through the hounds to force this

passage, half a dozen of them must be knocked over the precipice.

However, I carefully descended, and soon reached the platform. This was not more than twenty feet square,

and it looked down in the gorge of about three hundred feet. The first seventy of this depth were

perpendicular, as the top of the rock overhung, after which the side of the cliff was marked by great fissures

and natural steps formed by the detachment from time to time of masses of rock which had fallen into the

river below. Bushes and rank grass filled the interstices of the rocks, and an old deserted watercourse lay

exactly beneath the platform, being cut and built out of the side of the cliff.

It was a magnificent sight in such grand scenery to see the buck at bay when we arrived upon the platform.

He was a daredevil fellow, and feared neither hounds nor man, every now and then charging through the

pack, and coming almost within reach of the Tamby's spear. It was a difficult thing to know how to kill him. I

was afraid to go in at him, lest in his struggles he should drag the hounds over the precipice, and I would not

cheer the seizers on for the same reason. Indeed, they seemed well aware of the danger, and every now and

then retreated to me, as though to entice the elk to make a move to some better ground.

However, the buck very soon decided the question. I made up my mind to halloo the hounds on, and to

hamstring the elk, to prevent him from nearing the precipice: and, giving a shout, the pack rushed at him. Not

a dog could touch him; he was too quick with his horns and fore feet. He made a dash into the pack, and then

regained his position close to the verge of the precipice. He then turned his back to the hounds, looked down

over the edge, and, to the astonishment of all, plunged into the abyss below! A dull crash sounded from

beneath, and then nothing was heard but the roaring of the waters as before. The hounds looked over the edge

and yelled with a mixture of fear and despair. Their game was gone!

By making a circuit of about half a mile among these frightful precipices and gorges, we at length arrived at

the foot of the cliff down which the buck had leapt. Here we of course found him lying dead, as he had

broken most of his bones. He was in very fine condition; but it was impossible to move him from such a spot.

I therefore cut off his head, as his antlers were the finest that I have ever killed before or since.

To regain the tent, I had a pull for it, having to descend into the village of Peréwellé, and then to reascend the

opposite mountain of three thousand feet; but even this I thought preferable to returning in cold blood by the

dangerous route I had come.

Tugging up such a mountain was no fun after a hard morning's work, and I resolved to move the encampment

to a large cave, some eight hundred feet lower down the mountain. Accordingly, I struck the tent, and after

breakfast we took up our quarters in a cavern worthy of Robin Hood. This had been formed by a couple of

large rocks the size of a moderate house, which had been detached from the overhanging cliff above, and had

fallen together. There was a smaller cavern within, which made a capital kennel; rather more substantial than

the rickety building of yesterday

Some of the village people, hearing that the buck was killed and lying in the old watercourse, went in a gang

to cut him up. What was their surprise on reaching the spot to find the carcase removed! It had evidently been

dragged along the watercourse, as the trail was distinct in the high grass, and upon following it up, away

went two fine leopards, bounding along the rocks to their adjacent cave. They had consumed a large portion

of the flesh, but the villagers did not leave them much for another meal. Skin, hoofs, and in fact every vestige

of an elk, is consumed by these people.

For my own part, I do not think much of elk venison, unless it be very fit, which is rarely the case. It is at all

times more like beef than any other meat, for which it is a very good substitute. The marrowbones are the

"bonne bouche," being peculiarly rich and delicate. Few animals can have a larger proportion of marrow than


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the elk, as the bones are more hollow than those of most quadrupeds. This cylindrical formation enables them

to sustain the severe shocks in descending rough mountains at full speed. It is perfectly wonderful to see an

animal of near six hundred pounds' weight bounding down a hillside, over rocks and ruts and every

conceivable difficulty of ground, at a pace which will completely distance the best hound; and even at this

desperate speed, the elk will never make a false step; surefooted as a goat, he will still fly on through bogs,

ravines, tangled jungles and rocky rivers, ever certain of his footing.

The foregoing description of an elkhunt will give the reader a good idea of the power of this animal in

stemming rapids and climbing dangerous precipices; but even an elk is not proof against the dangers of Fort

M'Donald river, an example of which we had on the following morning.

The hounds found a doe who broke cover close to me in a small patina and made straight running for the

river. She had no sooner reached it than I beard her cry out, and as she was closely followed I thought she

was seized. However, the whole pack shortly returned, evidently thrown out, and I began to abuse them pretty

roundly, thinking that they had lost their game in the river. So they had, but in an excusable manner; the poor

doe had been washed down a rapid, and had broken her thigh. We found her dead under a hollow rock in the

middle of the river.

Here we had a fine exemplification of the danger of the mysterious pools.

While I was opening the elk, with the pack all round me licking their lips in expectation, old "Madcap" was

jostled by one of the greyhounds, and slipped into a basin among the rocks, which formed an edge of about

two feet above the surface.

The opposite side of the pool was hemmed in by rocks about six feet high, and the direction of the

undercurrent was at once shown by poor old "Madcap" being swept up against this high wall of rock, where

she remained paddling with all her might in an upright position.

I saw the poor beast would be sucked under, and yet I could not save her. However, I did my best at the risk

of falling in myself.

I took off my handkerchief and made a slipknot, and begging Pelly to lie down on the top of the rock, I took

his hand while I clung to the face of the wall as I best could by a little ledge of about two inches' width.

With great difficulty I succeeded in hooking the bitch's head in the slipknot, but in my awkward position I

could not use sufficient strength to draw her out. I could only support her head above the water, which I could

distinctly feel was drawing her from me. Presently she gave a convulsive struggle, which freed her head from

the loop, and in an instant she disappeared.

I could not help going round the rock to see if her body should be washed out when the torrent reappeared,

when, to my astonishment, up she popped all right, not being more than half drowned by her subterranean

excursion, and we soon helped her safe ashore. Fortunately for her, the passage had been sufficiently large to

pass her, although I have no doubt a man would have been held fast and drowned.

There was so much water in the river that I determined to move from this locality as too dangerous for

hunting. I therefore ordered the village people to assemble on the following morning to carry the loads and

tent. In the mean time I sent for the dead elk.

There could riot be a better place for a huntingbox than that cave. We soon had a glorious fire roaring round

the kennelpot, which, having been well scoured with sand and water, was to make the soup. Such soup! 

shades of gourmands, if ye only smelt that cookery! The pot held six gallons, and the whole elk, except a few


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steaks, was cut up and alternately boiled down in sections. The flesh was then cut up small for the pack, the

marrowbones reserved for "master," and the soup was then boiled until it had evaporated to the quantity

required. A few green chilies, onions in slices fried, and a little limejuice, salt, black pepper and mushroom

ketchup, and  in fact, there is no rise thinking of it, as the soup is not to be had again. The fire crackled and

blazed as the logs were heaped upon it as night grew near, and lit up all the nooks and corners of the old cave.

Three beds in a row contained three sleepy mortals. The hounds snored and growled, and then snored again.

The servants jabbered, chewed betel, spit, then jabbered a little more, and at last everything and everybody

was fast asleep within the cave.

The next morning we had an early breakfast and started, the village people marching off in good spirits with

the loads. I was now en route for Bertram's patinas, which lay exactly over the mountain on the opposite side

of the river. This being perpendicular, I was obliged to make a great circuit by keeping the old Newera Ellia

path along the river for two or three miles, and then, turning off at right angles, I knew an old native trace

over the ridge. Altogether, it was a round of about six miles, although the patinas were not a mile from the

cave in a straight line.

The path in fact terminates upon the high peak, exactly opposite the cave, looking down upon my

huntingground of the day before, and on the other side the ridge lie Bertram's patinas.

The extreme point of the ridge which I had now gained forms one end of a horse shoe or amphitheatre; the

other extremity is formed by a high mountain exactly opposite at about two miles' distance. The bend of the

horseshoe forms a circuit of about six miles, the rim of which is a wall of precipices and steep patina

mountains, which are about six or seven hundred feet above the basin or the bottom of the amphitheatre. The

tops of the mountains are covered with good open forest, and ribbonlike strips descend to the base. Now the

base forms an uneven shelf of great extent, about two thousand feet above the villages. This shelf or valley

appears to have suffered at some remote period from a terrible inundation. Landslips of great size and

innumerable deep gorges and ravines furrow the bottom of the basin, until at length a principal fissure carries

away the united streams to the paddyfields below.

The cause of this inundation is plain enough. The basin has been the receptacle for the drainage of an

extensive surface of mountain. This drainage has been effected by innumerable small torrents, which have

united in one general channel through the valley. The exit of this stream is through a narrow gorge, by which

it descends to the low country. During the period of heavy rains a landslip has evidently choked up this

passage, and the exit of the water being thus obstructed, the whole area of the valley has become a lake. The

accumulated water has suddenly burst through the obstruction and swept everything before it. The elk are

very fond of lying under the precipices in the strips of jungle already mentioned. When found, they are

accordingly forced to take to the open country and come down to the basin below, as they cannot possibly

ascend the mountain except by one or two remote deerruns. Thus the whole hunt from the find to the death

is generally in view.

>From every point of this beautiful locality there is a boundless and unbroken panorama of the low country.

Unfortunately, although the weather was perfectly fine, it was the windy season, and a gale swept across the

mountains that rendered ears of little use, as a hound's voice was annihilated in such a hurricane This was

sadly against sport, as the main body of the pack would have no chance of joining the finding hound.

However, the hounds were unkenneled at break of day, and, the tent being pitched at the bottom of the basin,

we commenced a pull up the steep patinas, hoping to find somewhere on the edge of the jungles.

"There's scent to a certainty!  look at old Bluebeard's nose upon the ground and the excited wagging of his

stern. Ploughboy notices it  now Gaylass they'll hit it off presently to a certainty, though it's as cold as


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charity. That elk was feeding here early in the night; the scent is four hours old if a minute. There they go into

the jungle, and we shall lose the elk, ten to one, as not another hound in the pack will work it up. It can't be

helped; if any three hounds will rouse him out, those are the three."

For a couple of hours we had sat behind a rock, sheltered from the wind, watching the immense prospect

before us. The whole pack were lying around us except the three missing hounds, of whom we had seen

nothing since they stole away upon the cold scent.

That elk must have gone up to the top of the mountains after feeding, and a pretty run he must be having,

very likely off to Matturatta plains; if so, goodbye to all sport for today, and the best hounds will be dead

tired for tomorrow.

I was just beginning to despair when I observed a fine large buck at about half a mile distance, cantering

easily toward us across an extensive flat of tableland. This surface was a fine sward, on the same level with

the point upon which we sat, but separated from us by two small wooded ravines, with a strip of patina

between them. I at once surmised that this was the hunted elk, although, as yet, no hounds were visible.

On arrival at the first ravine we immediately descended, and shortly after he reappeared on the small patina

between the two ravines, within three hundred yards of us. Here the strong gale gave him our scent. It was a

beautiful sight to see him halt in an instant, snuff the warning breeze and, drawing up to his full height, and

wind the enemy before him.

Just at this moment I heard old "Bluebeard's" deep note swelling in the distance, and I saw him leading across

the tableland as true as gold upon the track; "Ploughboy" and "Gaylass" were both with him but they were

running mute.

The buck heard the hounds as well as we did, and I was afraid that the whole pack would also catch the

sound, and by hurrying toward it, would head the elk him from his course. Up to the present time and turn

they had not observed him.

Still the buck stood in an attitude of acute suspense. He winded an enemy before him and he heard another

behind, which was rapidly closing up, and, as though doubting his own power of scent, he gave preference to

that of hearing, and gallantly continued his course and entered the second ravine just beneath our feet.

I immediately jumped up, and, exciting the hounds in a subdued voice, I waved my cap at the spot, and

directed a native to run at full speed to the jungle to endeavor to meet the elk, as I knew the hounds would

then follow him. This they did; and they all entered the jungle with the man except the three greyhounds,

"Lucifer," "Bran" and "Hecate," who remained with me.

A short time passed in breathless suspense, during which the voices of the three following hounds rapidly

approached as they steadily persevered in the long chase; when suddenly, as I had expected, the main body of

the pack met the elk in the strip of jungle.

Joyful must have been the burst of music to the ears of old "Bluebeard" after his long run. Out crashed the

buck upon the patinas near the spot where the pack had entered, and away he went over the grassy hills at a

pace which soon left the hounds behind. The greyhounds will stretch his legs for him. Yoick to him,

Lucifer! Forrrard to him, Hecate !

Off dashed the three greyhounds from my side at a railway pace, but, as the buck was above them and had a

start of about two hundred yards, in such an uphill race both Bran and Lucifer managed to lose sight of him in

the undulations.


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Now was the time for Hecate's enormous power of loin and thigh to tell, and, never losing a moment's view

of her game, she sped up the steep mountain side and was soon after seen within fifty yards of the brick all

alone, but going like a rocket.

Now she has turned him ! that pace could not last up hill, and round the elk doubled and came flying down

the mountain side.

>From the point of the hill upon which we stood we had a splendid view of the course; the bitch gained upon

him at every bound, and there was a pitiless dash in her style of going that boded little mercy to her game.

What alarmed me, however, was the direction that the buck was taking. An abrupt precipice of about two

hundred and fifty feet was lying exactly in his path; this sunk sheer down to a lower series of grasslands.

At the tremendous pace at which they were going I feared lest their own impetus should carry both elk and

dog to destruction before they could see the danger.

Down they flew with unabated speed; they neared the precipice, and a few more seconds would bring them to

the verge.

The stride of the buck was no match for the bound of the greyhound: the bitch was at his flanks, and he

pressed along at flying speed.

He was close to the danger and it was still unseen: a moment more and "Hecate" sprang at his ear.

Fortunately she lost her hold as the ear split. This check saved her. I shouted, "He'll be over!" and the next

instant he was flying through the air to headlong destruction.

Bounding from a projecting rock upon which he struck, he flew outward, and with frightfully increasing

momentum he spun round and round in his descent, until the centrifugal motion drew out his legs and neck as

straight as a line. A few seconds of this multiplying velocity and  crash!

It was all over. The bitch had pulled up on the very brink of the precipice, but it was a narrow escape.

Sportsmen are contradictory creatures. If that buck had come to bay, I should have known no better sport than

going in at him with the knife to the assistance of the pack; but I now felt a great amount of compassion for

the poor brute who had met so terrible a fate. It did not seem fair; and yet I would not have missed such a

sight for anything. Nothing can be conceived more terribly grand than the rush of so large an animal through

the air; and it was a curious circumstance that within a few days no less than two bucks had gone over

precipices, although I had never witnessed one such an accident more than once before.

Upon reaching the fatal spot, I, of course, found him lying stone dead. He had fallen at least two hundred and

fifty feet to the base of the precipice; and the ground being covered with detached fragments of rock, he had

broken most of his bones, beside bursting his paunch and smashing in the face. However, we cut him up and

cleaned him, and, with the native followers heavily laden, we reached the tent.

The following morning I killed another fine buck after a good run on the patinas, where he was coursed and

pulled down by the greyhounds; but the wind was so very high that it destroyed the pleasure of hunting. I

therefore determined on another move  to the Matturatta Plains, within three miles of my present hunting

ground.

After hunting four days at the Matturatta Plains, I moved on to the Elephant Plains, and from thence returned

home after twelve days' absence, having killed twelve elk and two red deer.


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The animal known as the "red deer" in Ceylon is a very different creature to his splendid namesake in

Scotland; he is particularly unlike a deer in the disproportionate size of his carcase to his length of leg. He

stands about twentysix inches high at the shoulder and weighs (live weight) from fortyfive to fifty pounds.

He has two sharp tusks in the upper jaw, projecting about an inch and a half from the gum. These are exactly

like the lowerjaw tusks of a boar, but they incline in the contrary direction, viz., downward, and they are

used as weapons of defence.

The horns of the red deer seldom exceed eight inches in length, and have no more than two points upon each

antler, formed by a forklike termination. This kind of deer has no brow antler. They are very fast, and excel

especially in going up hill, in which ground they frequently escape from the best greyhounds.

There is no doubt that the reddeer venison is the best in Ceylon, but the animal itself is not generally sought

after for sport. He gives a most uninteresting run; never going straight away like a deer, but doubling about

over fifty acres of ground like a hare, until he is at last run into and killed. They exist in extraordinary

numbers throughout every portion of Ceylon, but are never seen in herds.

Next to the red deer is the still more tiny species, the "mouse deer." This animal seldom exceeds twelve

inches in height, and has the same characteristic as the red deer in the heavy proportion of body to its small

length of limb. The skin is a mottled ashgray, covered with dark spots. The upper jaw is furnished with

sharp tusks similar to the red deer, but the head is free from horns.

The skull is perfectly unlike the head of a deer, and is closely allied to the rat, which it would exactly

resemble, were it not for the difference in the teeth. The mouse deer lives principally upon berries and fruits;

but I have seldom found much herbage upon examination of the paunch. Some people consider the flesh very

good, but my ideas perhaps give it a "ratty" flavor that makes it unpalatable.

These little deer make for some wellknown retreat the moment that they are disturbed by dogs, and they are

usually found after a short run safely ensconced in a hollow tree.

It is a very singular thing that none of the deer tribe in Ceylon have more than six points on their horns, viz.,

three upon each. These are, the browantler point, and the two points which form the extremity of each horn.

I have seen them occasionally with more, but these were deformities in the antlers.

A stranger is always disappointed in a Ceylon elk's antlers; and very naturally, for they are quite out of

proportion to the great size of the animal. A very large Scotch red deer in not more than twothirds the size

of a moderately fine elk, and yet he carries a head of horns that are infinitely larger.

In fact, so rare are fine antlers in Ceylon that I could not pick out more than a dozen of really handsome elk

horns out of the great numbers that I have killed.

A handsome pair of antlers is a grand addition to the beauty of a fine buck, and gives a majesty to his bearing

which is greatly missed when a fine animal breaks cover with only a puny pair of horns. There is as great a

difference in his appearance as there would be in a lifeguardsman in full uniform or in his shirt.

The antlers of the axis, or spotted deer, are generally longer than those of the elk; they are also more slender

and graceful. Altogether, the spotted deer is about the handsomest of that beautiful tribe. A fine spotted stag

is the perfection of elegance, color, strength, courage and speed. He has a proud and thoroughbred way of

carrying his head, which is set upon his neck with a peculiar grace. Nothing can surpass the beauty of his full

black eye. His hide is as sleek as satin  a rich brown, slightly tinged with red, and spotted as though mottled

with flakes of snow. His weight is about two hundred and fifty pounds (alive).


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It is a difficult thing to judge of a deer's weight with any great accuracy; but I do not think I am far out in my

estimation of the average, as I once tried the experiment by weighing a dead elk. I had always considered that

a mountain elk, which is smaller than those of the low country, weighed about four hundred pounds when

cleaned, or five hundred and fifty pounds live weight. I happened one day to kill an averagesized buck,

though with very small horns, close to the road; so, having cleaned him, I sent a cart for his carcase on my

return home. This elk I weighed whole, minus his inside, and he was four hundred and eleven pounds. Many

hours had elapsed since his death, so that the carcase must have lost much weight by drying; this, with the

loss of blood and offal, must have been at least one hundred and fifty pounds, which would have made his

live weight five hundred and sixtyone pounds.

Of the five different species of deer in Ceylon, the spotted deer is alone seen upon the plains. No climate can

be too hot for his exotic constitution, and he is never found at a higher elevation than three thousand feet. In

the low country, when the midday sun has driven every other beast to the shelter of the densest jungles, the

sultan of the herd and his lovely mates are sometimes contented with the shade of an isolated tree or the

simple border of the jungle, where they drowsily pass the day, flipping their long ears in listless idleness until

the hotter hours have passed away. At about four in the afternoon they stroll upon the open plains ,bucks,

does and fawns, in beautiful herds; when undisturbed, as many as a hundred together. This is the only species

of deer in Ceylon that is gregarious.

Neither the spotted deer, nor the bear or buffalo, is to be found at Newera Ellia. The axis and the buffalo

being the usual denizens of the hottest countries, are not to be expected to exist in their natural state in so low

a temperature; but it is extraordinary that the bear, who in most countries inhibits the mountains, should in

Ceylon adhere exclusively to the low country.

The Ceylon bear is of that species which is to be seen in the Zoological Gardens as the "sloth bear;" an

illbredlooking fellow with a longhaired black coat and a gray face.

A Ceylon bear's skin is not worth preserving; there is no fur upon it, but it simply consists of rather a stingy

allowance of black hairs. This is the natural effect of his perpetual residence in a hot country, where his coat

adapts itself to the climate. He is desperately savage, and is more feared by the natives than any other animal,

as he is in the constant habit of attacking people without the slightest provocation. His mode of attack

increases the danger, as there is a great want of fair play in his method of fighting. Lying in wait, either

behind a rock or in a thick bush, he makes a sudden spring upon the unwary wanderer, and in a moment he

attacks his face with teeth and claws. The latter are about two inches long, and the former are much larger

than a leopard's; hence it may easily be imagined how even a few seconds of biting and clawing might alter

the most handsome expression of countenance.

Bears have frequently been known to tear off a man's face like a mask, leaving nothing but the face of a skull.

Thus the quadrupeds of Newera Ellia and the adjacent highlands are confined to the following classes: the

elephant, the hog, the leopard, the chetah, the elk, the red deer, the mouse deer, the hare, the otter, the jackal,

the civet cat, the mongoose and two others (varieties of the species), the black squirrel, the gray squirrel, the

wanderoo monkey (the largest species in Ceylon), the porcupine, and a great variety of the rat.

Imagine the difficulty of breaking in a young hound for elkhunting when the jungles are swarming with

such a list of vermin! The better the pup the more he will persevere in hunting everything that he can possibly

find; and with such a variety of animals, some of which have the most enticing scent, it is a source of endless

trouble in teaching a young hound what to limit and what to avoid.

It is curious to witness the sagacity of the old hounds in joining or despising the opening note of a newcomer.


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The jungles are fearfully thick, and it requires great exertion on the part of the dog to force his way through at

a pace that will enable him to join the finding hound; thus he fears considerable disappointment if upon his

arrival he finds the scent of a monkey or a cat instead of his legitimate game. An old hound soon marks the

inexperienced voice of the babbler, and after the cry of "wolf" has been again repeated, nothing will induce

him to join the false finder.

Again, it is exceedingly interesting to observe the quickness of all hounds in acknowledging their leader.

Only let them catch the sound of old "Bluebeard's" voice, and see the dash with which they rush through the

jungle to join him. They know the old fellows note is true to an elk or hog, and, with implicit confidence in

his "find," they never hesitate to join.

There are numerous obstacles to the breaking and training of dogs of all kinds in such a country. A hound

when once in the jungle is his own master. He obeys the sound of the halloo or the born, or not, as he thinks

proper. It is impossible to correct him, as he is out of sight.

Now, the very fact of having one or two firstrate finders in a pack, will very likely be the cause of spoiling

the other hounds. After repeated experience their instinct soon shows them that, no matter how the whole

pack may individually hunt, the "find" will be achieved by one of the firstrate hounds, and gradually they

give up hunting and take to listening for the opening note of the favorite. Of course in an open country they

would be kept to their work by the whip, but at Newera Ellia this is impossible. This accounts for the extreme

paucity of firstrate "finders."

Hunting in a wild country is a far more difficult task for hounds than the ordinary chase at home. Wherever a

country is cultivated it must be enclosed. Thus, should a flock of sheep have thrown the hounds out by

crossing the scent, a cast round the fences must soon hit it off again if the fox has left the field. But in

elkhunting it is scarcely possible to assist the hounds; a dozen different animals, or even a disturbed elk,

may cross the scent in parts of the jungle where the cry of the hounds is even out of hearing. Again, an elk

has a constant habit of running or swimming down a river, his instinct prompting him to drown his own

scent, and thus throw off his pursuers. Here is a trial for the hounds!  the elk has waded or swum down the

stream, and the baffled pack arrive upon the bank; their cheering music has ceased; the elk has kept the water

for perhaps a quarter of a mile, or he may have landed several times during that distance and again have taken

to water.

Now the young hounds dash thoughtlessly across the river, thinking of nothing but a straight course, and they

are thrown out on the barren bank on the other side. Back they come again, wind about the last track for a few

minutes, and then they are forced to give it up  they are thrown out altogether.

Mark the staunch old hounds!  one has crossed the river; there is no scent, but he strikes down the bank with

his nose close to the ground, and away he goes along the edge of the river casting for a scent. Now mark old

"Bluebeard," swimming steadily down the stream; he knows the habits of his game as well as I do, and two to

one that he will find, although "Ploughboy" has just started along the near bank so that both sides of the river

are being hunted.

Now this is what I call difficult hunting; bad enough if the huntsman be up to assist his hounds, but nine

times out of ten this happens in the middle of a run, without a soul within a mile.

The only way to train hounds in this style of country is to accustom them to complete obedience from

puppyhood. This is easily effected by taking them out for exercise upon a road coupled to old hounds. A good

walk every morning, accompanied by the horn and the whip, and they soon fall into such a habit of obedience

that they may be taken out without the couples.


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The great desideratum, then, is to gain their affection and confidence, otherwise they will obey upon the road

and laugh at you when in the jungle. Now "affection" is a difficult feeling to instill into a foxhound, and can

only be partially attained by the exercise of cupboard love; thus a few pieces of dry liver or bread, kept in the

pocket to be given to a young hound who has sharply answered to his call, will do more good than a month of

scolding and rating.

" Confidence," or the want of it, in a hound depends entirely upon the character of his master. There is an old

adage of "like master, like man;" and this is strongly displayed in the hound. The very best seizer would be

spoiled if his master were a leetle slow in going in with the knife; and, on the other hand, dogs naturally shy

of danger turn into good seizers where their master invariably leads them in.

Not only is their confidence required and gained at these times, but they learn to place implicit reliance upon

their master's knowledge of hunting, in the same manner that they acknowledge the superiority of a particular

hound. This induces them to obey beyond any method of training, as they feel a certain dependence upon the

man, and they answer his halloo or the horn without a moment's hesitation.

Nothing is so likely to destroy the character of a pack as a certain amount of laziness or incapacity upon the

master's part in following them up. This is natural enough, as the best hounds, if repeatedly left unassisted for

hours when at bay with their game until they are regularly beaten off, will lose their relish for the sport. On

the other hand, perseverance on the huntsman part will ensure a corresponding amount in the hounds; they

will become so accustomed to the certain appearance of their master at the bay at some time or other that they

will stick to their game till night. I have frequently killed elk at two or three o'clock in the afternoon that have

been found at six in the morning. Sometimes I have killed them even later than this when, after wandering

fruitlessly the whole day in every direction but the right one, my ears have at length been gladdened by the

distant sound of the bay. The particular moment when hope and certainty combined reward the day's toil is

the very quintessence of joy and delight. Nothing in the shape of enjoyment can come near it. What a strange

power has that helplesslooking mass  the brain! One moment, and the limbs are fagged, the shins are

tender with breaking all day through the densest jungles, the feet are worn with unrequited labor and  hark!

The bay! no doubt of it  the bay! There is the magic spell which, acting on the brain, flies through every

nerve. New legs, new feet, new everything, in a moment! fresh as though just out of bed; here we go tearing

through the jungle like a buffalo, and as happy as though we had just come in for a fortune  happier, a great

deal.

Nevertheless, elkhunting is not a general taste, as people have not opportunities of enjoying it constantly.

