Our friend said, à propos of some remarks of mine about the ignorance and indifference of missionaries as to native religions and their natural suitability to the races, and their habits of life and the climates where they are found, that he had cautioned missionaries against running down the native religion. This in Ceylon, is mainly Buddhist (and Buddha surely discovered something analogous to Christian ethics, if not superior, long before Christ). The Tamils are Buddhists, but there are some Hindus and Mohammedans in Ceylon, and even pure Buddhism is mingled in some curious way with a primitive devil-worship.
We saw the golf links and a golf club house—quite à la Anglaise—on a rising ground and bare of trees, for a wonder in Ceylon. It appeared that these links occupied the site of a farm which did not succeed. Then we saw the river, where an engineer’s iron bridge had taken the place of a former bridge of boats. Colombo must have largely lost its primitive and Dutch character when the old Fort was destroyed. This has been replaced by terribly ugly Barrack buildings, and the town is rapidly becoming a modern commercial centre, big warehouses and universal provider’s stores are rising up after the European or American type. The native character, however, manifests itself still, peeping out here and there, especially in the older shops, and there is more native costume to be seen than one had imagined. The country ox-cart is a striking object with its huge tilt of matting projecting forward and backward like a hood, the single zebu by which it is usually drawn appearing small for the size of the vehicle.
We did not see many native women about, but those we did see wore the native dress, consisting of a white bodice, cut round and rather low in the neck, with a lace edging; a necklace and earrings, and the narrow skirt wrapped about the lower half of the figure to the feet generally printed with a pattern, or chequered, similar to that worn by the men.
We drove round by the Cinnamon gardens, and rested at a club house—a mixed European Club—a pleasant house with a large and well-kept croquet lawn in front where ladies were playing. We sat a while, after being refreshed and making some new acquaintances, we returned in the motor to our hotel.
We had thunder and lightning at night. The lightning flashing almost incessantly all over the heavens, but mostly from great clouds rolling up from the north and east.
While sitting at tea in the hall of the Galle Face one afternoon we met an old friend in the person of Mr Cyril Holman Hunt, the son of the famous pre-Raphaelite painter, who had been a planter for some years, first in Ceylon and afterwards in the Straits, from which he had just arrived. So that it was quite a chance our meeting, as he was not even staying at the same hotel.
The same evening the officers of the Italian warship Marco Polo were entertained at dinner at the Galle Face, and their band played selections afterwards.
The scene in the hall of a Colombo hotel is always busy, but in a different way to a European hostelry—one might almost say it was feverish haste in the midst of languid indolence—a ballet of energetic action before a crowd of unconcerned spectators. While some are in the fuss of departure or arrival, rows of enervated travellers lounge in wicker chairs, reading, chatting, smoking, or engaged with tea or cooling drinks, mostly attired in white; many of the ladies in delicate summer dresses, the men in white drill or tussore suits. All nationalities are represented, the majority American, and mostly people waiting for their steamers outward or homeward.
Most visitors to Ceylon make a trip to Kandy, and one morning early saw us on our way thither. The railway carriages are good and comfortable, but they do not allow the stacking of hand luggage in them as they do to such an extent on the Indian railways. The train passed through a very rich and fruitful-looking country, where the paddy crops in different stages—under water, green and ripe or being reaped and thrashed—reminded us of India. The fields were generally surrounded by groves of plantains and palms.
The vegetation being most luxuriant everywhere: banyans, mangoes, and flowering trees of different kinds including spireas and the “forest flame” we saw at Darjeeling; tangled masses of creepers hanging from the boughs, and often covering the whole tree. Several rivers were crossed the red earth showing on their banks, and the water generally tinged with the same.