Realizing that the coffee crop is still in an experimental condition, some of the planters are giving their attention to the cinchona, which thrives greatly at Ceylon, even flourishing at elevations where coffee naturally dies out. The seeds of the cinchona are planted in nurseries, and when six months old are transplanted into prepared fields, where they make rapid growth. They do not begin to yield until the tree is eight years old. The earnestness with which the planters have generally adopted this idea must, if successful, as it seems sure to be, lead to very decided results when the crop becomes available for the markets of the world.
Banana groves and orchards bending under the weight of the rich nutritious fruit, tall cocoanut-trees with half a ton of ripening nuts in every tuft top, ant-hills nearly as high as native houses, rippling cascades, small rivers winding through the green valleys, tall flamingoes presiding over tiny lakes, and flowers of every hue and shape, together with birds such as one gazes at with curiosity in northern museums, all crowded upon our vision on this trip inland. No one should fail to visit Kandy who lands at Colombo, there is so much to see and to marvel at. Ceylon is a very Gan-Eden, the fairest known example of tropical luxuriance in all its natural features, its vegetable and animal kingdoms, its fruits, flowers, and scenery. In point of location the island is also greatly favored. It is fortunately situated outside the region of the cyclones, so frequent at certain seasons in the Bay of Bengal and the Indian Ocean, as well as being free from the hurricanes of the Mauritius Sea, and the volcanic disturbances of the Eastern Archipelago. Snow is absolutely unknown. The exhibition of zodiacal light is not uncommon, and mirage in its many singular and interesting aspects is frequent; while the effulgence of the moon and stars of this latitude,—a constantly recurring hymn written in light,—will render the most prosy individual enthusiastic, keeping the heart constantly awake to love and beauty.
Ceylon is also much richer than is generally realized in its prehistoric monuments,—ancient Hindoo and Buddhist temples, and ruins of lofty pagodas from three to four hundred feet in height, dating many centuries previous to the appearance of Christ upon earth. What an unexplored field remains for the antiquarian, not quite untrodden, but still undeveloped! There is every evidence to show that there once existed upon this island a great and powerful empire; the gigantic remains of palaces and temples at once suggest the fact. There are also ruins to be seen of a most elaborate system of irrigation, which must have covered the country from Adam's Peak to Galle, like a net-work, with most perfect means to this end, so excellent as to be the marvel of modern engineers. Their completeness, intelligent purpose, and extent are marvelous. But no one can say, or reasonably surmise, what caused the ruin and decadence of the ancient capitals, which, like those about Delhi, have crumbled away, leaving only a blank memorial of their existence. What could have swept from the globe a population of millions, and left us no clearer record of their once highly civilized occupancy? The carved pillars, ornamental fragments of temples, and stone slabs skillfully wrought, which are scattered through the jungle, and in some instances overgrown by dense forests, attest both material greatness and far-reaching antiquity. It would seem as though nature had tried to cover up the many wrinkles of age with blooming vegetation. There are no legends even extant relating to the earliest of these remains. Pæstum, Memphis, and Cumæ reach far back into the dim past, though here the antiquarian is able to light us with the lamp of his knowledge; but as to the forest-covered remains of Ceylon, all is a blank, skeletons of the dead and buried past, mementos of a race who trod this beautiful island perhaps before the Pyramids or the Sphinx existed.
At Singapore, Penang, and Colombo it was observed that the common classes were incessantly chewing the betel-nut, which gives to their teeth and lips a color as if bathed in fresh blood. It is a well-known and long-established practice. The men carry the means about them at all times, and taking a piece of the nut, enclose it in a leaf of the same tree, adding a small quantity of quicklime; folding these together they chow them vigorously, one quid lasting for twenty-five minutes or half an hour, being at times permitted to rest between the gum and the cheek, as seamen masticate a quid of tobacco. The nut is known to be a powerful tonic, but only a small portion of the juice is swallowed. The habit is universal among the lower classes of Asiatics. In the southern districts of India, pepper and cardamom seeds are added to the quid, and it is then considered to be a partial preventive against malarial influences. Unless it produced some agreeable stimulating effect its use would not be so common. Wherever we go, among civilized or savage races, upon islands or upon continents, in the chilly North, or the languid, melting South, we find man resorting to some stimulant other than natural food and drink. It seems to be an instinctive craving exhibited and satisfied as surely in the wilds of Africa, or the South Sea Islands, as by the opium-consuming Chinese, or the brandy-drinking Anglo-Saxons.
CHAPTER VI.
Arrival in India.—Tuticorin.—Madura.—Bungalows.—Reptiles and Insects.—Wonderful Pagoda.—Sacred Elephants.—Trichinopoly and its Temples.—Bishop Heber.—Native Silversmiths.—Tanjore.—The Rajah's Palace.—Pagoda and an Immense Stone Idol.—Southern India.—City of Madras.—Want of a Harbor.—In and about the Capital.—Voyage through the Bay of Bengal.—The Hoogly River.—Political Capital of India.—A Crazy King.—The Himalayas.—Sunset and Sunrise at Darjeeling.
We took passage in the British mail steamship Kebela from Colombo to Tuticorin, the extreme point of southern India, once famous for its pearl fisheries; but now as forsaken and sleepy a spot as can be found on any sea-coast. The distance from Colombo is less than two hundred miles through the Straits of Manar, and we landed on the following day, after a stormy passage, during which the rain came down with tropical profuseness. Ceylon, at harvest time on the plantations, imports laborers from the southern provinces of India, who are very glad thus to earn a small sum of money, a commodity of which they see little enough at home. Seven or eight hundred of these laborers, having fulfilled their object at the island, were returning to the main-land, and literally crowded the lower deck of the Kebela fore and aft. They formed rather picturesque groups as they reclined or stood in their rags, nakedness, and high colors combined.
When we got up the anchor in the harbor of Colombo, it seemed to be pleasant enough, but scarcely were we outside of the breakwater before the steamer began to roll and pitch like an awkward mule under the tickling application of the spur. Too much accustomed to the roughness of the sea to heed this, we were nevertheless very sorry for these exposed deck-passengers, few of whom escaped seasickness. Crowded together as they were during the copious rainfall, their sufferings that afternoon and night were pitiable. There were some families with women and children, and such shelter as a canvas awning could afford was kindly arranged for them. When we anchored in shoal water off the coast next morning, and the big flat-boats came to take them ashore, they had hardly strength and spirit sufficient to tumble into these craft, no doubt promising themselves, as usual, never, never again to quit the dry land. The water being very shallow, the Kebela anchored five miles from shore, making it necessary for us to take a small steam-launch to land at the little toy pier built on the beach. Our miniature vessel was tossed about like a bit of cork on the waves, but we had long since come to regard a wetting by salt-water as a trifling matter.