Accordingly, they are out of condition, and soon be, come distressed and of necessity "shut up" (a vulgar but

expressive term). This must be fine fun for a total stranger rather inclined to corpulency, who has dauntlessly

persevered in keeping up with the huntsman, although at some personal inconvenience. There is a limit to all

endurance, and he is obliged to stop, quite blown, completely done. He loses all sounds of hounds and

huntsman, and everything connected with the hunt. Where is he? How horrible the idea that flashes across his

mind! he has no idea where he is, except that he is quite certain that he is in some jungle in Ceylon.

Distraction! Ceylon is nearly all jungle, two hundred and eighty miles long and he is in this  somewhere He

tries to recollect by what route he has come; impossible! He has been up one mountain, and then he turned to

the right, and got into a ravine; he recollects the ravine, for he fell on his head with the end of a dead stick in

his stomach just as he got to the bottom; he forgets every other part of his route, simply having an idea that he

went down a great many ravines and up a number of hills, and turned to the right and left several times. He

gives it up; he finds himself "lost," and, if he is sensible, he will sit down and wait till some one comes to

look for him, when he will start with joy at the glad sound of the horn. But should he attempt to find his way

alone through those pathless jungles, he will only increase his distance from the right course.


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One great peculiarity in Newera Ellia is the comparative freedom from poisonous vermin. There are three

varieties of snakes, only one of which is hurtful, and all are very minute. The venomous species is the

"carrawellé," whose bite is generally fatal; but this snake is not often met with. There are no ticks, nor bugs,

nor leeches, nor scorpions, nor white ants, nor wasps, nor mosquitoes; in fact, there is nothing venomous

except the snake alluded to, and a small species of centipede. Fleas there are certainly  indeed, a fair

sprinkling of fleas; but they are not troublesome, except in houses which are unoccupied during a portion of

the year. This is a great peculiarity of a Ceylon flea  he is a great colonist; and should a house be untenanted

for a few months, so sure will it swarm with these "settlers." Even a grass hut built for a night's bivouac in the

jungle, without a flea in the neighborhood, will literally swarm with them if deserted for a couple of months.

Fleas have a great fancy for settling upon anything white; thus a person with white trowsers will be blackened

with them, while a man in darker colors will be comparatively free. I at first supposed that they appeared in

larger numbers on the white ground because they were more easily distinguished; but I tried the experiment

of putting a sheet of writingpaper and a piece of brown talipot leaf in the midst of fleas; the paper was

covered with them, while only two or three were on the talipot.

The bite of the small species of centipede alluded to is not very severe, being about equivalent to a wasp's

sting. I have been bitten myself, and I have seen another person suffering from the bite, which was ludicrous

enough.

The sufferer was Corporal Phinn, of H.M. Fifteenth Regiment. At that time he was one of Lieutenant de

Montenach's servants, and accompanied his master on a huntingtrip to the Horton Plains.

Now Phinn was of course an Irishman; an excellent fellow, a dead hand at tramping a bog and killing a snipe,

but (without the slightest intention of impugning his veracity) Phinn's ideality was largely developed. He was

never by himself for five minutes in the jungle without having seen something wonderful before his return;

this he was sure to relate in a rich brogue with great facetiousness.

However, we had just finished dinner one night, and Phinn had then taken his master's vacant place (there

being only one room) to commence his own meal, when up he jumped like a madman, spluttering the food

out of his mouth, and shouting and skipping about the room with both hands clutched tightly to the hinder

part of his inexpressibles. "Oh, by Jasus! help, sir, help! I've a reptile or some divil up my breeches! Oh! bad

luck to him, he's biting me! Oh! oh! it's sure a sarpint that's stinging me! quick, sir, or he'll be the death o'

me!"

Phinn was frantic, and upon lowering his inexpressibles we found the centipede about four inches long which

had bitten him. A little brandy rubbed on the part soon relieved the pain.

CHAPTER VIII. Observations on Nature in the Tropics  The Dung Beetle  The Masonfly  Spiders 

Luminous Insects  Efforts of a Naturalist  Dogs Worried by Leeches  Tropical Diseases  Malaria 

Causes of Infection  Disappearance of the "Mina"  Poisonous Water  Welldigging Elephants.

How little can the inhabitant of a cold or temperate climate appreciate the vast amount of "life" in a tropical

country. The combined action of light, heat and moisture calls into existence myriads of creeping things, the

offspring of the decay of vegetation. "Life" appears to emanate from "death"  the destruction of one material

seems to multify the existence of another  the whole surface of the earth seems busied in one vast system of

giving birth.

An animal dies  a solitary beast  and before his unit life has vanished for one week, bow many millions of

living creatures owe their birth to his death? What countless swarms of insects have risen from that one

carcase!  creatures which never could have been brought into existence were it not for the presence of one

dead body which has received and hatched the deposited eggs of millions that otherwise would have


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remained unvivified.

Not a tree falls, not a withered flower droops to the ground, not a fruit drops from the exhausted bough, but it

is instantly attacked by the class of insect prepared by Nature for its destruction. The white ant scans a lofty

tree whose ironlike timber and giant stem would seem to mock at his puny efforts; but it is rotten at the core

and not a leaf adorns its branches, and in less than a year it will have fallen to the earth a mere shell; the

whole of the wood will have been devoured.

Rottenness of all kinds is soon carried from the face of the land by the wise arrangements of Nature for

preserving the world from plagues and diseases, which the decaying and unconsumed bodies of animals and

vegetables would otherwise engender.

How beautiful are all the laws of Nature! how perfect in their details! Allow that the great duty of the insect

tribe is to cleanse the earth and atmosphere from countless impurities noxious to the human race, how great a

plague would our benefactors themselves become were it not for the various classes of carnivorous insects

who prey upon them, and are in their turn the prey of others! It is a grand principle of continual strife, which

keeps all and each down to their required level.

What a feast for an observant mind is thus afforded in a tropical country! The variety and the multitude of

living things are so great that a person of only ordinary observation cannot help acquiring a tolerable

knowledge of the habits of some of the most interesting classes. In the common routine of daily life they are

continually in his view, and even should he have no taste for the study of Nature and her productions, still

one prevailing characteristic of the insect tribe must impress itself upon his mind. It is the natural instinct not

simply of procreating their species, but of laying by a provision for their expected offspring. What a lesson to

mankind! what an example to the nurtured mind of mail from one of the lowest classes of living things!

Here we see no rash matrimonial engagements; no penniless lovers selfishly and indissolubly linked together

to propagate large families Of starving children. Ail the arrangements of the insect tribe, though prompted by

sheer instinct are conducted with a degree of rationality that in some cases raises the mere instinct of the

creeping thing above the assumed "reason" of man.

The bird builds her nest and carefully provides for the comfort of her young long ere she lays her fragile egg.

Even look at that vulgarlooking beetle, whose coarse form would banish the idea of any rational feeling

existing in its brain  the Billingsgate fishwoman of its tribe in coarseness and rudeness of exterior

(Scarabaeus carnifex)  see with what quickness she is running backward, raised almost upon her head, while

with her bind legs she trundles a large ball; herself no bigger than a nutmeg, the ball is four times the size.

There she goes along the smooth road. The ball she has just manufactured from some freshdropped

horsedung; it is as round as though turned by a lathe, and, although the dung has not lain an hour upon the

ground, she and her confederates have portioned out the spoil, and each has started off with her separate ball.

Not a particle of horsedung remains upon the road. Now she has rolled the ball away from the hard road, and

upon the soft, sandy border she has stopped to rest. No great amount of rest; she plunges her head into the

ground, and with that shovellike projection of stout horn she mines her way below: she has disappeared

even in these few seconds.

Presently the apparently deserted ball begins to move, as though acted on by some subterranean force;

gradually it sinks to the earth, and it vanishes altogether.

Some persons might imagine that she feeds upon the ordure, and that she has buried her store as a dog hides a

bone; but this is not the case; she has formed a receptacle for her eggs, which she deposits in the ball of dung,

the warmth of which assists in bringing the larvae into life, which then feed upon the manure.


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It is wonderful to observe with what rapidity all kinds of dung are removed by these beetles. This is effected

by the active process of rolling the loads instead of carrying, by which method a large mass is transported at

once.

The masonfly is also a ballmaker, but she carries her load and builds an elaborate nest. This insect belongs

to the order "Hymenoptera," and is of the Ichneumon tribe, being a variety of upward of four hundred species

of that interesting fly.

The whole tribe of Ichneumon are celebrated for their courage; a small fly will not hesitate to attack the

largest cockroach, who evinces the greatest terror at sight of his wellknown enemy; but the greatest proof of

valor in a fly is displayed in the war of the ichneumon against the spider.

There is a great variety of this insect in Ceylon, from the large black species, the size of the hornet down to

the minute tinselgreen fly, no bigger than a gnat; but every one of these different species wages perpetual

war against the arch enemy of flies.

In very dry weather in some districts, when most pools and waterholes are dried up, a pail of water thrown

upon the ground will as assuredly attract a host of masonflies as carrion will bring together "blowflies."

They will be then seen in excessive activity upon the wet earth, forming balls of mud, by rolling the earth

between their fore feet until they have manufactured each a pill. With this they fly away to build their nest,

and immediately return for a further supply.

The arrangement of the nest is a matter of much consideration, as the shape depends entirely upon the locality

in which it is built: it may be in the corner of a room, or in a hole in a wall, or in the hollow of a bamboo; but

wherever it is, the principle is the same, although the shape of the nest may vary. Everything is to be

hermetically sealed.

The masonfly commences by flattening the first pill of clay upon the intended site (say the corner of a

room); she then spreads it in a thin layer over a surface of about two inches, and retires for another ball of

clay. This she dabs upon the plastic foundation, and continues the apparently rude operation until some

twenty or thirty pills of clay are adhering at equal distances. She then forms these into a number of neat

ovalshaped cells, about the size of a wren's egg, and in each cell she deposits one egg. She then flies off in

search of spiders, which are to be laid tip in stores within the cells as food for the young larvae, when

hatched.

Now the transition from the larva to the fly takes place in the cell, and occupies about six weeks from the

time the egg is first laid; thus, as the egg itself is not vivified for some weeks after it is deposited, the spiders

have to be preserved in a sound and fresh state during that interval until the larva is in such an advanced stage

as to require food.

In a tropical country every one knows that a very few hours occasion the putrefaction of all dead animal

substances; nevertheless these spiders are to be kept fresh and good, like our tins of preserved meats, to be

eaten when required.

One, two, or even three spiders, according to their size, the masonfly deposits in each cell, and then closes it

hermetically with clay. The spiders she has pounced upon while sunning themselves in the centre of their

delicate nets, and they are hurried off in a panic to be converted into preserved provisions. Each cell being

closed, the whole nest is cemented over with a thick covering of clay. In due time the young family hatch, eat

their allowance of spiders, undergo their torpid change, and emerge from their clay mansion complete

masonflies.


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Every variety of Ichneumon, however (in Ceylon), chooses the spider as the food for its young. It is not at all

uncommon to find a gun well loaded with spiders, clay and grubs, some masonfly having chosen the barrel

for his location. A bunch of keys will invite a settlement of one of the smaller species, who make its nest in

the tube of a key, which it also fills with minute spiders.

In attacking the spider, the masonfly his a choice of his antagonist, and he takes good care to have a

preponderance of weight on his own side. His reason for choosing this in preference to other insects for a

preserved store may be that the spider is naturally juicy, plump and compact, combining advantages both for

keeping and packing closely.

There are great varieties of spiders in Ceylon, one of which is of such enormous size as to resemble the

Aranea avicularia of America. This species stands on an area of about three inches, and never spins a web,

but wanders about and lives in holes; his length of limb, breadth of thorax and powerful jaws give him a most

formidable appearance. There is another species of a largesized spider who spins a web of about two and a

half feet in diameter. This is composed of a strong, yellow, silky fibre, and so powerful is the texture that a

moderatesized walkingcane thrown into the web will be retained by it. This spider is about two inches

long, the color black, with a large yellow spot upon the back, and the body nearly free from hair.

Some years ago an experiment was made in France of substituting the thread of the spider for the silk of the

silkworm: several pairs of stockings and various articles were manufactured with tolerable success in this

new material, but the fibre was generally considered as too fragile.

A sample of such thread as is spun by the spider described could not have failed to produce the desired result,

as its strength is so great that it can be wound upon a card without the slightest care required in the operation.

The texture is far more silky than the fibre commonly produced by spiders, which has more generally the

character of cotton than of silk.

Should this ever be experimented on, a question might arise of much interest to entomologists, whether a

difference in the food of the spider would affect the quality of the thread, as is well known to be the case with

the common silkworm.

A Ceylon night after a heavy shower of rain is a brilliant sight, when the whole atmosphere is teeming with

moving lights bright as the stars themselves, waving around the treetops in fiery circles, now threading like

distant lamps through the intricate branches and lighting up the dark recesses of the foliage, then rushing like

a shower of sparks around the glittering boughs. Myriads of bright fireflies in these wild dances meet their

destiny, being entangled in opposing spiders' webs, where they hang like fairy lamps, their own light

directing the path of the destroyer and assisting in their destruction.

There are many varieties of luminous insects in Ceylon. That which affords the greatest volume of light is a

large white grub about two inches in length, This is a fat, sluggish animal, whose light is far more brilliant

than could be supposed to emanate from such a form.

The light of a common firefly will enable a person to distinguish the hour on a dial in a dark night, but the

glow from the grub described will render the smallest print so legible that a page may be read with case. I

once tried the experiment of killing the grub, but the light was not extinguished with life, and by opening the

tail, I squeezed out a quantity of glutinous fluid, which was so highly phosphorescent that it brilliantly

illumined the page of a book which I had been reading by its light for a trial.

All phosphorescent substances require friction to produce their full volume of light; this is exemplified at sea

during a calm tropical night, when the ocean sleeps in utter darkness and quietude and not a ripple disturbs

the broad surface of the water. Then the prow of the advancing steamer cuts through the dreary waste of


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darkness and awakens into fiery life the spray which dashes from her sides. A broad stream of light illumines

the sea in her wake, and she appears to plough up fire in her rush through the darkened water.

The simple friction of the moving mass agitates the millions of luminous animalcules contained in the water;

in the same manner a fish darting through the sea is distinctly seen by the fiery course which is created by his

own velocity.

All luminous insects are provided with a certain amount of phosphorescent fluid, which can be set in action at

pleasure by the agitation of a number of nerves and muscles situated in the region of the fluid and especially

adapted to that purpose. It is a common belief that the light of the glowworm is used as a lamp of love to

assist in nocturnal meetings, but there can be little doubt that the insect makes use of its natural brilliancy

without any specific intention. It is as natural for the firefly to glitter by night as for the colored butterfly to

be gaudy by day.

The variety of beautiful and interesting insects is so great in Ceylon that an entomologist would consider it a

temporary elysium; neither would he have much trouble in collecting a host of different species who will

exhibit themselves without the necessity of a laborious search. Thus, while he may be engaged in pinning out

some rare specimen, a thousand minute eyeflies will be dancing so close to his eyeballs that seeing is out of

the question. These little creatures, which are no larger than pin's heads, are among the greatest plagues in

some parts of the jungle; and what increases the annoyance is the knowledge of the fact that they dance

almost into your eyes out of sheer vanity. They are simply admiring their own reflection in the mirror of the

eye; or, may be, some mistake their own reflected forms for other flies performing the part of a "visàvis" in

their unwearying quadrille.

A cigar is a specific against these small plagues, and we will allow that the patient entomologist has just

succeeded in putting them to flight and has resumed the occupation of setting out his specimen. Ha! see him

spring out of his chair as though electrified. Watch how, regardless of the laws of buttons, he frantically tears

his trowsers from his limbs; he has him! no he hasn't!  yes he has!  no  no, positively he cannot get him

off. It is a tick no bigger than a grain of sand, but his bite is like a redhot needle boring into the skin. If all

the royal family had been present, he could not have refrained from tearing off his trowsers.

The naturalist has been out the whole morning collecting, and a pretty collection he has got  a perfect

fortune upon his legs alone. There are about a hundred ticks who have not yet commenced to feed upon him;

there are also several fine specimens of the large flat buffalo tick; three or four leeches are enjoying

themselves on the juices of the naturalist; these he had not felt, although they had bitten him half an hour

before; a fine black ant has also escaped during the recent confusion, fortunately without using his sting.

Oil is the only means of loosening the hold of a tick; this suffocates him and he dies; but he leaves an amount

of inflammation in the wound which is perfectly surprising in so minute an insect. The bite of the smallest

species is far more severe than that of the large buffalo or the deer tick, both of which are varieties.

Although the leeches in Ceylon are excessively annoying, and numerous among the dead leaves of the jungle

and the high grass, they are easily guarded against by means of leechgaiters: these are wide stockings, made

of drill or some other light and close material, which are drawn over the foot and trowsers up to the knee,

under which they are securely tied. There are three varieties of the leech : the small jungle leech, the common

leech and the stone leech. The latter will frequently creep up the nostrils of a dog while he is drinking in a

stream, and, unlike the other species, it does not drop off when satiated, but continues to live in the dog's

nostril. I have known a leech of this kind to have lived more than two months in the nose of one of my

hounds; he was so high up that I could only see his tail occasionally when lie relaxed to his full length, and

injections of salt and water had no effect on him. Thus I could not relieve the dog till one day when the leech

descended, and I observed the tail working in and out of the nostril; I then extracted him in the usual way


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with the finger and thumb and the tail of the coat.

I should be trespassing too much upon the province of the naturalist, and attempting more than I could

accomplish, were I to enter into the details of the entomology of Ceylon; I have simply mentioned a few of

those insects most common to the everyday observer, and I leave the description of the endless varieties of

classes to those who make entomology a study.

It may no doubt appear very enticing to the lovers of such things, to hear of the gorgeous colors and

prodigious size of butterflies, moths and beetles; the varieties of reptiles, the flying foxes, the gigantic

crocodiles; the countless species of waterfowl, et hoc genus omne; but one very serious fact is apt to escape

the observation of the general reader, that wherever insect and reptile life is most abundant, so sure is that

locality full of malaria and disease.

Ceylon does not descend to secondclass diseases: there is no such thing as influenza; whoopingcough,

measles, scarlatina, etc., are rarely, if ever, heard of; we ring the changes upon four firstclass ailments  four

scourges, which alternately ascend to the throne of pestilence and annually reduce the circle of our friends 

cholera, dysentery, smallpox and fever. This year (1854) there has been some dispute as to the routine of

succession; they have accordingly all raged at one time.

The cause of infection in disease has long been a subject of controversy among medical men, but there can be

little doubt that, whatever is the origin of the disease, the same is the element of infection. The question is,

therefore, reduced to the prime cause of the disease itself.

A theory that animalcules are the cause of the various contagious and infectious disorders has created much

discussion; and although this opinion is not generally entertained by the faculty, the idea is so feasible, and so

many rational arguments can be brought forward in its support, that I cannot help touching upon a topic so

generally interesting.

In the first place, nearly all infectious diseases predominate in localities which are hot, damp, swampy,

abounding in stagnant pools and excluded from a free circulation of air. In a tropical country, a residence in

such a situation would be certain death to a human being, but the same locality will be found to swarm with

insects and reptiles of all classes.

Thus, what is inimical to human life is propitious to the insect tribe. This is the first step in favor of the

argument. Therefore, whatever shall tend to increase the insect life must in an inverse ratio war with human

existence.

When we examine a drop of impure water, and discover by the microscope the thousands of living beings

which not only are invisible to the naked eye, but some of whom are barely discoverable even by the

strongest magnifying power, it certainly leads to the inference, that if one drop of impure fluid contains

countless atoms endowed with vitality, the same amount of impure air may be equally tenanted with its

myriads of invisible inhabitants.

It is well known that different mixtures, which are at first pure and apparently free from all insect life, will, in

the course of their fermentation and subsequent impurity, generate peculiar species of animalcules. Thus all

water and vegetable or animal matter, in a state of stagnation and decay, gives birth to insect life; likewise all

substances of every denomination which are subjected to putrid fermentation. Unclean sewers, filthy hovels,

unswept streets, unwashed clothes, are therefore breeders of animalcules, many of which are perfectly visible

without microscopic aid.


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Now, if some are discernible by the naked eye, and others are detected in such varying sizes that some can

only just be distinguished by the most powerful lens, is it not rational to conclude that the smallest discernible

to human intelligence is but the medium of a countless race? that millions of others still exist, which are too

minute for any observation?

Observe the particular quarters of a city which suffers most severely during the prevalence of an epidemic, In

all dirty, narrow streets, where the inhabitants are naturally of a low and uncleanly class, the cases will be

tenfold. Thus, filth is admitted to have at least the power of attracting disease, and we know that it not only

attracts, but generates animalcules; therefore filth, insects and disease are ever to he seen closely linked

together.

Now, the common preventives against infection are such as are peculiarly inimical to every kind of insect;

camphor, chloride of lime, tobaccosmoke, and powerful scents and smokes of any kind. The first impulse on

the appearance of an infectious disease is to purify everything as much as possible, and by extra cleanliness

and fumigations to endeavor to arrest its progress. The great purifier of Nature is a violent wind, which

usually terminates an epidemic immediately; this would naturally carry before it all insect life with which the

atmosphere might be impregnated, and the disease disappears at the same moment. It will he well

remembered that the plague of locusts inflicted upon Pharaoh was relieved in the same manner: "And the

Lord turned a mighty strong west wind, which took away the locusts and cast them into the Red Sea; there

remained not one locust in all the coasts of Egypt."

Every person is aware that unwholesome air is quite poisonous to the human system as impure water; and

seeing that the noxious qualities of the latter are caused by animalcules, and that the method used for

purifying infected air are those most generally destructive to insect life, it is not irrational to conclude that the

poisonous qualities of bad water and bad air arise from the same cause.

Man is being constantly preyed upon by insects; and were it not for ordinary cleanliness, he would become a

mass of vermin; even this does not protect him from the rapacity of ticks, mosquitoes, fleas and many others.

Intestinal worms feed on him within, and, unseen, use their slow efforts for his destruction.

The knowledge of so many classes which actually prey upon the human system naturally leads to the belief

that many others endowed with the same propensities exist, of which we have at present no conception. Thus,

different infectious disorders might proceed from peculiar species of animalcules, which, at given periods, are

wafted into certain countries, carrying pestilence and death in their invisible course.

A curious phenomenon has recently occurred at Mauritus, where that terrible scourge, the cholera, has been

raging with desolating effect.

There is a bird in that island called the "martin," but it is more property the "mina." This bird is about the size

of the starling, whose habits its possesses in a great degree. It exists in immense numbers, and is a grand

destroyer of all insects. On this account it is seldom or never shot at, especially as it is a great comforter to all

cattle, whose hides it entirely cleans from ticks and other vermin, remaining for many hours perched upon the

back of one animal, while its bill is actively employed in searching out and destroying every insect.

During the prevalence of the cholera at Mauritius these birds disappeared. Such a circumstance had never

before occurred, and the real cause of their departure is still a mystery.

May it not have been, that some species of insect upon which they fed had likewise migrated, and that certain

noxious animalcules, which had been kept down by this class, had thus multiplied within the atmosphere until

their numbers caused disease? All suppositions on such a subject must, however, remain in obscurity, as no

proof can be adduced of their correctness. The time may arrive when science may successfully grapple with


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all human ailments, but hitherto that king of pestilence, the "cholera," has reduced the highest medical skill to

miserable uncertainty.

Upon reconsidering the dangers of fevers, dysentery, etc., in the swampy and confined districts described, the

naturalist may become somewhat less ardent in following his favorite pursuit. Of one fact I can assure him

that no matter how great the natural strength of his constitution, the repeated exposure to the intense heat of

the sun, the unhealthy districts that he will visit, the nights redolent of malaria, and the horrible water that he

must occasionally drink, will gradually undermine the power of the strongest man. Both sportsman and

naturalist in this must share alike.

No one who has not actually suffered from the effect can appreciate the misery of bad water in a tropical

country, or the blessings of a cool, pure draught. I have been in districts of Ceylon where for sixteen or

twenty miles not a drop of water is to be obtained fit for an animal to drink; not a tree to throw a few yards of

shade upon the parching ground; nothing but stunted, thorny jungles and sandy, barren plains as far as the eye

can reach; the yellow leaves crisp upon the withered branches, the wild fruits hardened for want of sap, all

moisture robbed from vegetation by the pitiless drought of several months.

A day's work in such a country is hard indeed carrying a heavy rifle for some fiveandtwenty miles,

sometimes in deep sand, sometimes on good ground, but always exposed to the intensity of that blaze, added

to the reflection from the sandy soil, and the total want of fresh air and water. All Nature seems stagnated; a

distant pool is seen, and a general rush takes place toward the cheering sight. The water is thicker than pea

soup, a green scum floats through the thickened mass, and the temperature is upward of 130 Fahrenheit. All

kinds of insects are swarming in the putrid fluid, and a saltish bitter adds to its nauseating flavor. I have seen

the exhausted coolies spread their dirty cloths on the surface, and form them into filters by sucking the water

through them. Oh for a glass of Newera Ellia water, the purest and best that ever flows, as it sparkles out of

the rocks on the mountaintops! what pleasure so perfect as a long, deep and undisturbed draught of such

cold, clear nectar when the throat is parched with unquenchable thirst!

In some parts of Ceylon, especially in the neighborhood of the coast, where the land is flat and sandy, the

water is always brackish, even during the rainy season, and in the dry months it is undrinkable.

The natives then make use of a berry for cleansing it and precipitating the impurities. II know the shrub and

the berry well, but it has no English denomination. The berries are about the size of a very large pea, and

grow in clusters of from ten to fifteen together, and one berry is said to be sufficient to cleanse a gallon of

water. The method of using them is curious, although simple. The vessel which is intended to contain the

water, which is generally an earthen chatty, is well rubbed in the inside with a berry until the latter, which is

of a horny consistency, like vegetable ivory, is completely worn away. The chatty is then filled with the

muddy water, and allowed to stand for about an hour or more, until all the impurities have precipitated to the

bottom and the water remains clear.

I have constantly used this berry, but I certainly cannot say that the water has ever been rendered perfectly

clear; it has been vastly improved, and what was totally undrinkable before has been rendered fit for use; but

it has at the best been only comparatively good; and although the berry has produced a decided effect, the

native accounts of its properties are greatly exaggerated.

During the prolonged droughts, many rivers of considerable magnitude are completely exhausted, and

nothing remains but a dry bed of said between lofty banks. At these seasons the elephants, being hard pressed

for water, make use of their wonderful instinct by digging holes in the dry sand of the river's bed; this they

perform with the horny toes of their fore feet, and frequently work to a depth of three feet before they

discover the liquid treasure beneath. This process of welldigging almost oversteps the boundaries of instinct

and strongly, savors of reason, the two powers being so nearly connected that it is difficult in some cases to


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define the distinction. There are so many interesting cases of the wonderful display of both these attributes in

animals, that I shall notice some features of this subject in a separate chapter.

CHAPTER IX. Instinct and Reason  Tailor Birds and Grosbeaks  The White Ant  Black Ants at War 

Wanderoo Monkeys  Habits of Elephants  Elephants in the Lake  Herd of Elephants Bathing 

Elephantshooting  The Rencontre  The Charge  Caught by the Tail  Horse Gored by a Buffalo 

Sagacity of Dogs  " Bluebeard "  His Hunt  A True Hound.

There can be no doubt that man is not the only animal endowed with reasoning powers: he possesses that

faculty to an immense extent, but although the amount of the same power possessed by animals may be

infinitely small, nevertheless it is their share of reason, which they occasionally use apart from mere instinct.

Although instinct and reason appear to be closely allied, they are easily separated and defined.

