“Alternate large plains, separated by belts of forest, rapid rivers, waterfalls, precipices, and panoramic views of boundless extent, form the features of this country, which, combined with the sports of the place, render a residence at Newera Ellia a life of health, luxury, and independence.”
So Mr Baker is not quite a maniac after all—in fact, his lines seem cast in rather pleasant places; and, if we may draw our own inferences from the brief description he gives us of his island home, the pleasures of the chase are only resorted to as an agreeable variation from the ordinary routine of his agricultural pursuits. He is a solitary specimen in Ceylon of that race so highly respected in our own country, which combines at once the sportsman, the farmer, and the gentleman.
It has ever been a matter of astonishment to us that no sportsman of the Cinnamon Isle has before this been inspired by his romantic and adventurous life to depict those scenes in which he has himself revelled, so as to allow the public the gratification of participating, although only in imagination, in wild sports of a nature as exciting and hazardous as the manner in which they are prosecuted is novel and enjoyable. We have not only explored, with Gordon Cumming, the interior of South Africa, but have been bored to death by exhibitions in our own country of the trophies which attest his courage and energy. Although we have never visited the Far West, we are as familiar with the life of the buffalo-hunter or prairie Indian as Washington Irving himself.—For did we not live among trappers, with the inimitable Ruxton for our companion, while we have only just returned from a solitary ramble with Palliser. And so tired are we of shooting tigers and hunting boars in India with the Cockney who goes out for a winter excursion, or the “Company’s” lady who wishes to astonish her sisters at home, and disgust her husband at “the station,” that we should infinitely prefer reading the account in the county paper of the last run of the subscription pack, to Mrs M.’s charming description of the Shickar at B——, and the grand Tomasha with which it terminated. And, indeed, if we are accused of giving too unfavourable an impression of Indian sport, it is because, when we compare our own experiences of sport in Bengal with that in Ceylon, we feel that the merits of the latter have been utterly ignored and overwhelmed by a profusion of rubbishy, exaggerated pictures of tiger-hunting and pig-sticking, half of which have been drawn, as a sportsman can at once detect, by those who have never seen a tiger or a wild boar before they gave us this account of their “fearful adventures.” We certainly will maintain that sport in India is very far inferior to sport in Ceylon, inasmuch as it is much more exciting to shoot an elephant than to ride one. The insipidity of rocking about on the back of an elephant, looking for a tiger among long grass, and running away or not when you find one, as it suits the fancy of the mahout or the elephant, is easily appreciated by those who have ever indulged in the delectable amusement of stalking a “rogue,” with nothing but a pair of rifle barrels and a pair of stout legs to trust to. We engage to say, that if there were as much elephant-shooting in Ceylon as there is tiger-shooting in India, the proportion of deaths in the former country would be as ten to one. We will admit that “shickar” arrangements are made on a much more magnificent and luxurious scale in India than in Ceylon; but this is a very secondary consideration with the true sportsman, and we certainly never enjoyed life more thoroughly at any time than while making our jungle trips in those wild districts in Ceylon which are so plentifully stocked with game. What an independent existence was that! far from the haunts of men by some secluded tank,—a monument of the industry and greatness of a race long since passed away,—shadowed over by the lofty and graceful tamarind tree, is pitched our snug little single-poled tent. Some camp-stools are our seats by day, and fit into one another so as to form comfortable beds; the small circular table is fixed to the tent-pole; the canteen, some green native baskets containing our wardrobe, and a long range of guns, complete the furniture. It is mid-day, and the occupants are taking a siesta in their pyjamas; the coolies are snoring where the jungle forms the densest shade; the cook and servants have built a house for themselves of branches, and are engaged in culinary occupations. No sooner is the intense heat of mid-day past than we sally forth, working steadily for about four hours; then comes the luxurious fare known well to the Ceylon hunter. Our coolies and ourselves are alike dependent entirely on our trusty rifles. We sometimes indulge in beer, but it is a most extravagant practice—always, however, in a good cook. It is not yet quite dusk: we dine in the open air. There is roast peafowl with buffalo tongue, venison pasty and jugged hare, with a curry of jungle fowl, with pigs’ fry, if we are not otherwise well supplied; but, as a general rule, wild boar is to be avoided, especially if dead elephants are abundant in the vicinity. Presently the full moon in the cloudless sky throws the shadows long and sharp over our encampment, and we prepare for night-work. Our tent is quite concealed from the tank to which we now repair: it is about three-quarters dry, and the water is not more than half a mile in circumference. There are two round holes prepared for our reception close to the water’s edge, of sufficient depth to conceal the occupants. All through the night, with the moon looking calmly down upon us, brightly reflected in the waters of the tank, we watch. As it is early yet, there are plenty of buffaloes still to be seen. Soon large herds of deer come down to drink; they are quite