TUTICORIN. DEPARTURE FOR COLOMBO. THE LAST OF THE KITES AND CROWS.
The country traversed was flat and plain for the most part, with cultivated crops of castor oil plants, paddy, and corn, alternating with jungle of brushwood, but no fine trees. Hills were seen in the distance on the right, and we made several stoppages at short places with very long names.
Arriving at Tuticorin about four in the afternoon, we went on to the beach station, and got on board a small steam launch or tug in waiting at the jetty, then we saw the last quarter, as it were, of our Moonsawmy, and took our leave of him, after he had had his usual fierce dispute with the coolies, who certainly never received trade union wages from him. On the whole we were not sorry to get away from the rupee-hunting throng which usually hang about stations and wharves—the kites and crows in pursuit of the traveller, their prey, who for the time being, at least, now escaped their clutches.
Tuticorin presented no obvious attractions except the sea, which we were quite glad to meet again. The launch seemed just large enough to hold the train-load of passengers—Americans, Germans, and English with their baggage, and after about half-an-hour’s steam across the harbour we reached the steamer (the “Pandua” of Glasgow) and climbed up the gangway to the saloon deck. We secured a rather small but well-appointed berth opening off the saloon, and were able to enjoy a well-served dinner—food seems generally better on ship-board than on land—at least Indian land. Cargo boats were clinging to the steamer’s side, and, at sunset, one by one cast off and hoisted their lateen sails (like those of an Arab dhow) each boat having one about the length of the vessel. The sailors in hoisting up the sail climbed and clung to the rope, to bring it up with their weight. Chanting a curious sort of song the while, our steamer weighed anchor and started, and we looked astern and saw the last of India fading from view behind the shining wake of the steamer, and lost in the glow of an orange sunset.
CHAPTER XV
NOTES OF CEYLON
The voyage across the straits to Colombo proved to be wonderfully calm, which was rather unusual as we understood it was as a rule tempestuous, and we did not find our cabin nearly so hot as our room at Madura. We sighted the coast of Ceylon early in the morning of February 16, and got into harbour at Colombo about 8 A.M. A fleet of fishing boats had previously passed us, of the curious native rig—a square sail apparently arranged to sail before the wind only. Our steamer was soon surrounded by a little fleet of odd shaped outrigger canoes, some of them mere planks, paddled by active little darkie boys, who dived for small silver coins if they could induce the passengers to throw them. These little amphibians seemed as much at home in the water as in their canoes, and they swam like fishes.
Our good friend Mr Bois sent a messenger on board to meet us and help us through the customs, having secured us rooms at the Galle Face. Most things are chargeable under the tariff, but the traveller pays duty on his own valuation.
The steamer did not land its passengers at the quay, but anchored in the harbour, and everyone landed in boats. The Hotel boats, manned by native oarsmen, row swiftly to the Custom House, and often race each other. After passing the customs we got into a little Victoria and drove straight to the Galle Face.