Instinct is the faculty with which Nature has endowed all animals for the preservation and continuation of

their own species. This is accordingly exhibited in various features, as circumstances may call forth the

operation of the power; but so wonderful are the attributes of Nature that the details of her arrangements

throughout the animal and insect creation give to every class an amount of sense which in many instances

surmounts the narrow bounds of simple instinct.

The great characteristic of sheer instinct is its want of progression; it never increases, never improves. It is

possessed now in the nineteenth century by every race of living creatures in no larger proportion than was

bestowed upon them at the creation.

In general, knowledge increases like a rolling snowball; a certain amount forms a base for extra

improvement, and upon successive foundations of increasing altitude the eminence has been attained of the

present era. This is the effect of "reason;" but "instinct," although beautiful in its original construction,

remains, like the blossom of a tree, ever the same  a limited effect produced by a given cause; an

unchangeable law of Nature that certain living beings shall perform certain functions which require a certain

amount of intelligence; this amount is supplied by Nature for the performance of the duties required; this is

instinct.

Thus, according to the requirements necessitated by the habits of certain living creatures to an equivalent

amount is their share of instinct. Reason differs from instinct as combining the effects of thought and

reflection; this being a proof of consideration, while instinct is simply a direct emanation from the brain,

confined to an impulse.

In our observations of Nature, especially in tropical countries, we see numberless exemplifications of these

powers, in some of which the efforts of common instinct halt upon the extreme boundary and have almost a

tinge of reason.

What can be more curious than the nest of the tailorbird  a selection of tough leaves neatly sewn one over

the other to form a waterproof exterior to the comfortable little dwelling within? Where does the needle and

thread come from? The first is the delicate bill of the bird itself, and the latter is the strong fibre of the bark of

a tree, with which the bird sews every leaf, lapping one over the other in the same manner that slates are laid

upon a roof.

Nevertheless this is simple instinct; the tailorbird in the days of Adam constructed her nest in a similar

manner, which will be continued without improvement till the end of time.


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The grosbeak almost rivals the tailorbird in the beautiful formation of its nest. These birds build in

company, twenty or thirty nests being common upon one tree. Their apparent intention in the peculiar

construction of their nests is to avoid the attacks of snakes and lizards. These nests are about two feet long,

composed of beautifully woven grass, shaped like an elongated pear. They are attached like fruit to the

extreme end of a stalk or branch, from which they wave to and fro in the wind, as though hung out to dry.

The bird enters at a funnellike aperture in the bottom, and by this arrangement the young are effectually

protected from reptiles.

All nests, whether of birds or insects, are particularly interesting, as they explain the domestic habits of the

occupants; but, however wonderful the arrangement and the beauty of the work as exhibited among birds,

bees, wasps, etc., still it is the simple effect of instinct on the principle that they never vary.

The white ant  that grand destroyer of all timber  always works under cover; he builds as he progresses in

his work of destruction, and runs a long gallery of fine clay in the direction of his operations; beneath this his

devastation proceeds until he has penetrated to the interior of the beam, the centre of which he entirely

demolishes, leaving a thin shell in the form of the original log encrusted over the exterior with numerous

galleries.

There is less interest in the habits of these destructive wretches than in all other of the ant tribe; they build

stupendous nests, it is true, but their interior economy is less active and thrifty than that of many other species

of ants, among which there is a greater appearance of the display of reasoning powers than in most animals of

a superior class.

On a fine sunny morning it is not uncommon, to see ants busily engaged in bringing out all the eggs from the

nest and laying them in the sun until they become thoroughly warmed, after which they carry them all back

again and lay them in their respective places. This looks very like a power of reasoning, as it is decidedly

beyond instinct. If they were to carry out the eggs every morning, wet or dry, it would be an effort of instinct

to the detriment of the eggs; but as the weather is uncertain, it is an effort of reason on the part of the ants to

bring out the eggs to the sun, especially as it is not an everyday occurrence, even in fine weather.

In Mauritius, the negroes have a custom of turning the reasoning powers of the large black ant to advantage.

White ants are frequently seen passing in and out of a small hole from underneath a building, in which case

their ravages could only be prevented by taking up the flooring and destroying the nest.

The negroes avoid this by their knowledge of the habits of the black ant, who is a sworn enemy to the white.

They accordingly pour a little treacle on the ground within a yard of the hole occupied by the white ants. The

smell of the treacle shortly attracts some of the black species, who, on their arrival are not long in observing

their old enemies passing in and out of the hole. Some of them leave the treacle; these are evidently

messengers, as in the course of the day a whole army of black ants will be seen advancing, in a narrow line of

many yards in length, to storm the stronghold of the white ants. They enter the hole, and they destroy every

white ant in the building. Resistance there can be none, as the plethoric, slowgoing white ant is as a mouse

to a cat in the encounter with his active enemy, added to which the black ant is furnished with a most

venomous sting, in addition to a powerful pair of mandibles. I have seen the black ants returning from their

work of destruction, each carrying a slaughtered white ant in his mouth, which he devours at leisure. This is

again a decided effort of reason, as the black ant arrives at the treacle without a thought of the white ant in his

mind, but, upon seeing his antagonist, he despatches messengers for reinforcements, who eventually bring up

the army to the "rendezvous."


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Numerous instances might be cited of the presence of reasoning powers among the insect classes, but this

faculty becomes of increased interest when seen in the larger animals.

Education is both a proof and a promoter of reason in all animals. This removes them from their natural or

instinctive position, and brings forth the full development of the mental powers. This is exhibited in the

performance of welltrained dogs, especially among pointers and setters. Again, in the feats performed by

educated animals in the circus, where the elephant has lately endeavored to prove a want of common sense by

standing on his head. Nevertheless, however absurd the trick, which man may teach the animal to perform,

the very fact of their performance substantiates an amount of reason in the animal.

Monkeys, elephants and dogs are naturally endowed with a larger share of the reasoning power than other

animals, which is frequently increased to a wonderful extent by education. The former, even in their wild

state, are so little inferior to some natives, either in their habits or appearance, that I should feel some

reluctance in denying them an almost equal share of reason; the want Of speech certainly places them below

the Veddahs, but the monkeys, on the other hand, might assert a superiority by a show of tails.

Monkeys vary in intelligence according to their species, and may be taught to do almost anything. There are

several varieties in Ceylon, among which the great black wanderoo, with white whiskers, is the nearest in

appearance to the human race. This monkey stands upward of three feet high, and weighs about eighty

pounds. He has immense muscular power, and he has also a great peculiarity in the formation of the skull,

which is closely allied to that of a human being, the lower jaw and the upper being in a straight line with the

forehead. In monkeys the jaws usually project. This species exists in most parts of Ceylon, but I have seen it

of a larger size at Newera Ellia thin in any of the lowcountry districts.

Elephants are proverbially sagacious, both in their wild state and when domesticated. I have previously

described the building of a dam by a tame elephant, which was an exhibition of reason hardly to be expected

in any animal. They are likewise wonderfully sagacious in a wild state in preserving themselves from

accidents, to which, from their bulk and immense weight, they would be particularly liable, such as the

crumbling of the verge of a precipice, the insecurity of a bridge or the suffocating depth of mud in a lake.

It is the popular opinion, and I have seen it expressed in many works, that the elephant shuns rough and rocky

ground, over which he moves with difficulty, and that he delights in level plains, etc., etc. This may be the

case in Africa, where his favorite food, the mimosa, grows upon the plain, but in Ceylon it is directly the

contrary. In this country the elephant delights in the most rugged localities; he rambles about rocky hills and

mountains with a nimbleness that no one can understand without personal experience. So partial are elephants

to rocky and uneven ground that should the ruins of a mountain exist in rugged fragments along a plain of

low, thorny jungle, five chances to one would be in favor of tracking the herd to this very spot, where they

would most likely be found, standing among the alleys roamed by the fragments heaped around them. It is

surprising to witness the dexterity of elephants in traversing ground over which a man can pass with

difficulty. I have seen places on the mountains in the neighborhood of Newera Ellia bearing the unmistakable

marks of elephants where I could not have conceived it possible for such an animal to stand. On the

precipitous sides of junglecovered mountains, where the ground is so steep that a man is forced to cling to

the underwood for support, the elephants still plough their irresistible course. In descending or ascending

these places, the elephant a always describes a zigzag, and thus lessens the abruptness of the inclination.

Their immense weight acting on their broad feet, bordered by sharp horny toes, cuts away the side of the hill

at every stride and forms a level step; thus they are enabled to skirt the sides of precipitous hills and banks

with comparative case. The trunk is the wonderful monitor of all danger to an elephant, from whatever cause

it may proceed. This may arise from the approach of man or from the character of the country; in either case

the trunk exerts its power; in one by the acute sense of smell, in the other by the combination of the sense of

scent and touch. In dense jungles, where the elephant cannot see a yard before him, the sensitive trunk feels

the hidden way, and when the roaring of waterfalls admonishes him of the presence of ravines and precipices,


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the neverfailing trunk lowered upon the around keeps him advised of every inch of his path.

Nothing is more difficult than to induce a tame elephant to cross a bridge which his sagacity assures him is

insecure; he will sound it with his trunk and press upon it with one foot, but he will not trust his weight if he

can perceive the slightest vibration.

Their power of determining whether bogs or the mud at the bottom of tanks are deep or shallow is beyond my

comprehension. Although I have seen elephants in nearly every position, I have never seen one inextricably

fixed in a swamp. This is the more extraordinary as their habits induce them to frequent the most extensive

morasses, deep lakes, muddy tanks and estuaries, and yet I have never seen even a young one get into a

scrape by being overwhelmed. There appears to be a natural instinct which warns them in their choice of

ground, the same as that which influences the buffalo, and in like manner guides him through his swampy

haunts.

It is a grand sight to see a large herd of elephants feeding in a fine lake in broad daylight. This is seldom

witnessed in these days, as the number of guns have so disturbed the elephants in Ceylon that they rarely

come out to drink until late in the evening or during the night; but some time ago I had a fine view of a grand

herd in a lake in the middle of the day.

I was out shooting with a great friend of mine, who is a brotherinarms against the game of Ceylon, and

than whom a better sportsman does not breathe, and we had arrived at a wild and miserable place while en

route home after a jungle trip. Neither of us was feeling well; we had been for some weeks in the most

unhealthy part of the country, and I was just recovering from a touch of dysentery: altogether, we were

looking forward with pleasure to our return to comfortable quarters, and for the time we were tired of jungle

life. However, we arrived at a little village about sixty miles south of Batticaloa, called

"Gollagangwelléwevé" (pronunciation requires practice), and a very long name it was for so small a place;

but the natives insisted that a great number of elephants were in the neighborhood.

They also declared that the elephants infested the neighboring tank even during the forenoon, and that they

nightly destroyed their embankment, and would not be driven away, as there was not a single gun possessed

by the village with which to scare them. This looked all right; so we loaded the guns and started without loss

of time, as it was then one P. M., and the natives described the tank as a mile distant. Being perfectly

conversant with the vague idea of space described by a Cingalese mile, we mounted our horses, and,

accompanied by about fiveandtwenty villagers, twenty of whom I wished at Jericho, we started. By the by,

I have quite forgotten to describe who "we" are  F. H. Palliser, Esq., and myself.

Whether or not it was because I did not feel in brisk health, I do not know, but somehow or other I had a

presentiment that the natives had misled us, and that we should not find the elephants in the tank, but that, as

usual, we should be led tip to some dense, thorny jungle, and told that the elephants were somewhere in that

direction. Not being very sanguine, I had accordingly taken no trouble about my gunbearers, and I saw

several of my rifles in the bands of the villagers, and only one of my regular gunbearers had followed me;

the rest, having already had a morning's march, were glad of an excuse to remain behind.

Our rate lay for about a quarter of a mile through deserted paddyland and low jungle, after which we entered

fine open jungle and forest. Unfortunately, the recent heavy rains bad filled the tank, which had overflowed

the broken dam and partially flooded the forest. This was in all parts within two hundred yards from the dam

a couple of feet deep in water, with a proportionate amount of sticky mud beneath, and through this we

splashed until the dam appeared about fifty yards on our right. It was a simple earthen mound, which rose

about ten feet from the level of the forest, and was studded with immense trees, apparently the growth of

ages. We knew that the tank lay on the opposite side, but we continued our course parallel with the dam until

we bad ridden about a mile from the village, the natives, for a wonder, having truly described the distance.


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Here our guide, having motioned us to stop, ran quickly up the dam to take a look out on the opposite side.

He almost immediately beckoned us to come up. This we did without loss of time, and knowing that the

game was in view, I ordered the horses to retire for about a quarter of a mile.

On our arrival on the dam there was a fine sight. The lake was about five miles round, and was quite full of

water, the surface of which was covered with a scant, but tall, rushy grass. In the lake, browsing upon the

grass, we counted twentythree elephants, and there were many little ones, no doubt, that we could not

distinguish in such rank vegetation. Five large elephants were not more than a hundred and twenty paces

distant; the remaining eighteen were in a long line about a quarter of a mile from the shore, feeding in deep

water.

We were well concealed by the various trees which grew upon the dam, and we passed half an hour in

watching the manoeuvres of the great beasts as they bathed and sported in the cool water. However, this was

not elephantshooting, and the question was, how to get at them? The natives had no idea of the sport, as

they seemed to think it very odd that we did not fire at those within a hundred paces' distance. I now regretted

my absent gunbearers, as I plainly saw that these village people would be worse than useless.

We determined to take a stroll along the base of the dam to reconnoitre the ground, as at present it seemed

impossible to make an attack; and even were the elephants within the forest, there appeared to be no

possibility of following them up through such deep water and heavy ground with any chance of success.

however, they were not in the forest, being safe, belly and shoulder deep, in the tank.

We strolled through mud and water thighdeep for a few hundred paces, when we suddenly came upon the

spot where in ages past the old dam had been carried away. Here the natives had formed a mud embankment

strengthened by sticks and wattles. Poor fellows! we were not surprised at their wishing the elephants

destroyed; the repair of their fragile dam was now a daily occupation, for the elephants, as though out of pure

mischief, had chosen this spot as their thoroughfare to and from the lake, and the dam was trodden down in

all directions.

We found that the margin of the forest was everywhere flooded to a width of about two hundred yards, after

which it was tolerably dry; we therefore returned to our former post.

It struck me that the only way to secure a shot at the herd would be to employ a ruse, which I had once

practiced successfully some years ago. Accordingly we sent the greater part of the villagers for about a half a

mile along the edge of the lake, with orders to shout and make a grand hullaballoo on arriving at their station.

It seemed most probable that on being disturbed the elephants would retreat to the forest by their usual

thoroughfare; we accordingly stood on the alert, ready for a rush to any given point which the herd should

attempt in their retreat.

Some time passed in expectation, when a sudden yell broke from the far point, as though twenty demons had

cramp in the stomach. Gallant fellows are the Cingalese at making a noise, and a grand effect this had upon

the elephants; up went tails and trunks, the whole herd closed together and made a simultaneous rush for their

old thoroughfare. Away we skipped through the water, straight in shore through the forest, until we reached

the dry ground, when, turning sharp to our right, we soon halted exactly opposite the point at which we knew

the elephants would enter the forest. This was grand excitement; we had a great start of the herd, so that we

had plenty of time to arrange gunbearers and take our position for the rencontre.

In the mean time, the roar of water caused by the rapid passage of so many large animals approached nearer

and nearer. Palliser and I had taken splendid positions, so as to command either side of the herd on their

arrival, with our gunbearers squatted around us behind our respective trees, while the nonsporting village

followers, who now began to think the matter rather serious and totally devoid of fun, scrambled up various


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large trees with apelike activity.

A few minutes of glorious suspense, and the grand crash and roar of broken water approached close at hand,

and we distinguished the mighty phalanx, headed by the largest elephants, bearing down exactly upon us, and

not a hundred yards distant. Here was luck! There was a grim and very murderous smile of satisfaction on

either countenance as we quietly cocked the rifles and awaited the onset: it was our intention to let half the

herd pass us before we opened upon them, as we should then be in the very centre of the mass, and he able to

get good and rapid shooting.

On came the herd in gallant style, throwing the spray from the muddy water, and keeping a direct line for our

concealed position. They were within twenty yards, and we were still undiscovered, when those rascally

villagers, who had already taken to the trees, scrambled still higher in their fright at the close approach of the

elephants, and by this movement they gave immediate alarm to the elders of the herd.

Round went the colossal heads; right about was the word, and away dashed the whole herd back toward the

tank. In the same instant we made a rush in among them, and I floored one of the big leaders by a shot behind

the ear, and immediately after, as bad luck would have it, Palliser and I both took the same bird, and down

went another to the joint shots. Palliser then got another shot and bagged one more, when the herd pushed

straight out to the deep lake, with the exception of a few elephants, who turned to the right; after which

Palliser hurried through the mud and water, while I put on all steam in chase of the main body of the herd. It

is astonishing to what an amount a man can get up this said steam in such a pitch of excitement. However, it

was of no use in this case, as I was soon hipdeep in water, and there was an end to all pursuit in that

direction.

It immediately struck me that the elephants would again retreat to some other part of the forest after having

made a circuit in the tank. I accordingly waded back at my best speed to terra firma, and then striking off to

my right, I ran along parallel to the water for about half a mile, fully expecting to meet the herd once more on

their entrance to the jungle. It was now that I deplored the absence of my regular gunbearers; the village

people had no taste for this gigantic scale of amusement, and the men who carried my guns would not keep

up; Fortunately, Carrasi, the best gunbearer, was there, and he had taken another loaded rifle, after handing

me that which he had carried at the onset. I waited a few moments for the lagging men, and succeeded in

getting them well together just is I heard the rush of water, as the elephants were again entering the jungle,

not far in advance of the spot upon which I stood.

This time they were sharp on the qui vive, and the bulls, being well to the front, were keeping a bright

lookout. It was in vain that I endeavored to conceal myself until the herd had got well into the forest; the

gunbearers behind me did not take the same precaution, and the leading elephants both saw and winded us

when at a hundred paces distant. This time, however, they were determined to push on for a piece of thicker

jungle, which they knew lay in this direction, and upon seeing me running toward them, they did not turn

back to the lake, but slightly altered their course in an oblique direction, still continuing to push on through

the forest, while I was approaching at right angles with the herd.

Hallooing and screaming at them with all my might to tease some of the old bulls into a charge, I ran at top

speed through the fine open forest, and soon got among a whole crowd of halfgrown elephants, at which I

would not fire; there were a lot of fine beasts pushing along in the front, and toward these I ran as hard as I

could go. Unfortunately, the herd seeing me so near and gaining upon them, took to the ruse of a beaten fleet

and scattered in all directions; but I kept a few big fellows in view, who were still pretty well together, and

managed to overtake the rearmost and knock him over. Up went the tail and trunk of one of the leading bulls

at the report of the shot, and trumpeting shrilly, he ran first to one side, then to the other, with his ears cocked

and sharply turning his head to either side. I knew this fellow had his monkey up, and that a little teasing

would bring him round for a charge. I therefore redoubled my shouts and yells and kept on in full chase, as


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the elephants were straining every nerve to reached a piece of thick jungle within a couple of hundred paces.

I could not go any faster, and I saw that the herd, which was thirty or forty yards ahead of me, would gain the

jungle before I could overtake them, as they were going at a slapping pace and I was tolerably blown with a

long run at full speed, part of which had been through deep mud and water. But I still teased the bull, who

was now in such an excited state that I felt convinced he would turn to charge.

The leading elephants rushed into the thick jungle, closely followed by the others, and, to my astonishment,

my excited friend, who had lagged to the rear, followed their example. But it was only for a few seconds, for,

on entering the thick bushes, he wheeled sharp round and came rushing out in full charge. This was very

plucky, but very foolish, as his retreat was secured when in the thick jungle, and yet he courted further battle.

This he soon had enough of, as I bagged him in his onset with my remaining barrel by the forehead shot.

I now heard a tremendous roaring, of elephants behind me, as though another section was coming in from the

tank; this I hoped to meet. I therefore reloaded the empty rifles as quickly as possible and ran toward the spot.

The roaring still continued and was apparently almost stationary; and what was my disappointment, on

arrival, to find, in place of the expected herd, a young elephant of about four feet high, who, had missed the

main body in the retreat and was now roaring for his departed friends! These young things are excessively

foolhardy and willful, and he charged me the moment I arrived. As I laid the rifle upon the ground instead of

firing at him, the rascally gunbearers, with the exception of Carrasi, threw down the rifles and ran up the trees

like so many monkeys, just as I had jumped on one side and caught the young elephant by the tail. He was far

too strong for me to hold, and, although I dug my heels into the ground and held on with all my might, he

fairly ran away with me through the forest. Carrasi now came to my assistance and likewise held on by his

tail; but away we went like the tender to a steamengine; wherever the elephant went there we were dragged

in company. Another man now came to the rescue; but his assistance was not of the slightest rise, as the

animal was so powerful and of such weight that he could have run away with half a dozen of us unless his

legs were tied. Unfortunately we had no rope, or I could have secured him immediately, and seeing that we

had no power over him whatever, I was obliged to run back for one of the guns to shoot him. On my return it

was laughable to see the pace at which he was running away with the two men, who were holding on to his

tail like grim death, the elephant not having ceased roaring during the run. I accordingly settled him, and

returned to have a little conversation with the rascals were still perched in the trees. I was extremely annoyed,

as these people, if they had possessed a grain of sense, might have tied their long comboys (cotton cloths

about eight feet long) together, and we might have thus secured the elephant without difficulty by tying his

hind legs. It was a great loss, as he was so tame that he might have been domesticated and driven to Newera

Ellia without the slightest trouble. All this was occasioned by the cowardice of these villainous Cingalese,

and upon my lecturing one fellow on his conduct he began to laugh. This was too much for any person's

patience, and I began to look for a stick, which the fellow perceiving he immediately started off through the

forest like a deer. He could run faster than I could, being naked and having the advantage of bare feet; but I

knew I could run him down in the course of time, especially as, being in a fright, he would soon get blown.

We had a most animated hunt through water, mud, roots of trees, open forest and all kinds of ground, but I

ran into him at last in heavy ground, and I dare say he recollects the day of the month.

In the mean time, Palliser had heard the roaring of the elephant, followed by the screaming and yelling of the

coolies, and succeeded by a shot. Shortly after he heard the prolonged yells of the hunted villager while he

was hastening toward my direction. This combination of sounds naturally led him to expect that some

accident had occurred, especially as some of the yells indicated that somebody had come to grief. This caused

him a very laborious run, and he arrived thoroughly blown, and with a natural desire to kick the recreant

villager who bad caused the yells.

If the ground had been ever tolerably dry, we should have killed a large number of elephants out of this herd;

but, as it happened, in such deep mud and water the elephants had it all their own way, and our joint bag


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could not produce more than seven tails; however, this was far more than I had expected when I first saw the

herd in such a secure position.

On our return to the village we found Palliser's horse terribly gored by a buffalo, and we were obliged to

leave him behind for some weeks; fortunately, there was an extra pony, which served him as a mount home, a

distance of a hundred and fifty miles.

This has been a sad digression from our argument upon instinct and reason, a most unreasonable departure

from the subject; but this is my great misfortune; so sure as I bring forward the name of an elephant, the pen

lays hold of some old story and runs madly away in a day's shooting. I now have to speak of the reasoning

powers of the canine race, and I confess my weakness. I feel perfectly certain that the pen will serve me the

same trick, and that it will be plunging through a day's hunting to prove the existence of reason in a hound

and the want of it in the writer. Thrash me, good critics; I deserve it; lay it on with an unsparing thong. I am

humiliated, but still willful; I know my fault, but still continue it.

Let us think; what was the subject? Reason in dogs, to be sure. Well, every one who has a dog must admit

that he has a strong share of reason; only observe him as he sits by your side and wistfully watches the

endless transit of piece after piece, bit after bit, as the fork is conveying delicate morsels to your mouth.

There is neither hope nor despair exhibited in his countenance  he knows those pieces are not for him. There

is an expression of impatience about the eye as he scans your features, which seems to say, "Greedy fellow!

what, not one bit for me?" Only cut a slice from the exterior of the joint  a piece that he knows you will not

eat  and watch, the change and eagerness of his expression; he knows as well as you do that this is intended

for him  he has reasoned upon it.

This is the simple and everyday performance of a common housedog. Observe the pointers in a field of

closecut stubble  two wellbroken, reasonable old dogs. The birds are wild, and have been flushed several

times during the day, and the old dog has winded them now in this closecut stubble, from which he knows

the covey will rise at a long range. Watch his expression of intense and yet careful excitement, as he draws

upon his game, step by step, crouching close to the ground, and occasionally moving his head slowly round

to see if his master is close up. Look at the bitch at the other end of the field, backing him like a statue, while

the old dog still creeps on. Not a step farther will he move: his lower jaw trembles with excitement; the guns

advance to a line with his shoulder; up they rise, whizzzzzzz!  bang! bang! See how the excitement

of the dog is calmed as he falls to the down charge, and afterward with what pleasure he follows up and

stands to the dead birds. If this is not reason, there is no such thing in existence.

Again, look at the sheepdog. What can be more beautiful than to watch the judgement displayed by these

dogs in driving a large flock of sheep? Then turn to the Mont St. Bernard dog and the Newfoundland, and

countless instances could be produced as proofs of their wonderful share of reasoning power.

The different classes of hounds, being kept in kennels, do not exhibit this power to the same amount as many

others, as they are not sufficiently domesticated, and their intercourse with man is confined to the one

particular branch of hunting; but in this pursuit they will afford many striking proofs that they in like manner

with their other brethren, are not devoid of the reasoning power.

Poor old "Bluebeard!"  he had an almost human share of understanding, but being simply a hound, this was

confined to elk hunting; he was like the foxhunter of the last century, whose ideas did not extend beyond his

sport; but in this he was perfect.

Bluebeard was a foxhound, bred at Newera Ellia, in 1847, by F. J. Templer, Esq. He subsequently belonged

to F. H. Palliser, Esq., who kindly added him to my kennel.


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He was a wonderful hound on a cold scent, and so thoroughly was he versed in all the habits of an elk that he

knew exactly where to look for one. I am convinced that he knew the date of a track from its appearance, as I

have constantly seen him strove his nose into the deep impression, to try for a scent when the track was some

eight or ten hours old.

It was a curious thing to watch his cleverness at finding on a patina. In most of the plains in the neighborhood

of Newera Ellia a small stream flows through the centre. To this the elk, who are out feeding in the night, are

sure to repair at about four in the morning for their last drink, and I usually try along the banks a little after

daylight for a find, where the scent is fresh and the tracks are distinctly visible.

While every hound has been eagerly winding the scent upon the circuitous route which the elk has made in

grazing, Bluebeard would never waste his time in attempting to follow the innumerable windings, but, taking

a fresh cast, he would invariably strike off to the jungle and try along the edge, until he reached the spot at

which the elk had entered. At these times he committed the only fault which he possessed (for an elkhound);

he would immediately open upon the scent, and, by alarming the elk at too great a distance, would give him

too long a start. Nevertheless, he made up for this by his wonderful correctness and knowledge of his game,

and if the run was increased in length by his early note, we nevertheless ran into our game at last.

Some years ago he met with an accident which partly deprived him of the use of one of his bind legs; this

made the poor old fellow very slow, but it did not interfere with his finding and hunting, although the rest of

the pack would shoot ahead, and the elk was frequently brought to bay and killed before old Bluebeard had

finished his hunt; but he was never thrown out, and was sure to come up at last; and if the pack were at fault

during the run, he was the hound to show them the right road on his arrival.