unsuspicious, and pass to and fro within a few yards of the loaded rifles. Then the sharp bark of the elk rings through the still air, and a noble buck walks knee deep into the water, and a moment afterwards the doe more timidly follows. Large sounders of pigs grunt about constantly. After midnight, more important game appears, and rouses the eager sportsmen to more vigorous action; whether we have made a bag or not depends upon whether there are elephants in the neighbourhood. If there are, they will now be heard crashing through the jungle. They come very slowly, and the excitement is intense; they keep stopping by the way, and beating about with their trunks. We are getting very impatient—they never will come! At last, one after another, they stalk across the open in the clear moonlight; a large herd is soon splashing, and bubbling, and roaring in the muddy water. They are out of shot, and we are obliged to stalk them, for moonlight shooting is deceptive, and we have put lime on the sight of the guns—a precaution, by the way, we do not hear that Mr Baker adopted when shooting by moonlight. We no sooner fire than the uproar and noise of the retreating elephants are tremendous: they seldom charge at night, the whole transaction being too sudden and mysterious; but the crashing of the jungle, as the terrified herd sweeps through it, is inconceivable. An hour or two before daybreak chetahs and bears come stealthily down and stay for a moment, and are gone again. In the course of one night, in the northern part of Ceylon, we have literally seen and fired at every description of the game we have just enumerated. At daybreak we swallow a quantity of warm strong coffee, and only return when the barrels of our rifles become too hot to hold, unless, indeed, we are absolutely on the track of an elephant, and then the blazing sun itself is despised. On our way home we discharge our rifles at the scaly backs of innumerable alligators that bask open-mouthed upon the sloping bank, but never with the hope of getting, though sometimes of killing, one. We have occasionally put a ball between the greaves of their armour, but can testify most assuredly (although Mr Baker seems to doubt it) that an alligator’s back will turn a rifle ball at twenty yards, as upon one occasion the ball from a friend’s rifle lodged in a tree above us, although he was standing at a distance of about a hundred yards off, and the alligator at which he had fired was in a totally opposite direction. And so the days fly past, and our trip is at an end, while our appetite for excitement and adventure remains unappeased; but we are soon reconciled to the change from the rough jungle-life to the comforts of civilisation, for with them we combine the invigorating air of the mountains, and sport of another kind. The tent is exchanged at Newera Ellia for the warm thatched cottage, with its rustic porch covered with sweet-pea and honeysuckle, and well-furnished carpeted rooms, where a comfortable wood-fire crackles upon every hearth, and sheds its grateful influence upon the party gathered round it, and which is composed of the most diverse materials. Bengal civilians, who were supposed to be dying when they left the Sandheads, are narrating with no little satisfaction their exploits in the morning’s elk-hunt; officers from Colombo, and middies from Trincomalee, are eagerly canvassing the prospects for the morrow; coffee-planters, tourists, and Ceylon officials, have become excellent friends on short acquaintance, and are all burning to distinguish themselves. At 5 A.M. it requires some courage to emerge from beneath a couple of warm blankets: the ground is covered with a thick hoar-frost, and fingers long accustomed to wield a pen in some Indian cutcherry can scarcely hold the reins. Enterprising ladies, with very red tips to their noses, join the party, and the meet is a gay and animated scene. But we must not follow the fortunes of the hunt—our reminiscences have already led us beyond the orthodox limits of a review—and we shall gladly turn to Mr Baker for a description of those sports which he, in common with ourselves, so highly appreciates. We would first, however, say a few words more in reference to the lovely spot in which he has taken up his abode, and of which he has unfortunately given us a very meagre account.
The few Englishmen of a lower class in society who have found their way to Newera Ellia are thriving well; they are, for the most part, discharged soldiers, or persons whose original object, in coming to Ceylon, was to superintend coffee plantations. English blacksmiths, carpenters, shoemakers, or tailors, are all sure of plenty of employment; while storekeeping, or taking charge of the residences of those government functionaries who are fortunate enough to possess them, is a profitable occupation. The great drawback to extensive settling in Newera Ellia, is the absence of a permanent market. At some seasons of the year the plain is overflowing with civilians and military men from the lower provinces, or from the continent of India, who flock to enjoy its bracing climate; at other times visitors are few and far between, and the produce must be transported in bullock-carts to Kandy or Colombo.
The nearest coffee plantations are situated in Dimboola, seven or eight miles distant, the elevation of the plain being too great for the growth of the berry. All the ordinary productions of our kitchen-gardens are to be procured in abundance, and delicious strawberries may here be grown, to recall to the acclimatised Company’s servant the long-forgotten tastes of his native land. There can be no doubt that when the merits of Newera Ellia become better known they will be more highly appreciated, while its proximity to India will then insure those who have settled there a speedy and profitable return for their outlay.