I once saw an interesting proof of his reasoning powers during a long and difficult hunt.

I was hunting for a few days at the Augora patinas, accompanied by Palliser. These are about five hundred

feet lower than Newera Ellia, and are situated in the district of Dimboola. They are composed of undulating

knolls of fine grass, with a large and deep river flowing through the centre. These patinas are surrounded by

wooded hills of good open jungle.

We had found upon the patina at break of day, and the whole pack had gone off in full cry; but the

whereabout was very uncertain, and having long lost all sound of the hounds we wandered here and there to

no purpose. At length we separated, and took up our stations upon different knolls to watch the patina and to

listen.

The hill upon which I stood commanded an extensive view of the patina, while the broad river flowed at the

base, after its exit from the jungle. I had been only a few minutes at my post when I observed, at about six

hundred yards distant, a strong ripple in the river like the letter V, and it immediately struck me that an elk

had come down the river from the jungle and was swimming down the stream. This was soon proved to be

the case, as I saw the head of a doe elk in the acute angle of the ripple.

I had the greyhounds with me, "Lucifer," "Lena," "Hecate" and "Bran," and I ran down the hill with these

dogs, hoping to get them a view of her as she landed on the patina. I had several bogs and hollows to cross,

and I accordingly lost sight of the elk; but upon arriving at the spot where I imagined the elk would land, I

saw her going off across the patina, a quarter of a mile away. The greyhounds saw her, and away they flew

over the short grass, while the pack began to appear from the jungle, having come down to the halloo that I

had given on first seeing the elk swimming down the river.

The elk seemed determined to give a beautiful course for, instead of pushing straight for the jungle, she made

a great circuit on the patina, as though in the endeavor to make once more for the river. The longlegged ones


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were going at a tremendous pace, and, being fresh, they rapidly overhauled her; gradually the distance

between them diminished, and at length they had a fair course down a gentle inclination which led toward the

river. Here the greyhounds soon made an end of the hunt; their game was within a hundred yards, going at

top speed: but it was all up with the elk; the pace was too good, and they ran into her and pulled her down

just as the other hounds had come down upon my scent.

We were cutting up the elk, when we presently heard old Bluebeard's voice far away in the jungle, and,

thinking that he might perhaps be running another elk, we ran to a hill which overlooked the river and kept a

bright lookout. We soon discovered that he was true upon the same game, and we watched his plan of

hunting, being anxious to see whether he could hunt up an elk that had kept to water for so long a time.

On his entrance to the patina by the river's bank he immediately took to water and swam across the stream;

here be carefully hunted the edge for several hundred yards down the river, but, finding nothing, he returned

to the jungle at the point from which the river flowed. Here he again took to water, and, swimming back to

the bank from which he had at first started, he landed and made a vain cast down the hollow. Back he

returned after his fruitless search, and once more he took to water. I began to despair of the possibility of his

finding; but the true old bound was now swimming steadily down the stream, crossing and recrossing from

either bank, and still pursuing his course down the river. At length he neared the spot where I knew that the

elk had landed, and we eagerly watched to see if he would pass the scent, as he was now several yards from

the bank. He was nearly abreast of the spot, when he turned sharp in and landed in the exact place; his deep

and joyous note rung across the patinas, and away went the gallant old hound in full cry upon the scent, while

I could not help shouting, "Hurrah for old Bluebeard!" In a few minutes he was by the side of the dead elk  a

specimen of a true hound, who certainly had exhibited a large share of "reason."

CHAPTER X. Wild Fruits  Ingredients for a "Soupe Maigre"  Orchidaceous Plants  Wild Nutmegs 

Native Oils  Cinnamon  Primeval Forests  Valuable Woods  The Mahawelli River  Variety of Palms

Cocoanut Toddy  Arrack  Cocoanut Oil  Cocoanutplanting  The Talipot Palm  The Areca

Palm  Betel Chewing  Sago Nuts  Varicty of Bees  Waste of Beeswax  Edible Fungi  Narcotic

Puffball  Intoxicating Drugs  Poisoned Cakes  The "Sack Tree"  No Gum Trees of Value in Ceylon.

Among the inexperienced there is a prevalent idea connected with tropical forests and jungles that they teem

with wild fruits, which Nature is supposed to produce spontaneously. Nothing can be more erroneous than

such an opinion; even edible berries are scantily supplied by the wild shrubs and trees, and these, in lieu of

others of superior quality, are sometimes dignified by the name of fruit.

The guava and the katumbillé are certainly very numerous throughout the Ouva district; the latter being a

dark red, roughskinned kind of plum, the size of a greengage, but free from stone. It grows upon a thorny

bush about fifteen feet high; but the fruit is too acid to please most palates; the extreme thirst produced by a

day's shooting in a burning sun makes it refreshing when plucked from the tree; but it does not aspire to the

honor of a place at a table, where it can only appear in the form of red currant jelly, for which it is an

undeniable substitute.

Excellent blackberries and a very large and fullflavored black raspberry grow at Newera Ellia; likewise the

Cape gooseberry, which is of the genus "solanum." The latter is a round yellow berry, the size of a cherry;

this is enclosed in a loose bladder, which forms an outer covering. The flavor is highly aromatic, but, like

most Ceylon wild fruits, it is too acid.

The sweetest and the best of the jungle productions is the "morra." This is a berry about the size of a small

nutmeg, which grows in clusters upon a large tree of rich dark foliage. The exterior of the berry is brown and

slightly rough; the skin, or rather the case, is brittle and of the consistence of an eggshell; this, when broken

and peeled off, exposes a semitransparent pulp, like a skinned grape in appearance and in flavor. It is


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extremely juicy but, unfortunately, a large black stone occupies the centre and at least onehalf of the bulk of

the entire fruit.

The jambo apple is a beautiful fruit in appearance being the facsimile of a snowwhite pear formed of wax,

with a pink blush upon one side. Its exterior beauty is all that it can boast of, as the fruit itself is vapid and

tasteless. In fact, all wild fruits are, for the most part, great exaggerations. I have seen in a work on Ceylon

the miserable little acid berry of the rattan, which is no larger than a currant, described as a fruit; hawthorn

berries might, with equal justice, be classed among the fruits of Great Britain.

I will not attempt to describe these paltry productions in detail; there is necessarily a great variety throughout

the island, but their insignificance does not entitle them to a description which would raise them far above

their real merit.

It is nevertheless most useful to a sportsman in Ceylon to possess a sufficient stock of botanical information

for his personal convenience. A man may be lost in the jungles or hard up for provisions in some

outoftheway place, where, if he has only a saucepan, he can generally procure something eatable in the

way of herbs. It is not to be supposed, however, that he would succeed in making a good dinner; the reader

may at any time procure something similar in England by restricting himself to nettletops  an economical

but not a fattening vegetable. Anything, however simple, is better than an empty stomach, and when the latter

is positively empty it is wonderful how the appetite welcomes the most miserable fare.

At Newera Ellia the jungles would always produce a supply for a soupe maigré. There is an esculent nillho

which grows in the forest in the bottoms of the swampy ravines. This is a most succulent plant, which grows

to the height or length of about seven feet, as its great weight keeps it close to the ground. It is so brittle that it

snaps like a cucumber when struck by a stick, and it bears a delicate, darkblue blossom. When stewed, it is

as tender as the vegetable marrow, but its flavor approaches more closely to that of the cucumber. Wild

ginger also abounds in the forests. This is a coarse variety of the "amomum zintgiber." The leaves, which

spring from the ground, attain a height of seven or eight feet; a large, crimson, fleshy blossom also springs

from the ground in the centre of the surrounding leafstems. The root is coarse, large, but wanting in fine

flavor, although the young tubers are exceedingly tender and delicate. This is the favorite food of elephants

on the Ceylon mountains; but it is a curious fact that they invariably reject the leaves, which any one would

suppose would be their choicest morsel, as they are both succulent and plentiful. The elephants simply use

them as a handle for tearing up the roots, which they bite off and devour, throwing the leaves on one side.

The wild parsnip is also indigenous to the plains on the mountains. As usual with most wild plants of this

class, it has little or no root, but runs to leaf. The seeds are very highly flavored, and are gathered by the

natives for their curries.

There is, likewise, a beautiful orchidaceous plant, which is very common throughout the patinas on the

mountains, and which produces the very finest quality of arrowroot. So much is this valued in the Nepaul

country in India, that I have been assured by a person well acquainted with that locality, that this quality of

arrowroot is usually sold for its weight in rupees. In vain have I explained this to the Cingalese; they will not

attempt its preparation because their fathers did not eat it; and yet these same men will walk forty miles to cut

a bundle of sticks of the galla gaha tree for driving buffaloes! their fathers did this, and therefore they do it.

Thus this beautiful plant is only appreciated by those whose instinct leads them to its discovery. The wild

hogs plough up the patinas and revel in this delicate food. The plant itself is almost lost in the rank herbage of

the patinas, but its beautiful pink, hyacinthshaped blossom attracts immediate attention. Few plants combine

beauty of appearance, scent and utility, but this is the perfection of each quality nothing can surpass the

delicacy and richness of its perfume. It has two small bulbs about an inch below the surface of the earth, and

these, when broken, exhibit a highly granulated texture, semitransparent like halfboiled sago. From these

bulbs the arrowroot is produced by pounding them in water and drying the precipitated farina in the sun.


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There are several beautiful varieties of orchidaceous plants upon the mountains; among others, several

species of the dendrobium. Its rich yellow flowers hang in clusters from a withered tree, the only sign of life

upon a giant trunk decayed, like a wreath upon a grave. The scent of this flower is well known as most

delicious; one plant will perfume a large room.

There is one variety of this tribe in the neighborhood of Newera Ellia, which is certainly unknown in English

collections. It blossoms in April; the flowers are a bright lilac, and I could lay my band upon it at any time, as

I have never seen it but in one spot, where it flourishes in profusion. This is about fourteen miles from

Newera Ellia, and I have never yet collected a specimen, as I have invariably been out hunting whenever I

have met with it.

The black pepper is also indigenous throughout Ceylon. At Newera Ellia the leaves of this vine are highly

pungent, although at this elevation it does not produce fruit. A very short distance toward a lower elevation

effects a marked change, as within seven miles it fruits in great perfection.

At a similar altitude, the wild nutmeg is very common throughout the forests. This fruit is a perfect anomaly.

The tree is entirely different to that of the cultivated species. The latter is small, seldom exceeding the size of

an appletree, and bearing a light green myrtleshaped leaf, which is not larger than that of a peach. The wild

species, on the contrary, is a large forest tree, with leaves equal in size to those of the horse chestnut;

nevertheless, it produces a perfect nutmeg. There is the outer rind of fleshy texture, like an unripe peach;

enclosed within is the nutlike shell, enveloped in the crimson network of mace, and within the shell is the

nutmeg itself. All this is perfect enough, but, alas, the grand desideratum is wanting  it has no flavor or

aroma whatever.

It is a gross imposition on the part of Nature; a most stingy trick upon the public, and a regular do. The mace

has no taste whatever, and the nutmeg has simply a highly acrid and pungent taste, without any spicy flavor,

but merely abounding in a rank and disagreeable oil. The latter is so plentiful that I am astonished it has not

been experimented upon, especially by the natives, who are great adepts in expressing oils from many

substances.

Those most common in Ceylon are the cocoanut and gingerly oils. The former is one of the grand staple

commodities of the island; the latter is the produce of a small grain, grown exclusively by the natives.

But, in addition to these, there are various other oils manufactured by the Cingalese. These are the cinnamon

oil, castor oil, margosse oil, mee oil, kenar oil, meeheeria oil; and both clove and lemongrass oil are

prepared by Europeans.

The first, which is the cinnamon oil, is more properly a kind of vegetable wax, being of the consistence of

stearine. This is prepared from the berries of the cinnamon shrubs which are boiled in water until the catty

substance or socalled oil, floats upon the surface; this is then skimmed off and, when a sufficient quantity is

collected, it is boiled down until all watery particles are evaporated, and the melted fat is turned out into a

shallow vessel to cool. It has a pleasant, though , perhaps, a rather faint aromatic smell, and is very delicious

as an adjunct in the culinary art. In addition to this it possesses gentle aperient properties, which render it

particularly wholesome.

Castor oil is also obtained by the natives by boiling, and it is accordingly excessively rank after long keeping.

The castoroil plant is a perfect weed throughout Ceylon, being one of the few useful shrubs that will

flourish in such poor soil without cultivation.

Margosse oil is extracted from the fruit of a tree of that name. It has an extremely fetid and disagreeable

smell, which will effectually prevent the contact of flies or any other insect. On this account it is a valuable


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preventive to the attacks of flies upon open wounds, in addition to which it possesses powerful healing

properties.

Mee oil is obtained from the fruit of the mee tree. This fruit is about the size of an apricot, and is extremely

rich in its produce; but the oil is of a coarse description, and is simply used by the natives for their rude

lamps. Kenar oil and meeheeria oil are equally coarse, and are quite unfit for any but native purposes.

Lemongrass oil, which is known in commerce as citronella oil, is a delightful extract from the rank lemon

grass, which covers most of' the hillsides in the more open districts of Ceylon. An infusion of the grass is

subsequently distilled; the oil is then discovered on the surface. This is remarkably pure, with a most pungent

aroma. If rubbed upon the skin, it will prevent the attacks of insects while its perfume remains; but the oil is

so volatile that the scent quickly evaporates and the spell is broken.

Clove oil is extracted from the leaves of the cinnamon tree, and not from cloves, as its name would imply.

The process is very similar to that employed in the manufacture of citronella oil.

Cinnamon is indigenous throughout the jungles of Ceylon. Even at the high elevation of Newera Ellia, it is

one of the most common woods, and it grows to the dimensions of a forest tree, the trunk being usually about

three feet in circumference. At Newera Ellia it loses much of its fine flavor, although it is still highly

aromatic.

This tree flourishes in a white quartz sandy soil, and in its cultivated state is never allowed to exceed the

dimensions of a bush, being pruned down close to the ground every year. This system of close cutting

induces the growth of a large number of shoots, in the same manner that withes are produced in England.

Every twelve months these shoots attain the length of six or seven feet, and the thickness of a man's finger. In

the interim, the only cultivation required is repeated cleaning. The whole plantation is cut down at the proper

period, and the sticks are then stripped of their bark by the peelers. These men are called "chalias," and their

labor is confined to this particular branch. The season being over, they pass the remaining portion of the year

in idleness, their earnings during one crop being sufficient to supply their trifling wants until the ensuing

harvest.

Their practice in this employment naturally renders them particularly expert, and in far less time than is

occupied in the description they run a sharp knife longitudinally along a stick, and at once divest it of the

bark. On the following day the strips of bark are scraped so as entirely to remove the outer cuticle. One strip

is then laid within the other, which, upon becoming dry, contract, and form a series of enclosed pipes. It is

subsequently packed in bales, and carefully sewed up in double sacks for exportation.

The essential oil of cinnamon is usually made from the refuse of the crop; but the quantity produced, in

proportion to the weight of cinnamon, is exceedingly small, being about five ounces of oil to half a

hundredweight of the spice.

Although the cinnamon appears to require no more than a common quartz sand for its production, it is always

cultivated with the greatest success where the subsoil is light, dry and of a loamy quality.

The appearance of the surface soil is frequently very deceitful. It is not uncommon to see a forest of

magnificent trees growing in soil of apparently pure sand, which will not even produce the underwood with

which Ceylon forests are generally choked. In such an instance the appearance of the trees is unusually grand

as their whole length and dimensions are exposed to view, and their uniting crowns throw a sombre shade

over the barren ground beneath. It is not to be supposed that these mighty specimens of vegetation are

supported by the poor sandy soil upon the surface; their taproots strike down into some richer stratum, from


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which their nourishment is derived.

These forests are not common in Ceylon; their rarity accordingly enhances their beauty. The largest English

oak would be a mere pigmy among the giants of these wilds, whose stature is so wonderful that the eye never

becomes tired of admiration. Often have I halted on my journey to ride around and admire the prodigious

height and girth of these trees. Their beautiful proportions render them the more striking; there are no gnarled

and knotty stems, such as we are accustomed to admire in the ancient oaks and beeches of England, but every

trunk rises like a mast from the earth, perfectly free from branches for ninety or a hundred feet, straight as an

arrow, each tree forming a dark pillar to support its share of the rich canopy above, which constitutes a roof

perfectly impervious to the sun. It is difficult to guess the actual height of these forest trees; but I have

frequently noticed that it is impossible to shoot a bird on the higher branches with No. 5 shot.

It is much to be regretted that the want of the means of transport renders the timber of these forests perfectly

valueless. From age to age these magnificent trees remain in their undisturbed solitudes, gradually increasing

in their apparently endless growth, and towering above the dark vistas of everlasting silence. No on can

imagine the utter stillness which pervades these gloomy shades. There is a mysterious effect produced by the

total absence of animal life. In the depths of these forests I have stood and listened for some sound until my

cars tingled with overstrained attention; not a chirp of a bird, not the hum of an insect, but the mouth of

Nature is sealed. Not a breath of air has rustled a leaf, not even a falling fruit has broken the spell of silence;

the undying verdure, the freshness of each tree, even in its mysterious age, create an idea of eternal

vegetation, and the silvery yet dim light adds to the charm of the fairylike solitude which gradually steals

over the senses.

I have ridden for fifteen or twenty miles through one of these forests without hearing a sound, except that of

my horse's hoof occasionally striking against a root. Neither beast nor bird is to be seen except upon the

verge. The former has no food upon such barren ground; and the latter can find no berries, as the earth is

sunless and free from vegetation. Not even monkeys are to be seen, although the trees must produce fruit and

seed. Everything appears to have deserted the country, and to have yielded it as the sole territory of Nature on

a stupendous scale. The creepers lie serpentlike along the ground to the thickness of a man's waist, and,

rearing their twisted forms on high, they climb the loftiest trees, hanging in festoons from stern to stem like

the cables of a lineofbattleship, and extending from tree to tree for many hundred yards; now felling to

the earth and striking a fresh root; then, with increased energy, remounting the largest trunks, and forming a

labyrinth of twisted ropes along the ceiling of the forest. From these creepers hang the sabrebeans.

Everything seems on a supernatural scale  the beanpod four feet or more in length, by three inches in

breadth; the beans two inches in diameter.

Here may be seen the most valuable woods of Ceylon. The ebony grows in great perfection and large

quantity. This tree is at once distinguished from the surrounding stems by its smaller diameter and its sooty

trunk. The bark is crisp, jet black, and has the appearance of being charred. Beneath the bark the wood is

perfectly white until the heart is reached, which is the fine black ebony of commerce. Here also, equally

immovable, the calamander is growing, neglected and unknown. This is the most esteemed of all Ceylon

woods, and it is so rare that it realizes a fancy price. It is something similar to the finest walnut, the color

being a rich hazel brown, mottled and striped with irregular black marks. It is superior to walnut in the

extreme closeness of the grain and the richness of its color.

There are upward of eighty different woods produced in Ceylon, which are made use of for various purposes;

but of these many are very inferior. Those most appreciated are

Calamander, Ebony, chiefly used for furniture and cabinet work. Satinwood, Suria (the tulip tree).

Tamarind. Jackwood. Halmileel. Cocoanut. Palmyra.


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The suria is an elegant tree, bearing a beautiful yellow blossom something similar to a tulip, from which it

derives its name. The wood is of an extremely close texture and of a reddishbrown color. It is exceedingly

tough, and it is chiefly used for making the spokes of wheels.

The tamarind is a fine, dark red wood, mottled with black marks; but it is not in general use, as the tree is too

valuable to be felled for the sake of its timber. This is one of the handsomest trees of the tropics, growing to a

very large size, the branches widely spreading, something like the cedars of Lebanon.

Jackwood is a coarse imitation of mahogany, and is used for a variety of purposes, especially for making

cheap furniture. The latter is not only economical, but exceedingly durable, and is manufactured at so low a

rate that a moderatesized house might be entirely furnished with it for a hundred and fifty pounds.

The fruit of the jack grows from the trunk and branches of the tree, and when ripe it weighs about twenty

pounds. The rind is rough, and when cut it exposes a yellow, pulpy mass. This is formed of an infinite

number of separate divisions of fleshy matter, which severally enclose an oval nut. The latter are very good

when roasted, having a close resemblance to a chestnut. The pulp, which is the real fruit, is not usually eaten

by Europeans on account of its peculiar odor. This perfume is rather difficult to describe, but when a rainy

day in London crams an omnibus with wellsoaked and steaming multitudes, the atmosphere in the vehicle

somewhat approaches to the smell of the jackfruit. The halmileel is one of the most durable and useful

woods in Ceylon, and is almost the only kind that is thoroughly adapted for making staves for casks. Of late

years the great increase of the oiltrade has brought this wood into general request, consequent upon the

increased demand for casks. So extensive and general is the present demand for this wood that the natives are

continually occupied in conveying it from certain districts which a few years ago were utterly neglected.

Unfortunately, the want of roads and the means of transport confine their operations to the banks of rivers,

down which the logs are floated at the proper season.

I recollect some eight years ago crossing the Mahawelli river upon a raft which my coolies had hastily

constructed, and reaching a miserable village near Monampitya, in the extreme north of the Veddah country.

The river is here about four hundred paces wide, and, in the rainy season a fine volume of water rolls along in

a rapid stream toward Trincomalee, at which place it meets the sea. I was struck it the time with the

magnificent timber in the forests on its banks, and no less surprised that with the natural facilities of transport

it should be neglected. Two years ago I crossed at this same spot, and I remarked the wonderful change which

a steady demand had effected in this wild country. Extensive piles of halmileel logs were collected along the

banks of the river, while the forests were strewed with felled trees in preparation for floating down the

stream. A regular demand usually ensures a regular supply, which could not be better exemplified than in this

case.

Among fancy woods the breadfruit tree should not be omitted. This is something similar to the jack, but,

like the tamarind, the value of the produce saves the tree from destruction.

This tree does not attain a very large size, but its growth is exceedingly regular and the foliage peculiarly rich

and plentiful. The fruit is something similar in appearance to a small, unripe jackfruit, with an equally rough

exterior. In the opinion of most who have tasted it, its virtues have been grossly exaggerated. To my taste it is

perfectly uneatable, unless fried in thin slices with butter; it is even then a bad imitation of fried potatoes. The

bark of this tree produces a strong fibre, and a kind of very adhesive pitch is also produced by decoction.

The cocoanut and palmyra woods at once introduce us to the palms of Ceylon, the most useful and the most

elegant class in vegetation. For upward of a hundred and twenty miles along the western and southern coasts

of Ceylon, one continuous line of cocoanut groves wave their green leaves to the seabreeze, without a

single break, except where some broad clear river cleaves the line of verdure as it meets the sea.


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Ceylon is rich in palms, including the following varieties: The Cocoanut. The Palmyra. The Kittool. The

Areca The Date. The Sago. The Talipot.

The wonderful productions of this tribe can only be appreciated by those who thoroughly understand the

habits and necessities of the natives; and, upon examination, it will be seen that Nature has opened wide her

bountiful hand, and in the midst of a barren soil she has still remembered and supplied the wants of the

inhabitants.

As the stream issued from the rock in the wilderness, to the cocoanut tree yields a pure draught from a dry

and barren land; a cup of water to the temperate and thirsty traveler; a cup of cream from the pressed kernel; a

cup of refreshing and sparkling toddy to the early riser; a cup of arrack to the hardened spiritdrinker, and a

cup of oil, by the light of which I now extol its meritsfive separate and distinct liquids from the same tree!

A green or unripe cocoanut contains about a pint of a sweetish water. In the hottest weather this is

deliciously cool, in comparison to the heat of the atmosphere.

The ripe nut, when scraped into a pulp by a little serrated, semicircular iron instrument, is squeezed in a

cloth by the hand, and about a quarter of a pint of delicious thick cream, highly flavored by cocoanut, is

then expressed. This forms the chief ingredient in a Cingalese curry, from which it entirely derives its

richness and fine flavor.

The toddy is the sap which would nourish and fructify the blossom and young nuts, were it allowed to

accomplish its duties. The toddydrawer binds into one rod the numerous shoots, which are garnished with

embryo nuts, and he then cuts off the ends, leaving an abrupt and brushlike termination. Beneath this he

secures an earthen chatty, which will hold about a gallon. This remains undisturbed for twentyfour hours,

from sunrise to sunrise on the following morning; the toddydrawer then reascends the tree, and lowers he

chatty by a line to an assistant below, who empties the contents into a larger vessel, and the chatty is replaced

under the productive branch, which continues to yield for about a month.

When first drawn the toddy has the appearance of thin milk and water, with a combined flavor of milk and

sodawater, with a tinge of cocoanut. It is then very pleasant and refreshing, but in a few hours after sunrise

a great charts takes place, and the rapidity of the transition from the vinous to the acetous fermentation is so

great that by midday it resembles a poor and rather acid cider. It now possesses intoxicating properties, and

the natives accordingly indulge in it to some extent; but from its flavor and decided acidity I should have

thought the stomach would be affected some time before the head.

>From this fermented toddy the arrack is procured by simple distillation.

This spirit, to my taste, is more palatable than most distilled liquors, having a very decided and peculiar

flavor. It is a little fiery when new, but as water soon quenches fire, it is not spared by the native retailers,

whose arrack would be of a most innocent character were it not for their infamous addition of stupefying

drugs and hot peppers.

The toddy contains a large proportion of saccharine, without which the vinous fermentation could not take

place. This is procured by evaporation in boiling, on the same principle that sugar is produced from

canejuice. The syrup is then poured into small saucers to cool, and it shortly assumes the consistence of

hardened sugar. This is known in Ceylon as "jaggery," and is manufactured exclusively by the natives.

Cocoanut oil is now one of the greatest exports of Ceylon, and within the last few years the trade has

increased to an unprecedented extent. In the two years of 1849 and 1850, the exports of cocoanut oil did not

exceed four hundred and fortythree thousand six hundred gallons, while in the year 1853 they had increased


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to one million thirtythree thousand nine hundred gallons; the trade being more than quadrupled in three

years.

The manufacture of the oil is most simple. The kernel is taken from the nut, and being divided, it is exposed

to the sun until all the watery particles are evaporated. The kernel thus dried is known as "copperah." This is

then pressed in a mill, and the oil flows into a reservoir.

This oil, although clear and limpid in the tropics, hardens to the consistence of lard at any temperature below

72 Fahrenheit. Thus it requires a second preparation on its arrival in England. There it is spread upon mats

(formed of coir) to the thickness of an inch, and then covered by a similar protection. These fat sandwiches

are two feet square, and being piled one upon the other to a height of about six feet in an hydraulic press, are

subjected to a pressure of some hundred tons. This disengages the pure oleaginous parts from the more

insoluble portions, and the fat residue, being increased in hardness by its extra density, is mixed with stearine,

and by a variety of preparations is converted into candles. The pure oil thus expressed is that known in the

shops as cocoanut oil.

The cultivation of the cocoanut tree is now carried to a great extent, both by natives and Europeans; by the

former it is grown for a variety of purposes, but by the latter its profits are confined to oil, coir and poonac.

The latter is the refuse Of the nut after the oil has been expressed, and corresponds in its uses to the

linseedoil cake of England, being chiefly employed for fattening cattle, pigs and poultry.

The preparation of coir is a dirty and offensive occupation. The husk of the cocoanut is thrown into tanks of

water, until the woody or pithy matter is loosened by fermentation from the coir fibre. The stench of putrid

vegetable matter arising from these heaps must be highly deleterious. Subsequently the husks are beaten and

the fibre is separated and dried. Coir rope is useful on account of its durability and power of resisting decay

during long immersion. In the year 1853, twentythree hundred and eighty tons of coir were exported from

Ceylon.

The great drawback to the commencement of a cocoanut plantation is the total uncertainty of the probable

alteration in the price of oil during the interval of eleven years which must elapse before the estate comes into

bearing. In this era of invention, when improvements in every branch of science follow each other with such

rapid strides, it is always a dangerous speculation to make any outlay that will remain so long invested

without producing a return. Who can be so presumptuous as to predict the changes of future years? Oil may

have ceased to be the common medium of light  our rooms may be illumined by electricity, or from fifty

other sources which now are never dreamed of. In the mean time, the annual outlay during eleven years is an

additional incubus upon the prime cost of the plantation, which, at the expiration of this term, may be reduced

to onetenth of its present value.

The cocoanut tree requires a sandy and welldrained soil; and although it flourishes where no other tree will

grow, it welcomes a soil of a richer quality and produces fruit in proportion. Eighty nuts per annum are about

the average income from a healthy tree in full bearing, but this, of course, depends much upon the locality.

This palm delights in the seabreeze, and never attains the same perfection inland that it does in the vicinity

of the coast. There are several varieties, and that which is considered superior is the yellow species, called the

"king cocoanut." I have seen this on the Maldive Islands in great perfection. There it is the prevailing

description.

At the Seychelles, there is a variety peculiar to those islands, differing entirely in appearance from the

common cocoanut. It is fully twice the size, and is shaped like a kidney that is laid open. This is called by

the French the "coco de mer" from the large numbers that are found floating in the sea in the neighborhood of

the islands.


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The wood of the cocoanut tree is strong and durable; it is a dark brown, traversed by longitudinal black

lines.

There are three varieties of toddyproducing palms in Ceylon; these are the cocoanut, the kittool and the

palmyra. The latter produces the finest quality of jaggery. This cannot be easily distinguished from crumbled

sugarcandy which it exactly resembles in flavor, The wood of the palmyra is something similar to the

cocoanut, but it is of a superior quality, and is much used for rafters, being durable and of immense strength.

The kittool is a very sombre and peculiar palm. Its crest very much resembles the drooping plume upon a

hearse, and the foliage is a dark green with a tinge of gray. The wood of this palm is almost black, being

apparently a mass of longitudinal strips, or coarse linen of whalebone running close together from the top to

the root of the tree. This is the toughest and most pliable of all the palmwoods, and is principally used by

the natives in making "pingos." These are flat bows about eight feet in length, and are used by the Cingalese

for carrying loads upon the shoulder. The weight is slung at either end of the pingo, and the elasticity of the

wood accommodates itself to the spring of each step, thereby reducing the dead weight of the load. In this

manner a stout Cingalese will carry and travel with eighty pounds if working on his own account, or with

fifty if hired for a journey. A Cingalese will carry a much heavier weight than an ordinary Malabar, as he is a

totally different man in form and strength. In fact, the Cingalese are generally a compactly built and

welllimbed race, while the Malabar is a man averaging full a stone lighter weight.

The most extraordinary in the list of palms is the talipot. The crest of this beautiful tree is adorned by a crown

of nearly circular, fanshaped leaves of so touch and durable a texture that they are sewn together by the

natives for erecting portable tents or huts. The circumference of each leaf at the extreme edge is from twenty

to thirty feet, and even this latter size is said to be frequently exceeded.

Every Cingalese throughout the Kandian district is provided with a section of one of these leaves, which

forms a kind of fan about six feet in length. This is carried in the hand, and is only spread in case of rain,

when it forms an impervious roofing of about three feet in width at the broad extremity. Four or five of these

sections will form a circular roof for a small hut, which resembles a large umbrella or brobdignag mushroom.

There is a great peculiarity in the talipot palm. Is blossoms only once in a long period of years, and after this

it dies. No flower can equal the elegance and extraordinary dimensions of this blossom; its size is

proportionate to its leaves, and it usurps the place of the faded crest of green, forming a magnificent crown or

plume of snowwhite ostrich feathers, which stand upon the summit of the tall stem as though they were the

natural head of the palm.

There is an interesting phenomenon at the period of flowering. The great plume already described, prior to its

appearing in bloom, is packed in a large case or bud, about four feet long. In this case the blossom comes to

maturity, at which time the tightened cuticle of the bard can no longer sustain the pressure of the expanding

flower. It suddenly bursts with a loud report, and the beautiful plume, freed from its imprisonment, ascends at

this signal and rapidly unfolds its feathers, towering above the drooping leaves which are hastening to decay.

The areca is a palm of great elegance; it rises to a height of about eighty feet, and a rich feathery crest adorns

the summit. This is the most delicate stem of all the palm tribe; that of a tree of eighty feet in length would

not exceed five inches in diameter. Nevertheless, I have never seen an areca palm overturned by a storm; they

bow gracefully to the wind, and the extreme elasticity of the wood secures them from destruction.

This tree produces the commonlycalled "betelnut," but more properly the arecanut. They grow in clusters

beneath the crest of the palm, in a similar manner to the cocoanut; but the tree is more prolific, as it

produces about two hundred nuts per annum. The latter are very similar to large nutmegs both in size and

appearance, and, like the cocoanut, they are enclosed in an outer husk of a fibrous texture.


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The consumption of these nuts may be imagined when it is explained that every native is perpetually chewing

a mixture of this nut and betel leaf. Every man carries a betel bag, which contains the following list of

treasures: a quantity of arecanuts, a parcel of betel leaves, a roll of tobacco, a few pieces of ginger, an

instrument similar to pruning scissors and a brass or silver case (according to the wealth of the individual)

full of chunam paste  viz., a fine lime produced from burnt coral, slacked. This case very much resembles an

oldfashioned warmingpan breed of watch and chateleine, as numerous little spoons for scooping out the

chunam are attached to it by chains.

The betel is a species of pepper, the leaf of which very much resembles that of the black pepper, but is highly

aromatic and pungent. It is cultivated to a very large extent by the natives, and may be seen climbing round

poles and trees in every garden.

It has been said by some authors that the betel has powerful narcotic properties, but, on the contrary, its

stimulating qualities have a directly opposite effect. Those who have attributed this supposed property to the

betel leaf must have indulged in a regular native "chew" as an experiment, and have nevertheless been

ignorant of the mixture.

We will make up a native "chew" after the most approved fashion, and the reader shall judge for himself in

which ingredient the narcotic principle is displayed.

Take a betel leaf, and upon this spread a piece of chunam as large as a pea; then with the pruning scissors cut

three very thin slices of arecanut, and lay them in the leaf; next, add a small piece of ginger; and, lastly, a

goodsized piece of tobacco. Fold up this mixture in another betel leaf in a compact little parcel, and it is fit

for promoting several hours' enjoyment in chewing, and spitting a disgusting bloodred dye in every

direction. The latter is produced by the arecanut. It is the tobacco which possesses the narcotic principle; if

this is omitted, the remaining ingredients are simple stimulants.

The teeth of all natives are highly discolored by the perpetual indulgence in this disgusting habit; nor is this

the only effect produced; cancer in the cheek is a common complaint among them, supposed to be produced

by the caustic lime which is so continually in the mouth.

The exports of arecanuts from Ceylon will give some idea of the supply of palms. In 1853 no less than three

thousand tons were shipped from this colony, valued at about 45,000 l. The greater portion of these is

consumed in India.

Two varieties of palms remain to be described  the date and the sago. The former is a miserable species,

which does not exceed the height of three to five feet, and the fruit is perfectly worthless.

The latter is indigenous throughout the jungles in Ceylon, but it is neither cultivated, nor is the sago prepared

from it.

The height of this palm does not exceed fifteen or twenty feet, and even this is above the general average. It

grows in the greatest profusion in the Veddah country. The stem is rough and a continuation of rings divides

it into irregular sections. The leaves are a rich dark green, and very light and feathery, beneath which the nuts

grow in clusters similar to those of the areca palm.

The only use that the natives make of the produce of this tree is in the preparation of flour from the nuts.

Even this is not very general, which is much to be wondered at, as the farina is far superior in flavor to that

produced from most grains.


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The natives ascribe intoxicating properties to the cakes made from this flour; but I have certainly eaten a fair

allowance at one time, and I cannot say that I had the least sensation of elevation.

The nut, which is something similar to the areca in size, is nearly white when divested of its outer husk, and

this is soaked for about twentyfour hours in water. During this time a slight fermentation takes place and the

gas generated splits the nut open at a closed joint like an acorn. This fermentation may, perhaps, take some

exhilarating effect upon the natives' weak heads.

The nuts being partially softened by this immersion are dried in the sun, and subsequently pounded into flour

in a wooden mortar. This flour is sifted, and the coarser parts being separated, are again pounded until a

beautiful snowwhite farina is produced. This is made into a dough by a proper admixture with water, and

being formed into small cakes, they are baked for about a quarter of an hour in a chatty. The fermentation

which has already taken place in the nut has impregnated the flower with a leaven; this, without any further

addition, expands the dough when in the oven, and the cake produced is very similar to a crumpet, both in

appearance and flavor.

The village in which I first tasted this preparation of the sagonut was a tolerable sample of such places, on

the borders of the Veddah country. The population consisted of one old man and a corresponding old woman,

and one fine stout young man and five young women. A host of little children, who were so similar in height

that they must have been one litter, and three or four most miserable dogs and cats, were additional tenants of

the soidisant village.

These people lived upon sago cakes, pumpkins, wild fruits and berries, river fish and wild honey. The latter is

very plentiful throughout Ceylon, and the natives are very expert in finding out the nests, by watching the

bees in their flight and following them up. A beehunter must be a most keensighted fellow, although there

is not so much difficulty in the pursuit as may at first appear. No one can mistake the flight of a bee en route

home, if he has once observed him. He is no longer wandering from flower to flower in an uncertain course,

but he rushes through the air in a straight line for the nest. If the beehunter sees one bee thus speeding

homeward, he watches the vacant spot in the air, until assured of the direction by the successive appearance

of these insects, one following the other nearly every second in their hurried race to the comb. Keeping his

eye upon the passing bees, he follows them until he reaches the tree in which the nest is found.

There are five varieties of bees in Ceylon; these are all honeymakers, except the carpenter bee. This species

is entirely unlike a bee in all its habits. It is a bright tinselgreen color, and the size of a large walnut, but

shaped like the humble bees of England. The month is armed with a very powerful pair of mandibles, and the

tail with a sting even larger and more venomous than that of the hornet. These carpenter bees are exceedingly

destructive, as they bore holes in beams and posts, in which they lay their eggs, the larvae of which when

hatched greedily feed upon the timber.

The honey bees are of four very distinct varieties, each of which forms its nest on a different principle. The

largest and most extensive honeymaker is the "bambera". This is nearly as large as a hornet, and it forms its

nest upon the bough of a tree, from which it lines like a Cheshire cheese, being about the same thickness, but

five or six inches greater in diameter. The honey of this bee is not so much esteemed as that from the smaller

varieties, as the flavor partakes too strongly of the particular flower which the bee has frequented; thus in

different seasons the honey varies in flavor, and is sometimes so highly aperient that it must be used with

much caution. This property is of course derived from the flower which the bee prefers at that particular

season. The wax of the comb is the purest and whitest of any kind produced in Ceylon. So partial are these

bees to particular flowers that they migrate from place to place at different periods in quest of flowers which

are then in bloom.


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This is a very wonderful and inexplicable arrangement of Nature, when it is considered that some flowers

which particularly attract these migrations only blossom once in "seven years." This is the case at Newera

Ellia, where the nillho blossom induces such a general rush of this particular bee to the district that the

jungles are swarming with them in every direction, although during the six preceding years hardly a bee of

the kind is to be met with.

There are many varieties of the nillho. These vary from a tender dwarf plant to the tall and heavy stern of the

common nillho, which is nearly as thick as a man's arm and about twenty feet high.

The next honeymaker is very similar in size and appearance to our common hive bee in England. This

variety forms its nest in hollow trees and in holes in rocks. Another bee, similar in appearance, but not more

than half the size, suspends a most delicate comb to the twigs of a tree. This nest is no larger than an orange,

but the honey of the two latter varieties is of the finest quality, and quite equal in flavor to the famed "miel

vert" of the Isle de Burbon, although it has not the delicate green tint which is so much esteemed in the latter.

The last of the Ceylon bees is the most tiny, although an equally industrious workman. He is a little smaller

than our common housefly, and he builds his diminutive nest in the hollow of a tree, where the entrance to

his mansion is a hole no larger than would be made by a lady's stiletto.

It would be a natural supposition that so delicate an insect would produce a honey of corresponding purity,

but instead of the expected treasure we find a thick, black and rather pungent but highly aromatic molasses.

The natives, having naturally coarse tastes and strong stomachs, admire this honey beyond any other. Many

persons are surprised at the trifling exports of wax from Ceylon. In 1853 these amounted to no more than one

ton.

Cingalese are curious people, and do not trouble themselves about exports; they waste or consume all the

beeswax. While we are contented with the honey and carefully reject the comb, the native (in some districts)

crams his mouth with a large section, and giving it one or two bites, he bolts the luscious morsel and begins

another. In this manner immense quantities of this valuable article are annually wasted. Some few of the

natives in the poorest villages save a small quantity, to exchange with the travelling Moormen for cotton

cloths, etc., and in this manner the trifling amount exported is collected.

During the honey year at Newera Ellia I gave a native permission to hunt bees in my forests, on condition that

he should bring me the wax. Of course he stole the greater portion, but nevertheless, in a few weeks he

brought me seventytwo pounds' weight of wellcleaned and perfectly white wax, which he had made up

into balls about the size of an eighteenpound shot. Thus, in a few weeks, one man had collected about the

thirtieth part of the annual export from Ceylon; or, allowing that he stole at least onehalf, this would amount

to the fifteenth.

It would be a vain attempt to restrain these people from their fixed habit; they would as soon think of

refraining from betelchewing as giving up a favorite food. Neither will they be easily persuaded to indulge

in a food of a new description. I once showed them the common British mushroom, which they declared was

a poisonous kind. To prove the contrary, I had them several times at table, and found them precisely similar

in appearance and flavor to the wellknown, "Agaricus campestris;" but, notwithstanding this actual proof,

the natives would not be convinced, and, although accustomed to eat a variety of this tribe, they positively

declined this experiment. There is an edible species which they prefer, which, from its appearance, an

Englishman would shun: this is perfectly white, both above and below, and the upper cuticle cannot be peeled

off. I have tasted this, but it is very inferior in flavor to the common mushroom.

Experiments in these varieties of fungi are highly dangerous, as many of the most poisonous so closely

resemble the edible species that they can with difficulty be distinguished. There is one kind of fungus that I


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have met with in the forests which, from its offensive odor and disgusting appearance, should be something

superlatively bad. It grows about four inches high; the top is round, with a fleshy and inflamed appearance;

the stalk is out of all proportion in its thickness, being about two inches in diameter and of a livid white color;

this, when broken, is full of a transparent gelatinous fluid, which smells like an egg in the last stage of

rottenness.

This fungus looks like an unhealthy excrescence on the face of Nature, who, as though ashamed of the

disgusting blemish, has thrown a veil over the defect. The most exquisite fabric that can be imagined  a

scarlet veil, like a silken net  falls over this ugly fungus, and, spreading like a tent at its base, it is there

attached to the ground.

The meshes of this net are about as fine as those of a very delicate silk purse, and the gaudiness of the color

and the size of the fungus make it a very prominent object, among the surrounding vegetation. In fact, it is a

diminutive, though perfect circular tent of network, the stem of the fungus forming the pole in the centre.

I shall never forget my first introduction to this specimen. It was growing in an open forest, free from any

underwood, land it seemed like a fairy bivouac beneath the mighty trees which overshadowed it. Hardly

believing my own eyes at so strange and exquisite a structure, I jumped off my horse and hastened to secure

it. But the network once raised was like the uncovering of the veiled prophet of Khorassan, and the stem,

crushing in my fingers, revealed all the disgusting properties of the plant, and proved the impossibility of

removing it entire. The elegance of its exterior only served to conceal its characterlike Madame Mantilini,

who, when undressed, "tumbled into ruins."

There are two varieties of narcotic fungi whose properties are so mild that they are edible in small quantities.

One is a bright crimson on the surface; this is the most powerful, and is seldom used. The other is a white

solid puffball, with a rough outer skin or rind.

I have eaten the latter on two occasions, having been assured by the natives that they were harmless. The

flavor somewhat resembles a truffle, but I could not account for the extreme drowsiness that I felt soon after

eating; this wore off in the course of two or three hours. On the following day I felt the same effect, but to a

still greater degree as, having convinced myself that they were really eatable, I bad taken a larger quantity.

Knowing that the narcotic principle is the common property of a great variety of fungi, it immediately struck

me that the puffballs were the cause. On questioning the natives, it appeared that it was this principle that

they admired, as it produced a species of mild intoxication.

All people, of whatever class or clime, indulge in some narcotic drug or drink. Those of the Cingalese are

arrack, tobacco, fungi and the Indian hemp. The use of the latter is, however, not so general among the

Cingalese as the Malabars. This drug has a different effect from opium, as it does not injure the constitution,

but simply exhilarates, and afterward causes a temporary lethargy.

In appearance it very nearly resembles the common hemp, but it differs in the seed. The leaves and blossoms

are dried, and are either smoked like tobacco, or formed into a paste with various substances and chewed.

When the plant approaches maturity, a gummy substance exudes from the leaves; this is gathered by men

clothed in dry raw hides, who, by walking through the plantation, become covered with this gum or glue.

This is scraped off and carefully preserved, being the very essence of the plant, and exceedingly powerful in

its effects.

The sensation produced by the properties of this shrub is a wild, dreamy kind of happiness; the ideas are

stimulated to a high degree, and all that are most pleasurable are exaggerated till the senses at length sink into

a vague and delightful elysium.


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The reaction after this unnatural excitement is very distressing, but the sufferer is set all right again by some

trifling stimulant, such as a glass of wine or spirits.

It is supposed, and confidently asserted by some, that the Indian hemp is the foundation of the Egyptian

"hashisch," the effects of which are precisely similar.

However harmless the apparent effect of a narcotic drug, common sense must at once perceive that a repeated

intoxication, no matter how it is produced, must be ultimately hurtful to the system. The brain, accustomed to

constant stimulants, at length loses its natural power, and requires these artificial assistants to enable it to

perform its ordinary functions, in the same manner that the stomach, from similar treatment, would at length

cease to act. This being continued, the brain becomes semitorpid, until wakened up by a powerful stimulant,

and the nervous system is at length worn out by a succession of exciting causes and reactions. Thus, a hard

drinker appears dull and heavy until under the influence of his secret destroyer when he brightens up and,

perhaps, shines in conversation; but every reaction requires a stronger amount of stimulant to lessen its effect,

until mind and body at length become involved in the common ruin.

The seed of the lotus is a narcotic of a mild description, and it is carefully gathered when ripe and eaten by

the natives.

The lotus is seen in two varieties in Ceylon  the pink and the white. The former is the most beautiful, and

they are both very common in all tanks and sluggish streams. The leaves are larger than those of the waterlily,

to which they bear a great resemblance, and the blossoms are full double the size. When the latter fade, the

petals fall, and the base of the flower and seedpod remains in the shape of a circular piece of honeycomb,

full of cells sufficiently large to contain a hazelnut. This is about the size of the seed, but the shape is more

like an acorn without its cup. The flavor is pleasant, being something like a filbert, but richer and more oily.

Stramonium (Datura stramonium), which is a powerful narcotic, is a perfect weed throughout the island, but

it is not used by the natives otherwise than medicinally, and the mass of the people are ignorant of its

qualities, which are only known to the Cingalese doctors. I recollect some years ago, in Mauritius, where this

plant is equally common, its proprieties were not only fully understood, but made use of by some of the

Chinese emigrants. These fellows made cakes of manioc and poisoned them with stramonium. Hot manioc

cakes are the common everyday accompaniment to a French planter's breakfast at Mauritius, and through

the medium of these the Chinese robbed several houses. Their plan was simple enough.

A man with cakes to sell appeared at the house at an early hour, and these being purchased, he retired until

about two hours after breakfast was concluded. By this time the whole family were insensible, and the thieves

robbed the house at their leisure. None of these cases terminated fatally; but, from the instant that I heard of

it, I made every cakeseller who appeared at the door devour one of his own cakes before I became a

purchaser. These men, however, were bona fide cakemerchants, and I did not meet with an exception.

There are a great variety of valuable medicinal plants in the jungles of Ceylon, many of which are unknown

to any but the native doctors. Those most commonly known to us, and which may be seen growing wild by

the roadside, are the nux vomica, ipecacuanha, gamboge, sarsaparilla, cassia fistula, cardamoms, etc.

The ipecacuanha is a pretty, delicate plant, which bears a bright orangecolored cluster of flowers.

The cassia fistula is a very beautiful tree, growing to the size of an ash, which it somewhat resembles in

foliage. The blossom is very beautiful, being a pendant of golden flowers similar to the laburnum, but each

blossom is about two and a half feet long, and the individual flowers on the bunch are large in proportion.

When the tree is in full flower it is very superb, and equally as singular when its beauty has faded and the

seedpods are formed. These grow to a length of from two to three feet, and when ripe are perfectly black,


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round, and about threequarters of an inch in diameter. The tree has the appearance of bearing, a prolific crop

of ebony rulers, each hanging from the bough by a short string.

There is another species of cassia fistula, the foliage of which assimilates to the mimosa. This bears a thicker,

but much shorter, pod, of about a foot in length. The properties of both are the same, being laxative. Each

seed within the pod is surrounded by a sweet, black and honeylike substance, which contains the property

alluded to.

The gamboge tree is commonly known in Ceylon as the "ghorka." This grows to the common size of an apple

tree, and bears a corrugated and intensely acid fruit. This is dried by the natives and used in curries. The

gamboge is the juice of the tree obtained by incisions in the bark. This tree grows in great numbers in the

neighborhood of Colombo, especially among the cinnamon gardens. Here, also, the cashew tree grows to

great perfection. The bark of the latter is very rich in tannin, and is used by the natives in the preparation of

hides. The fruit is like an apple in appearance, and small, but is highly astringent. The wellknown

cashewnut grows like an excrescence from the end of the apple.

Many are the varieties and uses of vegetable productions in Ceylon, but of these none are more singular and

interesting than the "sack tree," the Riti Gaha of the Cingalese. From the bark of this tree an infinite number

of excellent sacks are procured, with very little trouble or preparation. The tree being felled, the branches are

cut into logs of the length required, and sometimes these are soaked in water; but this is not always necessary.

The balk is then well beaten with a wooden mallet, until it is loosened from the wood; it is then stripped off

the log as a stocking is drawn off the leg. It is subsequently bleached, and one end being sewn lip, completes

a perfect sack of a thick fibrous texture, somewhat similar to felt.

These sacks are in general use among the natives, and are preferred by them to any other, as their durability is

such that they sometimes descend from father to son. By constant use they stretch and increase their original

size nearly one half. The texture necessarily becomes thinner, but the strength does not appear to be

materially decreased.

There are many fibrous barks in Ceylon, some which are so strong that thin strips require a great amount of

strength to break them, but none of these have yet been reduced to a marketable fibre. Several barks are more

or less aromatic; others would be valuable to the tanners; several are highly esteemed by the natives as most

valuable astringents, but hitherto none have received much notice from Europeans. This may be caused by

the general want of success of all experiments with indigenous produce. Although the jungles of Ceylon

produce a long list of articles of much interest, still their value chiefly lies in their curiosity; they are useful to

the native, but comparatively of little worth to the European. In fact, few things will actually pay for the

trouble and expense of collecting and transporting. Throughout the vast forests and jungles of Ceylon,

although the varieties of trees are endless, there is not one valuable gum known to exist. There is a great

variety of coarse, unmarketable productions, about equal to the gum of the cherry tree, etc., but there is no

such thing as a highpriced gum in the island.

The export of dammer is a mere trifle  four tons in 1852, twelve tons in 1853. This is a coarse and

comparatively valueless commodity. No other tree but the doom tree produces any gum worth collecting; this

species of rosin exudes in large quantities from an incision in the bark, but the amount of exports shows its

insignificance. It is a fair sample of Ceylon productions; nothing that is uncultivated is of much pecuniary

value.

CHAPTER XI. Indigenous Productions  Botanical Gardens  Suggested Experiments  Lack of

Encouragement to Golddiggers  Prospects of Golddigging  We want "Nuggets"  Who is to Blame?

Governor's Salary  Fallacies of a Five Years' Reign  Neglected Education of the People 

Responsibilities of Conquest  Progress of Christianity.


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The foregoing chapter may appear to decry in toto the indigenous productions of Ceylon, as it is asserted that

they are valueless in their natural state. Nevertheless, I do not imply that they must necessarily remain

useless. Where Nature simply creates a genus, cultivation extends the species, and from an insignificant

parent stock we propagate our finest varieties of both animals and vegetables. Witness the wild kale, parsnip,

carrot, crabapple, sloe, etc., all utterly worthless, but nevertheless the first parents of their now choice

descendants.

It is therefore impossible to say what might not he done in the improvement of indigenous productions were

the attention of science bestowed upon them. But all this entails expense, and upon whom is this to fall? Out

of a hundred experiments ninetynine might fail. In Ceylon we have no wealthy experimentalists, no

agricultural exhibitions, no model farms, but every man who settles in a colony has left the mother country to

better himself; therefore, no private enterprise is capable of such speculation. It clearly rests upon the

government to develop the resources of the country, to prove the value of the soil, which is delivered to the

purchaser at so much per acre, good or bad. But no; it is not in the nature of our government to move from an

established routine. As the squirrel revolves his cage, so governor after governor rolls his dull course along,

pockets his salary, and leaves the poor colony as he found it.

The government may direct the attention of the public, in reply, to their own establishment  to the botanical

gardens. Have we not botanical gardens? We have, indeed, and much good they should do, if conducted upon

the principle of developing local resources; but this would entail expense, and, like everything in the hands of

government, it dies in its birth for want of consistent management.

With an able man as superintendent at a good salary, the beautiful gardens at Peredenia are rendered next to

useless for want of a fund at his disposal. Instead of being conducted as an experimental farm, they are little

more than ordinary pleasuregrounds, filled with the beautiful foliage of the tropics and kept in perfect order.

What benefit have they been to the colony? Have the soils of various districts been tested? have new fibres

been manufactured from the countless indigenous fibrous plants? have new oils been extracted? have

medicinal drugs been produced? have dyes been extracted? have improvements been suggested in the

cultivation of any of the staple articles of Ceylon export? In fact, has ANYTHING ever been done by

government for the interest of the private settler?

This is not the fault of the manager of the gardens; he has the will, but no funds. My idea of the object of a

botanical garden is, that agricultural theories should be reduced to facts, upon which private enterprise may

speculate, and by such success the government should ultimately benefit.

It is well known to the commonest schoolboy that soil which may be favorable to one plant is not adapted to

another; therefore, where there is a diversity of soils it stands to reason that there should be a corresponding

variety of crops to suit those soils, so as to make the whole surface of the land yield its proportion.

In Ceylon, where the chief article of production is coffee, land (upon an estate) which is not suitable to this

cultivation is usually considered waste. Thus the government and the private proprietor are alike losers in

possessing an amount of unprofitable soil.

Now, surely it is the common sense object in the establishment of a botanical garden to discover for each

description of soil a remunerating crop, so that an estate should be cultivated to its uttermost, and the word

"waste" be unknown upon the property.