We regret that the scope and tenor of Mr Baker’s work do not admit of a full account of his farming experiences, which must have been both novel and interesting. His sketches of scenery are graceful and life-like, evincing a warm susceptibility and a cultivated mind—qualities which must ever distinguish the thorough sportsman from a mere butcher on a large scale. “To a true sportsman,” says our author, “the enjoyment of a sport increases in proportion to the wildness of the country.” The deliberate manner in which Mr Baker awaits the furious charge of a rogue elephant, with his rifle on full cock, wrapped in the contemplation of the beauties of nature, is truly appalling to us uninitiated Westerns; and, indeed, at these critical moments he is ever most enthusiastic—a very Izaak Walton of Nimrods.
“There is a mournful silence in the calmness of the evening, when the tropical sun sinks upon the horizon, a conviction that man has left this region undisturbed to its wild tenants. No hum of distant voices, no rumbling of busy wheels, no cries of domestic animals meet the ear. He stands upon a wilderness, pathless and untrodden by the foot of civilisation, where no sound is ever heard but that of the elements, when the thunder rolls among the towering forests, or the wind howls along the plains. He gazes far, far into the distance, where the blue mountains melt into an indefinite haze; he looks above him to the rocky pinnacles which spring from the level plain, their swarthy cliffs glistening from the recent shower, and patches of rich verdure clinging to precipices a thousand feet above him. His eye stretches along the grassy plains, taking at one full glance a survey of woods, and rocks, and streams; and imperceptibly his mind wanders to thoughts of home, and in one moment scenes long left behind are conjured up by memory, and incidents are recalled which banish for a time the scene before him. Lost for a moment in the enchanting power of solitude, where fancy and reality combine in their most bewitching forms, he is suddenly roused by a distant sound, made doubly loud by the surrounding silence—the shrill trumpet of an elephant.”
This is a good specimen of our author in his softer moods; but we must hurry on to more stirring scenes. Some seven or eight years ago Mr Baker visited Ceylon on a sporting tour, and the first part of his volume is devoted to an account of his adventures upon that occasion. He subsequently returned to Ceylon, and, making Newera Ellia his permanent headquarters, he enjoyed elk-hunting at his own doors; and, having profited by former experience, made his elephant-shooting excursions in a deliberate and well-organised manner. His battery consisted “of one four-ounce rifle (a single barrel) weighing twenty-one pounds, one long two-ounce rifle (single barrel) weighing sixteen pounds, and four double-barrelled rifles, No. 10, weighing each fifteen pounds.” The No. 10 double barrels did most execution, and were twelve-grooved, carrying a conical ball of two ounces and a half. It is certainly a popular delusion to suppose that smooth bores are better than these for elephant-shooting. We have already enumerated the varieties of game at which this formidable battery is directed.
About eighty miles to the north-east of Kandy, the lake of Minneria lies embosomed amid the most luxuriant vegetation, presenting a sheet of water twenty miles in circumference; and here, far distant from the haunts of men, surrounded by some of the loveliest scenery which Ceylon can boast, Mr Baker introduces us to his first buffalo. Our author’s brother is the only companion of his sport; they have just arrived in the island, and consequently are complete novices in its wild sports. No sooner do they reach Minneria than, carried away by the excitement of such close proximity to their noble game, they sally forth to attack a herd of buffaloes, improperly supplied with ammunition. A bull charges and is wounded, the herd retreats, and our author, leaving his brother to extinguish the wounded bull, follows another, who disdains a rapid flight. He is at length overtaken, and as he faces about to his pursuer, Mr Baker puts two balls into his chest at fifteen paces, without effect, “save that his eye, which had hitherto been merely sullen, was now beaming with fury, but his form was motionless as a statue.” This is decidedly startling—more startling still to find that there is not another ball left. It was now the bull’s turn. “I dared not turn to retreat, as I knew he would immediately charge, and we stared one another out of countenance.” For a quarter of an hour Mr B. stares fiercely but hopelessly at his maddened antagonist, then a bright thought flashes across him:—
“Without taking my eyes off the animal before me, I put a double charge of powder down the right-hand barrel, and tearing off a piece of my shirt, I took all the money from my pouch, three shillings in sixpenny pieces, and two anna pieces, which I luckily had with me in this small coin for paying coolies. Quickly making them into a rouleau with the piece of rag, I rammed them down the barrel, and they were hardly well home before the bull again sprang forward. So quick was it that I had no time to replace the ramrod, and I threw it in the water, bringing my gun on full cock in the same instant.”