Under the present system of management this is impossible; the sum allowed per annum is but just sufficient

to keep the gardens in proper condition, and the abilities of the botanist in charge are sacrificed. Many a

valuable plant now lies screened in the shades of remote jungles, which the enterprising botanist would bring

to light were he enabled by government to make periodical journeys through the interior. These journeys


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should form a part of his duties; his botanical specimens should be his game, and they should be pursued with

the ardor of the chase itself, and subsequently transferred to the gardens and their real merits discovered by

experiments.

But what can be expected from an apathetic system of government? Dyes, fibres, gums may abound in the

forests, metals and even gold may be concealed beneath our feet; but the governor does not consider it a part

of his duty to prosecute the search, or even to render facilities to those of a more industrious temperament.

What can better exemplify the case than the recent discovery of gold at Newera Ellia?

Here was the plain fact that gold was found in small specks, not in one spot, but everywhere throughout the

swamps for miles in the vicinity  that at a depth of two or three feet from the surface this proof was adduced

of its presence; but the governor positively refused to assist the discoverers ("diggers," who were poor sailors

visiting Ceylon), although they merely asked for subsistence until they should be able to reach a greater

depth. This may appear too absurd to be correct, but it is nevertheless true.

At the time that I commenced these sketches of Ceylon the gold was just discovered, and I touched but lightly

upon it, in the expectation that a few months of labor, aided by government support, would have established

its presence in remunerating quantities. The swampy nature of the soil rendered the digging impossible

without the aid of powerful pumps to reduce the water, which filled the shaft so rapidly that no greater depth

could be obtained than eighteen feet, and even this at immense labor.

The diggers were absolutely penniless, and but for assistance received from private parties they must have

starved. The rainy season was at its height, and torrents fell night and day with little intermission. Still, these

poor little fellows worked early and late, wet and dry, ever sanguine of success, and they at length petitioned

the Government to give them the means of subsistence for a few months  "subsistence" for two men, and the

assistance of a few coolies. This was refused, and the reply stated that the government intended to leave the

search for gold to "private enterprise." No reward was offered for its discovery as in other colonies, but the

governor would leave it to "private enterprise." A promising enterprise truly, when every landholder in

Ceylon, on referring to his titledeeds, observes the reservation of all precious metals to the crown. This is a

fair sample of the narrowminded, selfish policy of a government which, in endeavoring to save a little, loses

all; a miserable tampering with the public in attempting to make a cat's paw of private enterprise.

How has this ended? The diggers left the island in disgust. If the gold is there in quantity, there in quantity it

remains to the present time, unsought for. The subject of gold is so generally interesting, and in this case of

such importance to the colony, that, believing as I do that it does exist in large quantities, I must claim the

reader's patience in going into this subject rather fully.

Let us take the matter as it stands.

The reader will remember that I mentioned at an early part of these pages that gold was first discovered in

Ceylon by the diggers in the bed of a stream near Kandy  that they subsequently came to Newera Ellia, and

there discovered gold likewise.

It must be remembered that the main features of the country at Newera Ellia and the vicinity are broad flats or

swampy plains, surrounded by hills and mountains: the former covered with rank grass and intersected by

small streams, the latter covered with dense forest. The soil abounds with rocks of gneiss and quartz, some of

the latter rosecolor, some pure white. The gold has hitherto been found in the plains only. These plains

extend over some thirty miles of country, divided into numerous patches by intervening jungles.

The surface soil is of a peaty nature, perfectly black, soapy when wet, and as light as soot when dry;

worthless for cultivation. This top soil is about eighteen inches thick, and appears to have been the remains of


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vegetable matter washed down from the surrounding hills and forests.

This swampy black soil rests upon a thin stratum of brownish clay, not more than a few inches thick, which,

forming a second layer, rests in its turn upon a snow white rounded quartz gravel intermixed with white

pipeclay.

This contains gold, every shovelful of earth producing, when washed, one or more specks of the precious

metal.

The stratum of rounded quartz is about two feet thick, and is succeeded by pipeclay, intermixed with quartz

gravel, to a depth of eighteen feet. Here another stratum of quartz gravel is met with, perfectly waterworn

and rounded to the size of a twelvepound shot.

In this stratum the gold was of increased size, and some pieces were discovered as large as small grains of

rice; but no greater depth was attained at the time Of writing than to this stratum, viz., eighteen feet from the

surface.

No other holes were sunk to a greater depth than ten feet, on account of the influx of water, but similar shafts

were made in various places, and all with equal success.

>From the commencement of the first stratum of quartz throughout to the greatest depth attained gold was

present.

Upon washing away the clay and gravel, a great number of gems of small value remained (chiefly sapphire,

ruby, jacinth and green tourmaline). These being picked out, there remained a jetblack fine sand, resembling

gunpowder. This was of great specific gravity, and when carefully washed, discovered the gold  some in

grains, some in mere specks, and some like fine, golden flour.

At this interesting stage the search has been given up: although the cheering sight of gold can be obtained in

nearly every pan of earth at such trifling depths, and literally in every direction, the prospect is abandoned.

The government leaves it to private enterprise, but the enterprising public have no faith in the government.

Without being oversanguine, or, on the other side, closing our cars with asinine stubbornness, let us take an

impartial view of the facts determined, and draw rational conclusions.

It appears that from a depth of two and a half feet from the surface to the greatest depth as yet attained

(eighteen feet), gold exists throughout.

It also appears that this is not only the case in one particular spot, but all over this part of the country, and that

this fact is undeniable; and, nevertheless, the government did not believe in the existence of gold in Ceylon

until these diggers discovered it; and when discovered, they gave the diggers neither reward nor

encouragement, but they actually met the discovery by a published prohibition against the search; they then

latterly withdrew the prohibition and left it to private enterprise, but neglected the unfortunate diggers. In this

manner is the colony mismanaged; in this manner is all public spirit damped, all private enterprise checked,

and all men who have anything to venture disgusted.

The liberality of a government must be boundless where the actual subsistence for a few months is refused to

the discoverers of gold in a country where, hitherto, its presence had been denied.

It would be speculative to anticipate the vast changes that in extended discovery would effect in such a

colony as Ceylon. We have before us the two pictures of California and Australia, which have been changed


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as though by the magician's wand within the last few years. It becomes us now simply to consider the

probability of the gold being in such quantities in Ceylon as to effect such changes. We have it present these

simple data  that in a soft, swampy soil gold has been found close to the surface in small specks, gradually

increasing in size and quantity as a greater depth has been attained.

>From the fact that gold will naturally lie deep, from its specific gravity, it is astonishing that any vestige of

such a metal should be discovered in such soil so close to the surface. Still more astonishing that it should be

so generally disseminated throughout the locality. This would naturally be accepted as a proof that the soil is

rich in gold. But the question will then arise, Where is the gold? The quantities found are a mere nothing  it

is only dust: we want "nuggets."

The latter is positively the expression that I myself frequently heard in Ceylon  "We want nuggets."

Who does not want nuggets? But people speak of "nuggets" as they would of pebbles, forgetting that the very

principle which keeps the light dust at the surface has forced the heavier gold to a greater depth, and that far

from complaining of the lack of nuggets when digging has hardly commenced, they should gaze with wonder

at the bare existence of the gold in its present form and situation.

The diggings at Ballarat are from a hundred to an hundred and sixty feet deep in hard ground, and yet people

in Ceylon expect to find heavy gold in mere mud, close to the surface. The idea is preposterous, and I

conceive it only reasonable to infer from the present appearances that gold does exist in large quantities in

Ceylon. But as it is reasonable to suppose such to be the case, so it is unreasonable to suppose that private

individuals will invest capital in so uncertain a speculation as mining without facilities from the government,

and in the very face of the clause in their own titledeeds "that all precious metals belong to the crown."

This is the anomalous position of the gold in Ceylon under the governorship of Sir G. Anderson.

Nevertheless, it becomes a question whether we should blame the man or the system, but the question arises

in this case, as with everything else in which government is concerned, "Where is the fault?" "Echo answers

'Where?'" But the public are not satisfied with echoes, and in this matteroffact age people look to those

who fill ostensible posts and draw bona fide salaries; and if these men hold the appointments, no matter under

what system, they become the deserved objects of either praise or censure.

Thus it may appear too much to say that Sir G. Anderson is liable for the mismanagement of the colony in

toto for the total neglect of the public roads. It may appear too much to say, When you came to the colony

you found the roads in good order: they are now impassable; communication is actually cut off from places of

importance. This is your fault, these are the fruits of your imbecility; your answer to our petitions for repairs

was, "There is no money;" and yet at the close of the year you proclaimed and boasted of a saving of

twentyseven thousand pounds in the treasury! This seems a fearful contradiction; and the whole public

received it as such. The governor may complain that the public expect too much; the public may complain

that the governor does too little.

Upon these satisfactory terms, governors and their dependants bow each other out, the colony being a kind of

opera stall, a reserved seat for the governor during the performance of five acts (as we will term his five years

of office); and the fifth act, as usual in tragedies, exposes the whole plot of the preceding four, and winds up

with the customary disasters.

Now the question is, how long this age of misrule will last.

Every one complains, and still every one endures. Each man has a grievance, but no man has a remedy. Still,

the absurdity of our colonial appointments is such that if steps were purposely taken to ensure the destruction


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of the colonies, they could not have been more certain.

We will commence with a new governor dealt out to a colony. We will simply call him a governor, not

troubling ourselves with his qualifications, as of course they have not been considered at the Colonial Office.

He may be an upright, clearheaded, indefatigable man, in the prime of life, or he may be old, crotchety,

pigheaded, and mentally and physically incapable. He may be either; it does not much matter, as he can only

remain for five years, at which time his term expires.

We will suppose that the crotchety old gentleman arrives first. The public will be in a delightful perplexity as

to what the new governor will do  whether he will carry out the views of his predecessor, or whether he will

upset everything that has been done in the past five years; all is uncertainty. The only thing known positively

is, that, good or bad, he will pocket seven thousand a year!* *[since reduced to five thousand pounds].

His term of government will be chequered by many disappointments to the public, and, if he has any feeling

at all, by many heartburnings to himself. Physically incapable of much exertion, he will be unable to travel

over so wild a country as Ceylon. A good governor in a little island may be a very bad governor in a large

island, as a good cabdriver might make a bad fourin hand man; thus our old governor would have no

practical knowledge of the country, but would depend upon prejudiced accounts for his information. Thus he

would never arrive at any correct information; he would receive all testimony with doubt, considering that

each had some personal motive in offering advice, and one tongue would thus nullify the other until he

should at length come to the conclusion of David in his haste, "that all men are liars," and turn a deaf ear to

all. This would enable him to pass the rest of his term without any active blunders, and he might vary the

passive monotony of his existence by a system of contradiction to all advice gratis. A little careful pruning of

expenses during the last two years of his term might give a semblance of increase o£ revenue over

expenditure, to gain a smile from the Colonial Office. On his return the colony would be left with neglected

roads, consequent upon the withdrawal of the necessary funds.

This incubus at length removed from the colony, may be succeeded by a governor of the first class.

He arrives; finds everything radically wrong; the great arteries of the country (the roads) in disorder; a large

outlay required to repair them. Thus his first necessary act begins by an outlay at a time when all outlay is

considered equivalent to crime. This gains him a frown from the Colonial Office. Conscious of right,

however, he steers his own course; he travels over the whole country, views its features personally, judges of

its requirements and resources, gathers advice from capable persons, forms his own opinion, and acts

accordingly.

We will allow two years of indefatigable research to have passed over our model governor; by that time, and

not before, he may have become thoroughly conversant with the colony in all its bearings. He has

comprehended the vast natural capabilities, he has formed his plans methodically for the improvement of the

country; not by any rash and speculative outlay, but, step by step, he hopes to secure the advancement of his

schemes.

This is a work of time; he has much to do. The country is in an uncivilized state; he sees the vestiges of past

grandeur around him, and his views embrace a wide field for the renewal of former prosperity. Tanks must be

repaired, canals reopened, emigration of Chinese and Malabars encouraged, forests and jungles cleared,

barren land brought into fertility. The work of years is before him, but the expiration of his term draws near.

Time is precious, but nevertheless he must refer his schemes to the Colonial Office. What do they know of

Ceylon? To them his plans seem visionary; at all events they will require an outlay. A correspondence ensues

that hateful correspondence! This ensures delay. Time flies; the expiration of his term draws near. Even his

sanguine temperament has ceased to hope; his plans are not even commenced, to work out which would

require years; he never could see them realized, and his successor might neglect them and lay the onus of the


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failure upon him, the originator, or claim the merit of their success.

So much for a five years' term of governorship, the absurdity of which is superlative. It is so entirely contrary

to the system of management in private affairs that it is difficult to imagine the cause that could have given

rise to such a regulation. In matters great or small, the capability of the manager is the first consideration; and

if this be proved, the value of the man is enhanced accordingly; no employer would lose him.

But in colonial governments the system is directly opposite, for no sooner does the governor become

competent than he is withdrawn and transferred to another sphere. Thus every colony is like a farm held on a

short lease, which effectually debars it from improvement, as the same feeling which actuates the individual

in neglecting the future, because he will not personally enjoy the fruits of his labor, must in some degree

fetter the enterprise of a five years' governor. He is little better than the Lord Mayor, who flutters proudly for

a year, and then drops his borrowed feathers in his moulting season.

Why should not governors serve an apprenticeship for five years as colonial secretaries to the colonies they

are destined for, if five years is still to be the limited term of their office? This would ensure a knowledge of

the colony at a secretary's salary, and render them fit for both the office and salary of governor when called

upon; whereas, by the present system, they at once receive a governor's salary before they understand their

duties.

In casually regarding the present picture of Ceylon, it is hard to say which point has been most neglected; but

a short residence in the island will afford a fair sample of government inactivity in the want of education

among the people.

Upon this subject more might be said than lies in my province to dwell upon; nevertheless, after fifty years'

possession of the Kandian districts, this want is so glaring that I cannot withhold a few remarks upon the

subject, as I consider the ignorant state of the native population a complete check to the advancement of the

colony.

In commencing this subject, I must assume that the conquerors of territory are responsible for the moral

welfare of the inhabitants; therefore our responsibility increases with our conquests. A mighty onus thus rests

upon Great Britain, which few consider when they glory in the boast, "that the sun never sets upon her

dominions."

This thought leads us to a comparison of power between ourselves and other countries, and we trace the small

spot upon the world's map which marks our little island, and in every sphere we gaze with wonder at our vast

possessions. This is a picture of the present. What will the future be in these days of advancement? It were

vain to hazard a conjecture; but we can look back upon the past, and build upon this foundation our future

hopes.

When the pomps and luxuries of Eastern cities spread throughout Ceylon, and millions of inhabitants fed on

her fertility, when the hands of her artists chiseled the figures of her gods from the rude rock, when her

vessels, laden with ivory and spices, traded with the West, what were we? A forestcovered country, peopled

by a fierce race of savages clad in skins, bowing before druidical idolatry, paddling along our shores in

frames of wickerwork and hide.

The ancient deities of Ceylon are in the same spots, unchanged; the stones of the Druids stand unmoved; but

what has become of the nations? Those of the East have faded away and their strength has perished. Their

ships are crumbled; the rude canoe glides over their waves; the spices grow wild in their jungles; and,

unshorn and unclad, the inhabitants wander on the face of the land.


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Is it "chance" that has worked this change? Where is the forestcovered country and its savage race, its

skinclad warriors and their frail coracles?

There, where the forest stood, from north to south and from east to west, spreads a wide field of rich fertility.

There, on those rivers where the basketboats once sailed, rise the taut spars of England's navy. Where the

rude hamlet rested on its banks in rural solitude, the neverweary din of commerce rolls through the city of

the world. The locomotive rushes like a thunderclap upon the rail; the steamer ploughs against the adverse

wind, and, rapid as the lightning, the telegraph cripples time. The once savage land is the nucleus of the arts

and civilization. The nation that from time to time was oppressed, invaded, conquered, but never subjected,

still pressed against the weight of adversity, and, as age after age rolled on, and mightier woes and civil strife

gathered upon her, still the germ of her destiny, as it expanded, threw off her load, until she at length became

a nation envied and feared.

It was then that the powers of the world were armed against her, and all Europe joined to tear the laurels from

her crown, and fleets and armies thronged from all points against the devoted land, and her old enemy, the

Gaul, hovered like his own eagle over the expected prey.

The thunder of the cannon shook the world, and blood tinged the waves around the land, and war and tumult

shrieked like a tempest over the fair face of Nature; the din of battle smothered all sounds of peace, and years

passed on and thicker grew the gloom. It was then the innate might of the old Briton roused itself to action

and strained those giant nerves which brought us victory. The struggle was past, and as the smoke of battle

cleared from the surface of the world, the flag of England waved in triumph on the ocean, her fleets sat

swanlike on the waves, her standard floated on the strongholds of the universe, and far and wide stretched

the vast boundaries of her conquests.

Again I ask, is this the effect of "chance?" or is it the mighty will of Omnipotence, which, choosing his

instruments from the humbler ranks, has snatched England from her lowly state, and has exalted her to be the

apostle of Christianity throughout the world?

Here lies her responsibility. The conquered nations are in her hands; they have been subject to her for half a

century, but they know neither her language nor her religion.

How many millions of human beings of all creeds and colors does she control? Are they or their descendants

to embrace our faith?  that is, I are we the divine instrument for accomplishing the vast change that we

expect by the universal acknowledgement of Christianity? or are we  I pause before the suggestion  are we

but another of those examples of human insignificance, that, as from dust we rose, so to dust we shall return?

shall we be but another in the long list of nations whose ruins rest upon the solitudes of Nature, like warnings

to the proud cities which triumph in their strength? Shall the traveler in future ages place his foot upon the

barren sod and exclaim, "Here stood their great city!"

The inhabitants of Nineveh would have scoffed at such a supposition. And yet they fell, and yet the desert

sand shrouded their cities as the autumn leaves fall on the faded flowers of summer.

To a fatalist it can matter but little whether a nation fulfills its duty, or whether, by neglecting it, punishment

should be drawn down upon its head. According to his theory, neither good nor evil acts would alter a

predestined course of events. There are apparently fatalist governments as well as individuals, which,

absorbed in the fancied prosperity of the present, legislate for temporal advantages only.

Thus we see the most inconsistent and anomalous conditions imposed in treaties with conquered powers; we

see, for instance, in Ceylon, a protection granted to the Buddhist religion, while flocks of missionaries are

sent out to convert the heathen. We even stretch the point so far as to place a British sentinel on guard at the


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Buddhist temple in Kandy, as though in mockery of our Protestant church a hundred paces distant.

At the same time that we acknowledge and protect the Buddhist religion, we pray that Christianity shall

spread through the whole world; and we appoint bishops to our colonies at the same time we neglect the

education of the inhabitants.

When I say we neglect the education I do not mean to infer that there are no government schools, but that the

education of the people, instead of being one of the most important objects of the government, is considered

of so little moment that it is tantamount to neglected.

There are various opinions as to the amount of learning which constitutes education, and at some of the

government schools the native children are crammed with useless nonsense, which, by raising them above

their natural position, totally unfits them for their proper sphere. This is what the government calls education;

and the same time and expense thus employed in teaching a few would educate treble the number in plain

English. It is too absurd to hear the arguments in favor of mathematics, geography, etc., etc., for the native

children, when a large proportion of our own population in Great Britain can neither read nor write.

The great desideratum in native education is a thorough knowledge of the English tongue, which naturally is

the first stone for any superstructure of more extended learning. This brings them within the reach of the

missionary, not only in conversation, but it enables them to benefit by books, which are otherwise useless. It

lessens the distance between the white man and the black, and an acquaintance with the English language

engenders a taste for English habits. The first dawn of civilization commences with a knowledge of our

language. The native immediately adopts some English customs and ideas, and drops a corresponding

number of his own. In fact, he is a soil fit to work up on, instead of being a barren rock as hitherto, firm in his

own ignorance and prejudices.

In the education of the rising native generation lies the hope of ultimate conversion. You may as well try to

turn pitch into snow as to eradicate the dark stain of heathenism from the present race. Nothing can be done

with them; they must be abandoned like the barren figtree, and the more attention bestowed upon the young

shoots.

But, unfortunately, this is a popular error, and, like all such, one full of prejudice. Abandon the present race!

Methinks I hear the cry from Exeter Hall. But the good people at home have no idea to what an extent they

are at present, and always have been, abandoned. Where the children who can be educated with success are

neglected at the present day, it may be imagined that the parents have been but little cared for; thus, in

advocating their abandonment, it is simply proposing an extra amount of attention to be bestowed upon the

next generation.

There are many large districts of Ceylon where no schools of any kind are established. In the Ouva country,

which is one of the most populous, I have had applications from the natives, begging me to interest myself in

obtaining some arrangement of the kind. Throngs of natives applied, describing the forlorn condition of their

district, all being not only anxious to send their children to some place where they could learn free of

expense, but offering to pay a weekly stipend in return. "They are growing up as ignorant as our young

buffaloes," was a remark made by one of the headmen of the villages, and this within twelve miles of Newera

Ellia.

Now, leaving out the question of policy in endeavoring to make the language of our own country the common

tongue of a conquered colony, it must be admitted that, simply as a question of duty, it is incumbent upon the

government to do all in its power for the moral advancement of the native population. It is known that the

knowledge of our language is the first step necessary to this advancement, and nevertheless it is left undone;

the population is therefore neglected.


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I have already adverted to the useless system in the government schools of forcing a superabundant amount

of knowledge into the children's brains, and thereby raising them above their position. A contrasting example

of good commonsense education has recently been given by the Rev. Mr. Thurston (who is indefatigable in

his profession) in the formulation of an industrial school at Colombo.

This is precisely the kind of education which is required; and it has already been attended with results most

beneficial on its limited scale.

This school is conducted on the principle that the time of every boy shall not only be of service to himself,

but shall likewise tend to the support of the establishment. The children are accordingly instructed in such

pursuits as shall be the means of earning a livelihood in future years: some are taught a trade, others are

employed in the cultivation of gardens, and subsequently in the preparation of a variety of produce. Among

others, the preparation of tapioca from the root of the manioc has recently been attended with great success.

In fact, they are engaged during their leisure hours in a variety of experiments, all of which tend to an

industrial turn of mind, benefiting not only the lad and the school, but also the government, by preparing for

the future men who will be serviceable and industrious in their station.

Here is a lesson for the government which, if carried out on an extensive scale, would work a greater change

in the colony within the next twenty years than all the preaching of the last fifty.

Throughout Ceylon, in every district, there should be established one school upon this principle for every

hundred boys, and a small tract of land granted to each. One should be attached to the botanical gardens at

Peredenia, and instruction should be given to enable every school to perform its own experiments in

agriculture. By this means, in the course of a few years we should secure an educated and useful population,

in lieu of the present indolent and degraded race: an improved system of cultivation, new products, a variety

of trades, and, in fact, a test of the capabilities of the country would be ensured, without risk to the

government, and to the ultimate prosperity of the colony. Heathenism could not exist in such a state of

affairs; it would die out. Minds exalted by education upon such a system would look with ridicule upon the

vestiges of former idolatry, and the rocky idols would remain without a worshiper, while a new generation

flocked to the Christian altar.

This is no visionary prospect. It has been satisfactorily proved that the road to conversion to Christianity is

through knowledge, and this once attained, heathenism shrinks into the background. This knowledge can only

be gained by the young when such schools are established as I have described.

Our missionaries should therefore devote their attention to this object, and cease to war against the

impossibility of adult conversion. If onethird of the enormous sums hitherto expended with little or no

results upon missionary labor had been employed in the establishments as proposed, our colonies would now

possess a Christian population. But are our missionaries capable? Here commences another question, which

again involves others in their turn, all of which, when answered, thoroughly explain the stationary, if not

retrograde, position of the Protestant Church among the heathen.

What is the reader's conceived opinion of the duties and labors of a missionary in a heathen land? Does he, or

does he not imagine, as he pays his subscription toward this object, that the devoted missionary quits his

native shores, like one of the apostles of old, to fight the good fight? that he leaves all to follow "Him?" and

that he wanders forth in his zeal to propagate the gospel, penetrating into remote parts, preaching to the

natives, attending on the sick, living a life of hardship and selfdenial?

It is a considerable drawback to this belief in missionary labor when it is known that the missionaries are not

educated for the particular colonies to which they are sent; upon arrival, they are totally ignorant of the

language of the natives, accordingly, they are perfectly useless for the purpose of "propagating the gospel


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among the heathen." Their mission should be that of instructing the young, and for this purpose they should

first be instructed themselves.

I do not wish to throw a shade upon the efforts of missionary labor; I have no doubt that they use great

exertions privately, which the public on the spot do not observe; but taking this for granted as the case, the

total want of success in the result becomes the more deplorable. I have also no doubt that the missionaries

penetrate into the most remote parts of Ceylon and preach the gospel. For many years I have traversed the

wildernesses of Ceylon at all hours and at all seasons. I have met many strange things during my journeys,

but I never recollect having met a missionary. The bishop of Colombo is the only man I know who travels out

of the high road for this purpose; and he, both in this and many other respects, offers an example which few

appear to follow.

Nevertheless, although Protestant missionaries are so rare in the jungles of the interior, and, if ever there, no

vestige ever remains of such a visit, still, in spots where it might be least expected, may be seen the humble

mud hut, surmounted by a cross, the certain trace of some persevering priest of the Roman faith. These men

display an untiring zeal, and no point is too remote for their good offices. Probably they are not so

comfortable in their quarters in the towns as the Protestant missionaries, and thus they have less hesitation in

leaving home.

The few converts that have been made are chiefly Roman Catholics, as among the confusion arising from our

multitudinous sects and schisms the native is naturally bewildered. What with High Church, Low Church,

Baptists, Wesleyans, Presbyterians, etc., etc., etc., the ignorant native is perfectly aghast at the variety of

choice.

With the members of our Church in such a dislocated state, progression cannot be expected by simple

attempts at conversion; even were the natives willing to embrace the true faith, they would have great

difficulty in finding it amidst the crowd of adverse opinions. Without probing more deeply into these social

wounds, I must take leave of the missionary labors in Ceylon, trusting that ere long the eyes of the

government will be fixed upon the true light to guide the prosperity of the island by framing an ordinance for

the liberal education of the people.

CHAPTER XII. The Pearl Fishery  Desolation of the Coast  Harbor of Trincomalee  Fatal Attack by a

Shark  Ferocious Crocodiles  Salt Monopoly  Salt Lakes  Method of Collection  Neglect of Ceylon

Hides  Fish and Fishing  Primitive Tackle  Oysters and Penknives  A Night Bivouac for a Novice 

No Dinner, but a Good Fire  Wild Yams and Consequences The Elephants' Duel  A Hunting

Hermitage  Bluebeard's last Hunt  The Leopard  Bluebeard's Death  Leopard Shot.

While fresh from the subject of government mismanagement, let us turn our eyes in the direction of one of

those natural resources of wealth for which Ceylon has ever been renowned  the "pearl fishery." This was

the goose which laid the golden egg, and Sir W. Horton, when governor of Ceylon, was the man who killed

the goose.

Here was another fatal instance of the effects of a five years' term of governorship.

It was the last year of his term, and he wished to prove to the Colonial Office that "his talent" had not been

laid up in a napkin, but that he bad left the colony with an excess of income over expenditure. To obtain this

income he fished up all the oysters, ruined the fishery in consequence; and from that day to the present time it

has been unproductive.

This is a serious loss of income to the colony, and great doubts are entertained as to the probability, of the

oysterbanks ever recovering their fertility.


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Nothing can exceed the desolation of the coast in the neighborhood of the pearlbanks. For many miles the

shore is a barren waste of low sandy ground, covered for the most part with scrubby, thorny jungle,

diversified by glades of stunted herbage. Not a hill is to be seen as far as the eye can reach. The tracks of all

kind of game abound on the sandy path, with occasionally those of a naked foot, but seldom does a shoe

imprint its civilized mark upon these lonely shores.

The whole of this district is one of the best in Ceylon for deershooting, which is a proof of its want of

inhabitants. This has always been the case, even in the prosperous days of the pearl fishery. So utterly

worthless is the soil, that it remains in a state of nature, and its distance from Colombo (one hundred and fifty

miles) keeps it in entire seclusion.

It is a difficult to conceive that any source of wealth should exist in such a locality. When standing on the

parched sand, with the burning sun shining in pitiless might upon all around, the meagre grass burnt to a mere

straw, the tangled bushes denuded of all verdure save a few shriveled leaves, the very insects seeking shelter

from the rays, there is not a tree to throw a shadow, but a dancing haze of molten air hovers upon the ground,

and the sea like a mirror reflects a glare, which makes the heat intolerable. And yet beneath the wave on this

wild and desolate spot glitter those baubles that minister to man's vanity; and, as though in mockery of such

pursuits, I have seen the bleached skulls of bygone pearlseekers lying upon the sand, where they have rotted

in view of the coveted treasures.

There is an appearance of ruin connected with everything in the neighborhood. Even in the good old times

this coast was simply visited during the period for fishing. Temporary huts were erected for thousands of

natives, who thronged to Ceylon from all parts of the East for the fascinating speculations of the pearl fishery.

No sooner was the season over than every individual disappeared; the wind swept away the huts of sticks and

leaves; and the only vestiges remaining of the recent population were the government stores and house at

Arripo, like the bones of the carcase after the vultures had feasted and departed. All relapsed at once into its

usual state of desolation.

The government house was at one time a building of some little pretension, and from its style it bore the

name of the "Doric." It is now, like everything else, in a state of lamentable decay. The honeycombed

eighteen pounder, which was the signal gun of former years, is choked with drifting sand, and the air of

misery about the place is indescribable.

Now that the diving helmet has rendered subaqueous discoveries, so easy, I am surprised that a government

survey has not been made of the whole northwest coast of Ceylon. It seems reasonable to suppose that the

pearl oyster should inhabit depths which excluded the simple diver of former days, and that our modern

improvements might discover treasures in the neighborhood of the old pearlbeds of which we are now in

ignorance. The best divers, without doubt, could never much exceed a minute in submersion. I believe the

accounts of their performances generally to have been much exaggerated. At all events, those of the present

day do not profess to remain under water much more than a minute.

The accounts of Ceylon pearl fisheries are so common in every child's book that I do not attempt to describe

the system in detail. Like all lotteries, there are few prizes to the proportion of blanks.

The whole of this coast is rich in the biche de mer more commonly called the seaslug. This is a disgusting

species of mollusca, which grows to a large size, being commonly about a foot in length and three or four

inches in diameter. The capture and preparation of these creatures is confined exclusively to the Chinese, who

dry them in the sun until they shrink to the size of a large sausage and harden to the consistency of horn; they

are then exported to China for making soups. No doubt they are more strengthening than agreeable; but I

imagine that our common garden slug would be an excellent substitute to any one desirous of an experiment,

as it exactly resembles its nautical representative in color and appearance. Trincomalee is the great depot for


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this trade, which is carried on to a large extent, together with that of sharks' fins, the latter being used by the

Chinese for the same purpose as the biche de mer. Trincomalee affords many facilities for this trade, as the

slugs are found in large quantities on the spot, and the finest harbor of the East is alive with sharks. Few

things surpass the tropical beauty of this harbor; lying completely landlocked, it seems like a glassy lake

surrounded by hills covered with the waving foliage of groves of cocoanut trees and palms of great variety.

The white bungalows with their redtiled roofs, are dotted about along the shore, and two or three

menofwar are usually resting at their ease in this calm retreat. So deep is the water that the harbor forms a

perfect dock, as the largest vessel can lie so close to the shore that her yards overhang it, which enables stores

and cargo to be shipped with great facility.

The fort stands upon a projecting point of land, which rises to about seventy feet above the level of the galle

face (the racecourse) which faces it. Thus it commands the land approach across this flat plain on one side

and the sea on the other. This same fort is one of the hottest corners of Ceylon, and forms a desirable

residence for those who delight in a temperature of from 90 degrees to 140 degrees in the shade. Bathing is

the great enjoyment, but the pleasure in such a country is destroyed by the knowledge that sharks are looking

out for you in the sea, and crocodiles in the rivers and tanks; thus a man is nothing more than an exciting

livebait when he once quits terra firma. Accidents necessarily must happen, but they are not so frequent as

persons would suppose from the great number of carnivorous monsters that exist. Still, I am convinced that a

white man would run greater risk than a black; he is a more enticing bait, being bright and easily

distinguished in the water. Thus in places where the natives are in the habit of bathing with impunity it would

be most dangerous for a white man to enter.

There was a lamentable instance of this some few years ago at Trincomalee. In a sheltered nook among the

rocks below the fort, where the natives were always in the habit of bathing, a party of soldiers of the regiment

then in garrison went down one sultry afternoon for a swim. It was a lovely spot for bathing; the water was

blue, clear and calm, as the reef that stretched far out to sea served as a breakwater to the heavy surf, and

preserved the inner water as smooth as a lake. Here were a fine lot of English soldiers stripped to bathe; and

although the ruddy hue of British health had long since departed in the languid climate of the East,

nevertheless their spirits were as high as those of Englishmen usually are, no matter where or under what

circumstances. However, one after the other took a run, and then a "header" off the rocks into the deep blue

water beneath. In the long line of bathers was a fine lad of fifteen, the son of one of the sergeants of the

regiment; and with the emulation of his age he ranked himself among the men, and on arriving at the edge he

plunged headforemost into the water and disappeared. A crowd of men were on the margin watching the

bathing; the boy rose to the surface within a few feet of them, but as he shook the water from his hair, a

cloudy shadow seemed to rise from the deep beneath him, and in another moment the distinct outline of a

large shark was visible as his white belly flashed below. At the same instant there was a scream of despair;

the water was crimsoned, and a bloody foam rose to the surface  the boy was gone! Before the first shock of

horror was well felt by those around, a gallant fellow of the same regiment shot head first into the bloody

spot, and presently reappeared from his devoted plunge, bearing in his arms onehalf of the poor boy. The

body was bitten off at the waist, and the lower portion was the prize of the ground shark.

For several days the soldiers were busily employed in fishing for this monster, while the distracted mother sat

in the burning sun, watching in heartbroken eagerness, in the hope of recovering some trace of her lost son.

This, however, was not to be; the shark was never seen again.

There is as much difference in the characters of sharks as among other animals or men. Some are timid and

sluggish, moving as though too lazy to seek their food; and there is little doubt that such would never attack

man. Others, on the contrary, dash through the water as a pike would seize its prey, and refuse or fear

nothing. There is likewise a striking distinction in the habits of crocodiles; those that inhabit rivers being far

more destructive and fearless than those that infest the tanks. The natives hold the former in great terror,

while with the latter they run risks which are sometimes fatal. I recollect a large river in the southeast of


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Ceylon, which so abounds with ferocious crocodiles that the natives would not enter the water in depths

above the knees, and even this they objected to, unless necessity compelled them to cross the river. I was

encamped on the banks for some little time, and the natives took the trouble to warn me especially not to

enter; and, as proof of the danger, they showed me a spot where three men had been devoured in the course of

one year, all three of whom are supposed to have ministered to the appetite of the same crocodile.

Few reptiles are more disgusting in appearance than these brutes; but, nevertheless, their utility

counterbalances their bad qualities, as they cleanse the water from all impurities. So numerous are they that

their heads may be seen in fives and tens together, floating at the top of the water like rough corks; and at

about five P.M. they bask on the shore close to the margin of the shore ready to scuttle in on the shortest

notice. They are then particularly on the alert, and it is a most difficult thing to stalk them, so as to get near

enouogh to make a certain shot. This is not bad amusement when no other sport can be had. Around the

margin of a lake, in a large plain far in the distance, may be seen a distinct line upon the short grass like the

fallen trunk of a tree. As there are no trees at hand, this must necessarily be a crocodile. Seldom can the best

hand at stalking then get within eighty yards of him before he lifts his scaly head, and, listening for a second,

plunges off the bank.

I have been contradicted in stating that a ball will penetrate their scales. It is absurd, however, to hold the

opinion that the scales will turn a ball  that is to say, stop the ball (as we know that a common twig will of

course turn it from its direction, if struck obliquely).

The scales of a crocodile are formed of bone exquisitely jointed together like the sections of a skull; these are

covered externally with a horny skin, forming, no doubt, an excellent defensive armor, about an inch in

thickness; but the idea of their being impenetrable to a ball, if struck fair, is a great fallacy. People may

perhaps complain because a pea rifle with a mere pinch of powder may be inefficient, but a common No. 16

fowlingpiece, with two drachms of powder, will penetrate any crocodile that was ever hatched.

Among the most harmless kinds are those which inhabit the salt lakes in the south of Ceylon. I have never

beard of an accident in these places, although hundreds of persons are employed annually in collecting salt

from the bottom.

These natural reservoirs are of great extent, some of them being many miles in circumference. Those most

productive are about four miles round, and yield a supply in August, during the height of the dry season.

Salt in Ceylon is a government monopoly; and it has hitherto been the narrow policy of the government to

keep up an immense price upon this necessary of life, when the resources of the country could produce any

amount required for the island consumption.

These are now all but neglected, and the government simply gathers the salt as the wild pig feeds upon the

fruit which falls from the tree in its season.

The government price of salt is now about three shillings per bushel. This is very impure, being mixed with

much dirt and sand. The revenue obtained by the salt monopoly is about forty thousand pounds per annum,

twothirds of which is an unfair burden upon the population, as the price, according to the supply obtainable,

should never exceed one shilling per bushel.

Let us consider the capabilities of the locality from which it is collected.

The lakes are some five or six in number, situated within half a mile of the sea, separated only by a high bank

of drift sand, covered for the most part with the low jungle which clothes the surrounding country. Flat plains

of a sandy nature form the margins of the lakes. The little town of Hambantotte, with a good harbor for small


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craft, is about twenty miles distant, to which there is a good cart road.

The water of these lakes is a perfect brine. In the dry season the evaporation, of course, increases the strength

until the water can no longer retain the amount of salt in solution it therefore precipitates and crystalizes at

the bottom in various degrees of thickness, according to the strength of the brine.

Thus, as the water recedes from the banks by evaporation and the lake decreases in size, it leaves a beach, not

of shingles, but of pure salt in crystallized cubes, to the depth of several inches, and sometimes to half a foot

or more. The bottom of the lake is equally coated with this thick deposit.

These lakes are protected by watchers, who live upon the margin throughout the year. Were it not for this

precaution, immense quantities of salt would be stolen. In the month of August the weather is generally most

favorable for the collection, at which time the assistant agent for the district usually gives a few days'

superintendence.

The salt upon the shore being first collected, the natives wade into the lake and gather the deposit from the

bottom, which they bring to the shore in baskets; it is then made up into vast piles, which are subsequently

thatched over with cajans (the plaited leaf of the cocoanut). In this state it remains until an opportunity offers

for carting it to the government salt stores.

This must strike the reader as being a rude method of collecting what Nature so liberally produces. The waste

is necessarily enormous, as the natives cannot gather the salt at a greater depth than three feet; hence the

greater proportion of the annual produce of the lake remains ungathered. The supply at present afforded

might be trebled with very little trouble or expense.

If a stick is inserted in the mud, so that one end stands above water, the salt crystallizes upon it in a large

lump of several pounds' weight. This is of a better quality than that which is gathered from the bottom, being

free from sand or other impurities. Innumerable samples of this may be seen upon the stakes which the

natives have stuck in the bottom to mark the line of their day's work. These, not being removed, amass a

collection of salt as described.

Were the government anxious to increase the produce of these natural reservoirs, nothing could be more

simple than to plant the whole lake with rows of stakes. The wood is on the spot, and the rate of labor

sixpence a day per man; thus it might be accomplished for a comparatively small amount.

This would not only increase the produce to an immense degree, but it would also improve the purity of the

collection, and would render facilities for gathering the crop by means of boats, and thus obviate the necessity

of entering the water; at present the suffering caused by the latter process is a great drawback to the supply of

labor. So powerful is the brine that the legs and feet become excoriated after two or three days' employment,

and the natives have accordingly a great aversion to the occupation.

Nothing could be easier than gathering the crop by the method proposed. Boats would paddle along between

the rows of stakes, while each stick would be pulled up and the salt disengaged by a single blow; the stick

would then be replaced n its position until the following season.

Nevertheless, although so many specimens exist of this accumulation, the method which was adopted by the

savage is still followed by the soidisant civilized man.

In former days, when millions occupied Ceylon, the demand for salt must doubtless have been in proportion,

and the lakes which are now so neglected must have been taxed to their utmost resources. There can be little

doubt that the barbarians of those times had some more civilized method of increasing the production than the


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enlightened race of the present day.

The productive salt lakes are confined entirely to the south of Ceylon. Lakes and estuaries of seawater

abound all round the island, but these are only commonly salt, and do not yield. The north and the east coasts

are therefore supplied by artificial saltpans. These are simple enclosed levels on the beach, into which the

seawater is admitted, and then allowed to evaporate by the heat of the sun. The salt of course remains at the

bottom. More water is then admitted, and again evaporated; and this process continues until the thickness of

the salt at the bottom allows of its being collected.

This simple plan might be adopted with great success with the powerful brine of the salt lakes, which might

be pumped from its present lower level into dry reservoirs for evaporation.

The policy of the government, however, does not tend to the increase of any production. It is preferred to

keep up the high rate of salt by a limited supply, which meets with immediate demand, rather than to increase

the supply for the public benefit at a reduced rate. This is a mistaken mode of reasoning. At the present high

price the consumption of salt is extremely small, is its rise is restricted to absolute necessaries. On the other

hand, were the supply increased at one half the present rate, the consumption would augment in a far greater

proportion, as salt would then be used for a variety of purposes which at the present cost is impossible, viz.

For the purpose of cattlefeeding, manures, etc., etc. In addition to this, it would vastly affect the price of salt

fish (the staple article of native consumption), and by the reduction in cost of this commodity there would be

a corresponding extension in the trade.

The hundreds of thousands of hides which are now thrown aside to rot uncared for would then be preserved

and exported, which at the present rate of salt is impossible. The skins of buffaloes, oxen, deer, swine, all

valuable in other parts of the world, in Ceylon are valueless. The wild buffalo is not even skinned when shot;

he is simply opened for his marrowbones, his tail is cut off for soup, his brains taken out for cotelettes, and

his tongue salted. The beast himself, hide and all, is left as food for the jackal. The wandering native picks up

his horns, which find their way to the English market; but the "hide," the only really valuable portion, is

neglected.

Within a short distance of the salt lakes, buffaloes, boars, and in fact all kind of animals abound, and I have

no doubt that if it were once proved to the natives that the hides could be made remunerative, they would

soon learn the method of preparation.

Some persons have an idea that a native will not take the trouble to do anything that would turn a penny; in

this I do not agree. Certainly a native has not sufficient courage for a speculation which involves the risk of

loss; but provided he is safe in that respect, he will take unbounded trouble for his own benefit, not valuing

his time or labor in pursuit of his object.

I have noticed a great change in the native habits along the southern coast which exemplifies this, since the

steamers have touched regularly at Galle.

Some years ago, elephants, buffaloes, etc., when shot by sportsmen, remained untouched except by wild

beast; but now within one hundred and fifty miles of Galle every buffalo horn is collected and even the

elephant's grinders are extracted from the skulls, and brought into market.

An elephant's grinder averages seven pounds in weight, and is not worth more than from a penny to three

halfpence a pound; nevertheless they are now brought to Galle in large quantities to be made into

knifehandles and sundry ornaments, to tempt the passengers of the various steamers. If the native takes this

trouble for so small a recompense, there is every reason to suppose that the hides now wasted would be

brought into market and form a valuable export, were salt at such a rate as would admit of their preparation.


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The whole of the southern coast, especially in the neighborhood of the salt lakes, abounds with fish. These

are at present nearly undisturbed; but I have little doubt that a reduction in the price of salt would soon call

forth the energies of the Moormen, who would establish fisheries in the immediate neighborhood. This would

be of great importance to the interior of the country, as a road has been made within the last few years direct

from this locality to Badulla, distant about eighty miles, and situated in the very heart of the most populous

district of Ceylon. This road, which forms a direct line of communication from the port of Hambantotte to

Newera Ellia, is now much used for the transport of coffee from the Badulla estates, to which a cheap supply

of salt and fish would he a great desideratum.

The native is a clever fellow at fishing. Every little boy of ten years old along the coast is an adept in

throwing the casting net; and I have often watched with amusement the scientific manner in which some of

these little fellows handle a fine fish on a single line; Isaak Walton would have been proud of such pupils.

There is nothing like necessity for sharpening a man's intellect, and the natives of the coast being a class of

ichthyophagi, it may be imagined that they excel in all the methods of capturing their favorite food.

The sea, the rivers, and in fact every pool, teem with fish of excellent quality, from the smallest to the largest

kind, not forgetting the most delicious prawns and crabs. Turtle likewise abound, and are to be caught in great

numbers in their season.

Notwithstanding the immense amount of fish in the various rivers, there is no idea of fishing as a sport among

the European population of Ceylon. This I cannot account for, unless from the fear of fever, which might be

caught with more certainty than fish by standing up to the knees in water under a burning sun. Nevertheless, I

have indulged in this every now and then, when out on a jungle trip, although I have never started from home

with such an intention. Seeing some fine big fellows swimming about in a deep hole is a great temptation,

especially when you know they are grey mullet, and the chef de cuisine is short of the wherewithal for dinner.

This is not infrequently the case during a jungle trip; and the tent being pitched in the shade of a noble forest

on the steep banks of a broad river, thoughts of fishing naturally intrude themselves.

The rivers in the dry season are so exhausted that a simple bed of broad dry sand remains, while a small

stream winds along the bottom, merely a few inches deep, now no more than a few feet in width, now

rippling over a few opposing rocks, while the natural bed extends its dry sand for many yards on either side.

At every bend in the river there is of course a deep hole close to the bank; these holes remain full of water, as

the little stream continues to flow through them; and the water, in its entrance and exit being too shallow for a

large fish, all the finny monsters of the river are compelled to imprison themselves in the depths of these

holes. Here the crocodiles have fine feeding, as they live in the same place.

With a good rod and tackle there would be capital sport in these places, as some of the fish run ten and twelve

pounds weight; but I have never been well provided, and, while staring at the coveted fish from the bank, I

have had no means of catching them, except by the most primitive methods.

Then I have cut a stick for a rod, and made a line with some hairs from my horse's tail, with a pin for a hook,

baited with a shrimp, and the fishing has commenced.

Fish and fruit are the most enjoyable articles of food in a tropical country, and in the former Ceylon is rich.

The seir fish is little inferior to salmon, and were the flesh a similar color, it might sometimes form a

substitute. Soles and whiting remind us of Old England, but a host of bright red, blue, green, yellow, and

extraordinarylooking creatures in the same net dispel all ideas of English fishing.


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Oysters there are likewise in Ceylon; but here, alas I there is a sad falling off in the comparison with our

wellremembered "native." Instead of the neat little shell of the English oyster, the Ceylon species is a

shapeless, twisted, knotty, rockylooking creature, such as a legitimate oyster would be in a fit of spasms or

convulsions. In fact, there is no vestige of the true breed about it, and the want of flavor equals its miserable

exterior.

There are few positions more tantalizing to a hungry man than that of being surrounded b oysters without a

knife. It is an obstinate and perverse wretch that will not accommodate itself to man's appetite, and it requires

a forcible attack to vanquish it; so that every oyster eaten is an individual murder, in which the cold steel has

been plunged into its vitals, and the animal finds itself swallowed before it as quite made up its mind that it

has been opened. But take away the knife, and see how vain is the attempt to force the stronghold. How

utterly useless is the oyster! You may turn it over and over, and look for a weak place, but there is no

admittance; you may knock it with a stone, but the knock will be unanswered. How would you open such a

creature without a knife?

This was one of the many things that had never occurred to me until one day when I found myself with some

three or four friends and a few boatmen on a little island, or rather a rock, about a mile from the shore. This

rock was rich in the spasmodic kind of oyster, large detached masses of which lay just beneath the water in

lumps of some hundredweight each, which had been formed by the oysters clustering and adhering together.

It so happened that our party were unanimous in the love of these creatures, and we accordingly exerted

ourselves to roll out of the water a large mass; which having accomplished, we discovered to our dismay that

nothing but one penknife was possessed among us. This we knew was a useless weapon against such armor;

however, in our endeavors to perform impossibilities, we tickled the oyster and broke the knife. After gazing

for seine time in blank despair at our useless prize, a bright thought struck one of the party, and drawing his

ramrod he began to screw it Into the weakest part of an oyster; this, however, was proof, and the ramrod

broke.

Stupid enough it may appear, but it was full a quarter of an hour before any of us thought of a successful plan

of attack. I noticed a lot of drift timber scattered upon the island, and then the right idea was hit. We gathered

the wood, which was bleached and dry, an we piled it a few feet to windward of the mass of oysters. Striking

a light with a cap and some powder, we lit the pile. It blazed and the wind blew the heat strong upon the

oysters, which accordingly began to squeak and hiss, until one by one they gave up the ghost, and, opening

their shells, exposed their delightfully roasted bodies, which were eaten forthwith.

How very absurd and uninteresting this is! but nevertheless it is one of those trifling incidents which sharpen

the imagination when you depend upon your own resources.

It is astonishing how perfectly helpless some people are if taken from the artificial existence of everyday

life and thrown entirely upon themselves. One man would be in superlative misery while another would enjoy

the responsibility, and delight in the fertility of his own invention in accommodating himself to

circumstances. A person can scarcely credit the unfortunate number of articles necessary for his daily and

nightly comfort, until he is deprived of them. To realize this, lose yourself, good reader, wander off a great

distance from everywhere, and be benighted in a wild country, with nothing but your rifle and huntingknife.

You will then find yourself dinnerless, supperless, houseless, comfortless, sleepless, cold and miserable, if

you do not know how to manage for yourself. You will miss your dinner sadly if you are not accustomed to

fast for twentyfour hours. You will also miss your bed decidedly, and your toothbrush in the morning; but

if, on the other hand, you are of the right stamp, it is astonishing how lightly these little troubles will sit on

you, and how comfortable you will make yourself under the circumstances.

The first thing you will consider is the house. The architectural style will of course depend upon the locality.

If the ground is rocky and hilly, be sure to make a steep pitch in the bank or the side of a rock form a wall, to


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leeward of which you will lie when your mansion is completed by a few sticks simply inclined from the rock

and covered with grass. If the country is flat, you must cut four forked sticks, and erect a villa after this

fashion in skeletonwork, which you then cover with grass.

You will then strew the floor with grass or, small boughs, in lieu of a feather bed, and you will tie up a bundle

of the same material into a sheaf, which will form a capital pillow. If grass and sticks are at hand, this will be

completed thus far in an hour.

Then comes the operation of firemaking, which is by no means easy; and as warmth comes next to food,

and a blaze both scares wild animals and looks cheerful, I advise some attention to be paid to the fire. There

must be a good collection of old fallen logs, if possible, together with some green wood to prevent too rapid a

consumption of fuel. But the fire is not yet made.

First tear off a bit of your shirt and rub it with moistened gunpowder. Wind this in a thick roll round your

ramrod just below the point of the screw, with the rough torn edge uppermost. Into these numerous folds

sprinkle a pinch of gunpowder; then put a cap on the point of the screw, and a slight tap with your

huntingknife explodes it and ignites the linen.

Now, fire in its birth requires nursing like a young baby, or it will leave you in the lurch. A single spark will

perhaps burn your haystacks, but when you want a fire it seldom will burn, out of sheer obstinacy; therefore,

take a wisp of dry grass, into which push the burning linen and give it a rapid, circular motion through the air,

which will generally set it in a blaze.

Then pile gently upon it the smallest and driest sticks, increasing their size as the fire grows till it is all right;

and you will sit down proudly before your own fire, thoroughly confident that you are the first person that

ever made one properly.

There is some comfort in that; and having manufactured your own house and bed, you will lie down snugly

and think of dinner till you fall asleep, and the crowing of the junglecocks will wake you in the morning.

The happiest hours of my life have been passed in this rural solitude. I have started from home with nothing

but a couple of blankets and the hounds, and, with one blanket wrapped round me I have slept beneath a

capital tent formed of the other with two forked sticks and a horizontal pole  the ends of the blanket being

secured by heavy stones, thus

This is a more comfortable berth than it may appear at first sight, especially if one end is stopped up with

boughs. The ridgepole being only two feet and a half high, renders it necessary to crawl in on allfours; but

this lowness of ceiling has its advantages in not catching the wind, and likewise in its warmth. A blanket roof,

well secured and tightly strained, will keep off the heaviest rain for a much longer period than a common

tent; but in thoroughly wet weather any woven roof is more or less uncomfortable.

I recollect a certain bivouac in the Angora patinas for a few days' hunting, when I was suddenly seized with a

botanical fit in a culinary point of view, and I was determined to make the jungle subscribe something toward

the dinner. To my delight, I discovered some plants which, from the appearance of their leaves, I knew were a

species of wild yam; they grew in a ravine on the swampy soil of a sluggish spring, and the ground being

loose, I soon grubbed them up and found a most satisfactory quantity of yams about the size of large potatoes

not bad things for dinner. Accordingly, they were soon transferred to the pot. Elk steaks and an Irish stew,

the latter to be made of elk chops, onions and the prized yams; this was the bill of fare expected. But,

misericordia! what a change cone over the yams when boiled! they turned a beautiful slate color, and looked

like imitations of their former selves in lead.


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Their appearance was uncommonly bad, certainly. There were three of us to feed upon them, viz., Palliser,

my huntsman Benton and myself. No one wishing to be first, it was then, I confess, that the thought just

crossed my mind that Benton should make the experiment, but, repenting at the same moment, I punished

myself by eating a very little one on the spot. Benton, who was blessed with a huge appetite, picked out a big

one. Greedy fellow, to choose the largest! but, n'importe, it brought its punishment.

Palliser and I having eaten carefully, were just beginning to feel uncomfortable, when up jumped Benton,

holding his throat with both hands, crying, "My throat's full of pins. I'm choked." We are poisoned, no doubt

of it," said Palliser, in his turn. "I am choking likewise." "So am I." There we were all three, with our throats

in an extraordinary state of sudden contraction and inflammation, with a burning and pricking sensation, in

addition to a feeling of swelling and stoppage of the windpipe. Having nothing but brandy at hand, we dosed

largely instanter, and in the course of ten minutes we found relief; but Benton, having, eaten his large yam,

was the last to recover.

There must have been highly poisonous qualities in this root, as the quantity eaten was nothing in proportion

to the effects produced. It is well known that many roots are poisonous when raw (especially the manioc),

which become harmless when cooked, as the noxious properties consist of a very volatile oil, which is thrown

off during the process of boiling. These wild yams must necessarily be still worse in their raw state; and it

struck me, after their effects became known, that I had never seen them grubbed up by the wild hogs; this

neglect being a sure proof of their unfitness for food.

In these Augora patinas a curious duel was lately fought by a pair of wild bull elephants, both of whom were

the raree aves of Ceylon, "tuskers." These two bulls had consorted with a herd, and had no doubt quarreled

about the possession of the females. They accordingly fought it out to the death, as a large tusker was found

recently killed, with his body bored in many directions by his adversary's tusks, the ground in the vicinity

being trodden down with elephant tracks proving the obstinacy of the fight.

The last time that I was in this locality poor old Bluebeard was alive, and had been performing feats in

elkhunting which no dog could surpass. A few weeks later and he ran his last elk, and left a sad blank in the

pack.

Good and bad luck generally come in turn; but when the latter does pay a visit, it falls rather. heavily,

especially among the hounds. In one year I lost nearly the whole pack. Seven died in one week from an attack

upon the brain, appearing in a form fortunately unknown in England. In the same year I lost no less than four

of the best hounds by leopards, in addition to a fearful amount of casualties from other causes.

Shortly after the appearance of the epidemic alluded to, I took the hounds to the Totapella Plains for a

fortnight, for chance of air, while their kennel was purified and rewhitewashed.

In these Totapella Plains I had a fixed encampment, which, being within nine miles of my house, I could visit

at any time with the hounds, without the slightest preparation. There was an immense number of elk in this

part of the country; in fact this was a great drawback to the hunting, as two or more were constantly on foot at

the same time, which divided the hounds and scattered them in all directions. This made hard work of the

sport, as this locality is nothing but a series of ups and downs. The plains, as they are termed, are composed

of some hundred grassy hills, of about a hundred feet elevation above the river; these rise like half oranges in

every direction, while a high chain of precipitous mountains walls in one side of the view. Forestcovered

hills abound in the centre and around the skirts of the plains, while a deep river winds in a circuitous route

between the grassy hills.

My encampment was well chosen in this romantic spot. It was a place where you might live all your life

without seeing a soul except a wandering beehunter, or a native sportsman who had ventured up from the


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low country to shoot an elk.

Surrounded on all sides but one with steep hills, my hunting settlement lay snugly protected from the wind in

a little valley. A small jungle about a hundred yards square grew at the base of one of these grassy hills, in

which, having cleared the underwood for about forty yards, I left the rarer trees standing, and erected my huts

under their shelter at the exact base of the knoll. This steep rise broke off into an abrupt cliff about sixty yards

from my tent, against which the river had waged constant war, and, turning in an endless vortex, had worn a

deep hole, before it shot off in a rapid torrent from the angle, dashing angrily over the rocky masses which

had fallen from the overhanging cliff, and coming to a sudden rest in a broad deep pool within twenty yards

of the tent door.

This was a delicious spot. Being snugly hidden in the jungle, there was no sign of my encampment from the

plain, except the curling blue smoke which rose from the little hollow. A plot of grass of some two acres

formed the bottom of the valley before my habitation, at the extremity of which the river flowed, backed on

the opposite side by an abrupt hill covered with forest and jungle.

This being a chilly part of Ceylon, I had thatched the walls of my tent, and made a good gridiron bedstead, to

keep me from the damp ground, by means of forked upright sticks, two horizontal bars and numerous

crosspieces. This was covered with six inches' thickness of grass, strapped down with the bark of a fibrous

shrub. My table and bench were formed in the same manner, being of course fixtures, but most substantial.

The kitchen, huts for attendants and kennel were close adjoining. I could have lived there all my life in fine

weather. I wish I was there now with all my heart. However, I had sufficient bad luck on my last visit to have

disgusted most people. Poor Matchless, who was as good as her name implied, died of inflammation of the

lungs; and I started one morning in very low spirits at her loss, hoping to cheer myself up by a good hunt.

It was not long before old Bluebeard's opening note was heard high upon the hilltops; but, at the same time,

a portion of the pack had found another elk, which, taking an opposite direction, of course divided them.

Being determined to stick to Bluebeard to the last, I made straight through the jungle toward the point at

which I had heard a portion of the pack join him, intending to get upon their track and follow up. This I soon

did; and after running for some time through the jungle, which, being young "nillho," was unmistakably

crushed by the elk and hounds, I came to a capital though newlymade path, as a single elephant, having

been disturbed by the cry of the hounds, had started off at full speed; and the elk and hounds, naturally

choosing the easiest route through the jungle, had kept upon his track. This I was certain of, as the elk's print

sunk deep in that of the elephant, whose dung, lying upon the spot, was perfectly hot.

I fully expected that the hounds would bring the elephant to bay, which is never pleasant when you are

without a gun; however, they did not, but, sticking to their true game, they went straight away toward the

chain of mountains at the end of the plain. The river, in making its exit, is checked by abrupt precipices, and

accordingly makes an angle and then descends a ravine toward the low country.

I felt sure, from the nature of the ground and the direction of the run, that the elk would come to bay in this

ravine; and, after half an hour's run, I was delighted, on arriving on the hill above, to hear the bay, of the

bounds in the river far below.

The jungle was thick and tangled, but it did not take long, to force my way down the steep mountain side, and

I neared the spot and heard the splashing in the river, as the elk, followed by the hounds, dashed across just

before I came in view. He had broken his bay; and, presently, I again heard the chorus of voices as he once

more came to a stand a few hundred paces down the river.

The bamboo was so thick that I could hardly break my way through it; and I was crashing along toward the

spot, when suddenly the bay ceased, and shortly after some of the hounds came hurrying up to me regularly


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scared. Lena, who seldom showed a symptom of fear, dashed up to me in a state of great excitement, with the

deep scores of a leopard's claws on her hindquarters. Only two couple of the hounds followed on the elk's

track; the rest were nowhere.

The elk had doubled back, and I saw old Bluebeard leading upon the scent up the bank of the river, followed

by three other bounds.

The surest, although the hardest work, was to get on the track and follow up through the jungle. This I

accordingly did for about a mile, at which distance I arrived at a small swampy plain in the centre of the

jungle. Here, to my surprise, I saw old Bluebeard sitting up and looking faint, covered with blood, with no

other dog within view. The truth was soon known upon examination. No less than five holes were cut in his

throat by a leopard's claws, and by the violent manner in which. the poor dog strained and choked, I felt sure

that the windpipe was injured. There was no doubt that he had received the stroke at the same time that Lena

was wounded beneath the rocky mountain when the elk was at bay; and nevertheless, the staunch old dog had

persevered in the chase till the difficulty of breathing brought him to a standstill. I bathed the wounds, but I

knew it was his last day, poor old fellow!

I sounded the bugle for a few minutes, and having collected some of the scattered pack I returned to the tent,

leading the wounded dog, whose breathing rapidly became more difficult. I lost no time in fomenting and

poulticing the part, but the swelling had commenced to such an extent that there was little hope of recovery.

This was a dark day for the pack. Benton returned in the afternoon from a search for the missing hounds, and,

as he descended the deep hillside on approaching the tent, I saw tent he and a native were carrying

something slung upon a pole. At first I thought it was an elk's head, which the missing hounds might have run

to bay, but on his arrival the worst was soon known.

It was poor Leopold, one of my best dogs. He was all but dead, with hopeless wounds in his throat and belly.

He had been struck by a leopard within a few yards of Benton's side, and, with his usual pluck, the dog turned

upon the leopard in spite of his wounds, when the cowardly brute, seeing the man, turned and fled.

That night Leopold died. The next morning Bluebeard was so bad that I returned home with him slung in a

litter between two men. Poor fellow! he never lived to reach his comfortable kennel, but died in the litter

within a mile of home. I had him buried by the side of old Smut, and there are no truer dogs on the earth than

the two that there lie together.

A very few weeks after Bluebeard's death, however, I got a taste of revenge out of one of the race.

Palliser and I were out shooting, and we found a single bull elephant asleep in the dry bed of a stream; we

were stealing quietly up to him, when his guardian spirit whispered something in his ear, and up he jumped.

However, we polished him off, and having reloaded, we passed on.

The country consisted of low, thorny jungle and small sandy plains of short turf, and we were just entering

one of these open spots within a quarter of a mile of the dead elephant, when we observed a splendid leopard

crouching at the far end of the glade. He was about ninety paces from us, lying broadside on, with his head

turned to the opposite direction, evidently looking out for game. His crest was bristled up with excitement,

and he formed a perfect picture of beauty both in color and attitude.

Halting our gunbearers, we stalked him within sixty yards; he looked quickly round, and his large hazel

eyes shone full upon us, as the two rifles made one report, and his white belly lay stretched upon the ground.


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They were both clean shots: Palliser had aimed at his head, and had cut off one ear and laid the skin open at

the back of the neck. My ball had smashed both shoulders, but life was not fairly extinct. We therefore

strangled him with my necktie, as I did not wish to spoil his hide by any further wound. This was a pleasing

sacrifice to the "manes" of old Bluebeard.

E. Palliser had at one time the luck to have a fair turn up with a leopard with the dogs and huntingknife. At

that time he kept a pack at Dimboola, about nine miles from my house. Old Bluebeard belonged to him, and

he had a fine dog named "Pirate," who was the heaviest and best of his seizers.

He was out hunting with two or three friends, when suddenly a leopard sprang from the jungle at one of the

smaller hounds as they were passing quietly along a forest path. Halloaing the pack on upon the instant, every

dog gave chase, and a short run brought him to bay in the usual place of refuge, the boughs of a tree.

However, it so happened that there was a good supply of large sharp stones upon the soil, and with these the

whole party kept up a spirited bombardment, until at length one lucky shot hit him on the head, and at the

same moment he fell or jumped into the middle of the pack. Here Pirate came to the front in grand style and

collared him, while the whole pack backed him up without an exception.

There was a glorious struggle of course, which was terminated by the long arm of our friend Palliser, who

slipped the huntingknife into him and became a winner. This is the only instance that I know of a leopard

being run into and killed with hounds and a knife.

CHAPTER XIII. Wild Denizens of Forest and Lake  Destroyers of Reptiles  The Tree Duck  The

Mysteries of Night in the Forest  The DevilBird  The Iguanodon in Miniature  Outrigger Canoes 

The Last Glimpse of Ceylon  A Glance at Old Times.

One of the most interesting objects to a tourist in Ceylon is a secluded lake or tank in those jungle districts

which are seldom disturbed by the white man. There is something peculiarly striking in the wonderful

number of living creatures which exist upon the productions of the water. Birds of infinite variety and

countless numbers  fish in myriads  reptiles and crocodiles animals that feed upon the luxuriant

vegetation of the shores  insects which sparkle in the sunshine in every gaudy hue; all these congregate in

the neighborhood of these remote solitudes, and people the lakes with an incalculable host of living beings.

In such a scene there is scope for much delightful study of the habits and natures of wild animals, where they

can be seen enjoying their freedom unrestrained by the fear of man.

Often have I passed a quiet hour on a calm evening when the sun has sunk low on the horizon, and lie cool

breeze has stolen across the water, refreshing all animal life. Here, concealed beneath the shade of some large

tree I have watched the masses of living things quite unconscious of such scrutiny. In one spot the tiny

squirrel nibbling the buds on a giant limb of the tree above me, while on the opposite shore a majestic bull

elephant has commenced his evening bath, showering the water above his head and trumpeting his loud call

to the distant herd. Far away in the dense jungles the ringing sound is heard, as the answering females return

the salute and slowly approach the place of rendezvous. One by one their dark forms emerge from the thorny

coverts and loom large upon the green but distant shores, and they increase their pace when they view the

coveted water, and bellydeep enjoy their evening draught.

The graceful axis in dense herds quit the screening jungle and also seek the plain. The short, shrill barks of

answering bucks sound clearly across the surface of the lake, and indistinct specks begin to appear on the

edge of the more distant forests. Now black patches are clotted about the plain; now larger objects, some

single and some in herds, make toward the water. The telescope distinguishes the vast herds of hogs busy in

upturning the soil in search of roots, and the ungainly buffaloes, some in herds and others single bulls, all


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gathering at the hour of sunset toward the water. Peacocks spread their gaudy plumage to the cool evening air

as they strut over the green plain; the giant crane stands statuelike among the shallows; the pelican floats

like a ball of snow upon the dark water; and ducks and waterfowl of all kinds splash, and dive, and scream in

a confused noise, the volume of which explains their countless numbers.

Foremost among the waterfowl for beauty is the waterpheasant. He is generally seen standing upon the

broad leaf of a lotus, pecking at the ripe seeds and continually uttering his plaintive cry, like the very distant

note of a hound. This bird is most beautifully formed, and his peculiarity of color is well adapted to his shape.

He is something like a cock pheasant in build and mode of carriage, but he does not exceed the size of a

pigeon. His color is white, with a fine brown tinsel glittering head and long tail; the wings of the cock bird

are likewise ornamented with similar brown tinsel feathers. These birds are delicious eating, but I seldom fire

at them, as they are generally among the lotus plants in such deep water that I dare not venture to get them on

account of crocodiles. The lotus seeds, which they devour greedily, are a very good substitute for filberts, and

are slightly narcotic.

The endless variety of the crane is very interesting upon these lonely shores. From the giant crane, who

stands nearly six feet high, down to the smallest species of paddy bird, there is a numerous gradation. Among

these the gaunt adjutant stands conspicuous as he stalks with measured steps through the high rushes, now

plunging his immense bill into the tangled sedges, then triumphantly throwing back his head with a large

snake writhing helplessly in his horny beak; open fly the shearlike hinges of his bill  one or two sharp jerks

and down goes one half of an incredibly large snake; another jerk and a convulsive struggle of the snake; one

more jerk  snap, snap goes the bill and the snake has disappeared, while the adjutant again stalks quietly on,

as though nothing had happened. Down goes his bill, presently, with a sudden start, and again his head is

thrown back; but this time it is the work of a moment, as it is only an iguana, which not being above eighteen

inches long, is easy swallowing.

A great number of the crane species are destroyers of snakes, which in a country so infested with vermin as

Ceylon renders them especially valuable. Peacocks likewise wage perpetual war with all kinds of reptiles, and

Nature has wisely arranged that where these nuisances most abound there is a corresponding provision for

their destruction.

Snipes, of course, abound in their season around the margin of the lakes; but the most delicious birds for the

table are the teal and ducks, of which there are four varieties. The largest duck is nearly the size of a wild

goose, and has a red, fatty protuberance about the beak very similar to a muscovy. The teal are the fattest and

most delicious birds that I have ever tasted. Cooked in Soyer's magic stove, with a little butter, cayenne

pepper, a squeeze of lime juice, a pinch of salt, and a spoonful of Lea and Perrins' Worcester sauce (which,

by the by, is the best in the world for a hot climate), and there is no bird like a Ceylon teal. They are very

numerous, and I have seen them in flocks of some thousands on the saltwater lakes on the eastern coast,

where they are seldom or ever disturbed. Nevertheless, they are tolerably wary, which, of course, increases

the sport of shooting them. I have often thought what a paradise these lakes would have made for the veteran

Colonel Hawker with his punt gun. He might have paddled about and blazed away to his heart's content.

There is one kind of duck that would undoubtedly have astonished him, and which would have slightly

bothered the punt gun for an elevation: this is the tree duck, which flies about and perches in the branches of

the lofty trees like any nightingale. This has an absurd effect, as a duck looks entirely out of place in such a

situation. I have seen a whole cluster of them sitting on one branch, and when I first observed them I killed

three at one shot to make it a matter of certainty.

It is a handsome light brown bird, about the size of an English widgeon, but there is no peculiar formation in

the feet to enable them to cling to a bough; they are bona fide ducks with the common flat web foot.


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A very beautiful species of baldpated coot, called by the natives keetoolle, is also an inhabitant of the lakes.

This bird is of a bright blue color with a brilliant pink horny head. He is a slow flyer, being as bulky as a

common fowl and short in his proportion of wing.

It is impossible to convey a correct idea of the number and variety of birds in these localities, and I will not

trouble the reader by a description which would be very laborious to all parties; but to those who delight in

ornithological studies there is a wild field which would doubtless supply many new specimens.

I know nothing more interesting than the acquaintance with all the wild denizens of mountain and plain, lake

and river. There is always something fresh to learn, something new to admire, in the boundless works of

creation. There is a charm in every sound in Nature where the voice of man is seldom heard to disturb her

works. Every note gladdens the ear in the stillness of solitude, when night has overshadowed the earth, and all

sleep but the wild animals of the forest. Then I have often risen from my bed, when the tortures of

mosquitoes have banished all ideas of rest, and have silently wandered from the tent to listen in the solemn

quiet of night.

I have seen the tired coolies stretched round the smouldering fires sound asleep after their day's march,

wrapped in their white clothes, like so many corpses laid upon the ground. The flickering logs on the great

pile of embers crackling and sinking as they consume; now falling suddenly and throwing up a shower of

sparks, then resting again in a dull red heat, casting a silvery moonlike glare upon the foliage of the spreading

trees above. A little farther on, and the horses standing sleepily at their tethers, their heads drooping in a doze.

Beyond them, and all is darkness and wilderness. No human dwelling or being beyond the little encampment

I have quitted; the dark lake reflecting the stars like a mirror, and the thin crescent moon giving a pale and

indistinct glare which just makes night visible.

It is a lovely hour then to wander forth and wait for wild sounds. All is still except the tiny hum of the

mosquitoes. Then the low chuckling note of the night hawk sounds soft and melancholy in the distance; and

again all is still, save the heavy and impatient stamp of a horse as the mosquitoes irritate him by their bites.

Quiet again for a few seconds, when presently the loud alarm of the plover rings over the plain  "Did he do

it?"  the bird's harsh cry speaks these words as plainly as a human being. This alarm is a certain warning that

some beast is stalking abroad which has disturbed it from its roost, but presciently it is again hushed.

The loud hoarse bark of an elk now unexpectedly startles the ear; presently it is replied to by another, and

once more the plover shrieks "Did he do it?" and a peacock waking on his roost gives one loud scream and

sleeps again.

The heavy and regular splashing of water now marks the measured tread of a single elephant as he roars out

into the cooled lake, and you can hear the more gentle falling of water as he spouts a shower over his body.

Hark at the deep guttural sigh of pleasure that travels over the lake like a moan of the wind! what giant

lungs to heave such a breath; but hark again! There was a fine trumpet! as clear as any bugle note blown by a

hundred breaths it rung through the still air. How beautiful! There, the note is answered; not by so fine a tone,

but by discordant screams and roars from the opposite side, and the louder splashing tells that the herd is

closing up to the old bull. Like distant thunder a deep roar growls across the lake as the old monarch mutters

to himself in angry impatience.

Then the long, tremulous hoot of the owl disturbs the night, mingled with the harsh cries of flights of

waterfowl, which doubtless the elephants have disturbed while bathing.

Once more all sounds sink to rest for a few minutes, until the low, grating roar of a leopard nearer home

warns the horses of their danger and wakes up the sleeping horsekeeper, who piles fresh wood upon the fires,

and the bright blaze shoots up among the trees and throws a dull, ruddy glow across the surface of the water.


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And morning comes at length, ushered in, before night has yet departed, by the strong, shrill cry of the great

fisheagle, as he sits on the topmost bough of some forest tree and at measured periods repeats his quivering

and unearthly yell like an evil spirit calling. But hark at that dull, low note of indescribable pain and

suffering! long and heavy it swells and dies away. It is the devilbird; and whoever sees that bird must surely

die soon after, according to Cingalese superstition.

A more cheering sound charms the ear as the gray tint of morning makes the stars grow pale; clear, rich,

notes, now prolonged and full, now plaintive and low, set the example to other singing birds, as the bulbul,

first to awake, proclaims the morning. Wild, junglelike songs the birds indulge in; not like our steady

thrushes of Old England, but charming in their quaintness. The jungle partridge now wakes up, and with his

loud cry subdues all other sounds, until the numerous peacocks, perched on the high trees around the lake,

commence their discordant yells, which master everything.

The name for the devilbird is "gualama," and so impressed are the natives with the belief that a sight of it is

equivalent to a call to the nether world that they frequently die from sheer fright and nervousness. A case of

this happened to a servant of a friend of mine. He chanced to see the creature sitting on a bough, and he was

from that moment so satisfied of his inevitable fate that he refused all food, and fretted and died, as, of

course, any one else must do, if starved, whether he saw the devilbird or not.

Although I have heard the curious, mournful cry of this creature nearly every night, I have never seen one;

this is easily accounted for, as, being a nightbird, it remains concealed in the jungle during the day. In so

densely wooded a country as Ceylon it is not to be wondered at that owls, and all other birds of similar habit

are so rarely met with. Even W.s are rarely noticed; so seldom, indeed, that I have never seen more

than two during my residence in the island.

>From the same cause many interesting animals pass unobserved, although they are very numerous. The

porcupine, although as common as the hedgehog in England, is very seldom seen. Likewise the manis, or

great scaled anteater, who retires to his hole before break of day, is never met with by daylight. Indeed, I

have had some trouble in persuading many persons in Ceylon that such an animal exists in the country.

In the same manner the larger kinds of serpents conceal themselves by day and wander forth at night, like all

other reptiles except the smaller species of lizard, of which we have in Ceylon an immense variety, from the

crocodile himself down to the little houselizard.

Of this tribe the "cabra goya" and the "iguana" grow to a large size; the former I have killed as long as eight

or nine feet, but the latter seldom exceeds four. I have often intended to eat one, as the natives consider them

a great delicacy, but I have never been quite hungry enough to make the trial whenever one was at hand. The

"cabra goya" is a horrid brute, and is not considered eatable even by the Cingalese.

One curious species of lizard exists in Ceylon; it is little brown species with a peculiarly rough skin and a

serrated spine. A long horn projects from the snout, and it is a facsimile in miniature of the antediluvian

monster, the "iguanodon," who was about a hundred feet long and twelve feet thick  an awkward creature to

meet in a narrow road. However, the crocodiles of modern times are awkward enough for the present day,

and sometimes grow to the immense length of twenty two feet.

It has frequently surprised me that they do not upset the small canoes in which the natives paddle about the

lakes and rivers. These are formed in the simplest manner, of very rude materials, by hollowing out a small

log of wood and attaching an outrigger. Some of these are so small that the gunwale is close to the water's

edge when containing only one person.


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Even the large seacanoes are constructed on a similar principle; but they are really very wonderful boats for

both speed and safety.

A simple log of about thirty feet in length is hollowed out. This is tapered off at either end, so as to form a

kind of prow. The cylindrical shape of the log is preserved as much as possible in the process of hollowing,

so that no more than a section of one fourth of the circle is pared away upon the upper side.

Upon the edges of this aperture the top sides of the canoe are formed by simple planks, which are merely

sewn upon the main body of the log parallel to each other, and slightly inclining outward, so as to admit the

legs of persons sitting on the canoe.

A vessel of this kind would of course capsize immediately, as the top weight of the upper works would

overturn the flutelike body upon which they rested. This is prevented by an outrigger, which is formed of

elastic rods of tough wood, which, being firmly bound together, project at right angles from the upper works.

At the extremity of these two rods, there is a tapering log of light wood, which very much resembles the

bottom log of the canoe in miniature. This, floating on the water, balances the canoe in an upright position; it

cannot be upset until some force is exerted upon the mast of the canoe which is either sufficient to lift the

outrigger out of the water, or on the other hand to sink it altogether; either accident being prevented by the

great leverage required. Thus, when a heavy breeze sends the little vessel flying like a swallow over the

waves, and the outrigger to windward shows symptoms of lifting, a man rims out upon the connecting rod,

and, squatting upon the outrigger, adds his weight to the leverage. Two long bamboos, spreading like a letter

V from the bottom of the canoe, form the masts, and support a single square sail, which is immensely large in

proportion to the size and weight of the vessel.

The motion of these canoes under a stiff breeze is most delightful; there is a total absence of rolling, which is

prevented by the outrigger, and the steadiness of their course under a press of sail is very remarkable. I have

been in these boats in a considerable surf, which they fly through like a fish; and if the beach is sandy and the

inclination favorable, their own impetus will carry them high and dry.

Sewing the portions of a boat together appears ill adapted to purposes of strength; but all the Cingalese

vessels are constructed upon this principle: the two edges of the planks being brought together, a strip of the

areca palm stern is laid over the joints, and holes being drilled upon each plank, the sewing is drawn tightly

over the lath of palm, which being thickly smeared with a kind of pitch, keeps the seams perfectly

watertight. The native dhonies, which are vessels of a hundred and fifty tons, are all fastened in this simple

and apparently fragile manner; nevertheless they are excellent seaboats, and ride in safety through many a

gale of wind. The first moving object which met my view on arrival within sight of Ceylon was an outrigger

canoe, which shot past our vessels as if we had been at anchor.

The last object that my eyes rested on, as the cocoanut trees of Ceylon faded from sight, was again the

native canoe which took the last farewell lines to those who were left behind. Upon this I gazed till it became

a gray speck upon the horizon and the green shores of the Eastern paradise faded from my eyes for ever.

How little did I imagine, when these pages were commenced in Ceylon, that their conclusion would be

written in England!

An unfortunate shooting trip to one of the most unhealthy parts of the country killed my old horse "Jack," one

coolie, and very nearly extinguished me rendering it imperative that I should seek a change of climate in

England. And what a dreamlike change it is!  past events appear unreal, and the last few years seem to

have escaped from the connecting chain of former life. Scarcely can I believe in the bygone days of glorious

freedom, when I wandered through that beautiful country, unfettered by the laws or customs of conventional

life.


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The white cliffs of Old England rose hazily on the horizon, and greeted many anxious eyes as the vessel

rushed proudly on with her decks thronged with a living freight, all happy as children in the thoughts of

home. The sun shone brightly and gave a warm welcome on our arrival; and as the steamer moored alongside

the quay, an hour sufficed to scatter the host of passengers who had so closely dwelt together, as completely

as the audience of a theatre when the curtain falls. That act of life is past  "exeunt omnes," and a new scene

commences. We are in England.

A sudden change necessarily induces a comparison, and I imagine there are few who have dwelt much among

the Tropics who do not acquire a distaste for the English climate, and look back with lingering hopes to the

verdant shores they have left so far behind. The recollection of absent years, which seem to have been the

summer of life, makes the chill of the present feel doubly cold, and our thoughts still cling to the past, while

we strive against the belief that we never can recall those days again.

How, as my thoughts wander back to former scenes every mountain and valley reappears in the magic glass

of memory! Every rock and dell, every old twisted stem, every dark ravine and wooded cliff, the distant

outlines of the wellknown hills, the junglepaths known to my eye alone, and the far, still spots where I

have often sat in solitude and pondered over the events of life, and conjured up the faces of those so far away,

doubtful if we should ever meet again. Thus even now I picture to myself the past; and so vivid is the scene

that I can almost hear the fancied roar of the old waterfalls, and see the shadowy tints which the evening sun

throws upon the treetops. My old home rises before me like a dissolving view, and I can see the very spot

where it was my delight to live, where a warm welcome awaited every friend. And lastly, the faces of those

friends seem clear before me, and bring back the associations of old times. Those who have shared in

common many of these scenes I trust to meet again, and look back upon the events of former days as

landscapes on the road of life that we have viewed together.

For me Ceylon has always had a charm, and I shall ever retain a vivid interest in the colony.

I trust that a new and more prosperous era has now commenced, and that Ceylon, having shaken off the

incubus of mismanagement, may, under the rule of a vigorous and enterprising governor, arrive at that

prosperity to which she is entitled by her capabilities.

The governor recently appointed (Sir H. Ward,) has a task before him which his wellknown energy will

doubtless enable him to perform.


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