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                          THE PEARL OF INDIA

                                  BY

                          MATURIN M. BALLOU

              From India and the Golden Chersonese,
              And utmost Indian Isle Taprobanes.

                                              MILTON

                            SECOND EDITION

                         BOSTON AND NEW YORK

                    HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY

                    The Riverside Press, Cambridge

                                 1895

                           Copyright, 1894,

                        BY MATURIN M. BALLOU.

PREFACE.

That many readers evince a growing satisfaction in contemplating
foreign lands through the eyes of experienced travelers, the favor
shown to previous books by the author of these pages abundantly
testifies. Mutual profit is therefore the outcome of such a work; both
the author and reader are gratified.

It is a pleasure to depict scenes which have afforded so much
gratification to the writer, for enjoyment is redoubled by being
shared,--"joy was born a twin." The undersigned has often been asked
both personally and by letter, "Of all the places you have seen and
written about, which do you consider of the most interest, and which
do you recommend me to visit?" This is a very difficult question to
answer, because individual tastes differ so widely. It is safe to say
no point presents more varied attractions to the observant traveler,
more thoroughly and picturesquely exhibits equatorial life, or
addresses itself more directly to the delicate appreciation of the
artist, botanist, antiquarian, general scientist, and sportsman, than
does Ceylon, gem of the Orient. There are few attractive places in the
East which are so accessible, or which may be said to offer more
reasonable assurance of safety and good health to the stranger, than
this fabled isle of Arabian story. The climate is equable and most
delightful; though the temperature is exceptionally high, it is, in
fact, perpetual summer, varied only by the rains of the monsoon months
of May and June, October and November. The tropical heat near the
coast is trying to northern visitors, but one can always find a
refuge, within a day's journey, up in the hills of the central
province, where it is so cool at most seasons of the year as to render
a fire necessary after sunset. In the matter of expense, this route is
as economical as the average of land and sea travel in any direction.
The cost of living in Ceylon is quite as moderate as in Southern
Europe, and now that the island is so generally traversed by railways
and excellent government roads, there is very little hardship to be
encountered in visiting its remotest districts.

                                                   M. M. B.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

Introductory.--Coming from the Eastward.--Interesting Ocean
Phenomena.--Denizens of the Sea.--Bird Travelers.--Delusive Mirage.--A
Thrilling Adventure.--Prompt Seamanship.--A Struggle for Life.--Dust
of the Sea.--A Dangerous Wreck.--Night Watches.--Sighting the Island
of Ceylon.--Adam's Peak, among the Clouds.--A Beautiful
Shore.--Steamers and Sailing Ships.--Curious Native Boats.--Singhalese
Pedlers.--A Catamaran.--Tempting of Providence.--An Author's Position     1

CHAPTER II.

A Classic Island.--Topographical Position.--Maldive Islands.--Lands rising
out of the Sea.--Size of Ceylon.--Latitude and Longitude.--A Link of a
Powerful Chain.--Important British Station.--"Mountain of the Holy
Foot."--Remarkable Mountain View.--Queer Speculations.--Insect Life in the
Island.--Acknowledged Gem of the Orient.--Wild Elephants.--In Olden
Times.--Far-Reaching Historic Connections.--Arboreal and Floral
Beauties.--Perennial Vegetation.--The Feathered Tribe                    19

CHAPTER III.

The Wearisome Tropics.--Waterspouts.--Climatic Conditions.--Length of
Days.--A Land Rich in Prehistoric Monuments.--History and Fable.--Last
King of Ceylon.--Ancient Ruins.--Aged Cave-Temples.--Gigantic Stone
Statue of Buddha.--French Vandals--A Native Chronicle.--Once the Seat
of a Great Empire.--System of Irrigation.--Mysterious Disappearance of
a Nation.--Ruins of a Vast City.--Departed Glory.--The Brazen
Palace.--Asiatic Extravagance.--Ruined Monument                          44

CHAPTER IV.

Oriental Dagobas.--Ancient City of Pollonarua.--Laid out like our Modern
Capitals.--Unexplored Ruins.--Elaborate Stone Carvings.--Colossal Stone
Figure.--The "Buried Cities."--The Singhalese not a Progressive
People.--Modern History of Ceylon.--Captured by the English.--The
"Resplendent Island."--Commercial Prosperity.--Increasing Foreign
Population.--Under English Rule.--Native Soldiers.--Christian Sects and
Churches.--Roman Catholic Church.--Expulsion of the Jesuits              71

CHAPTER V.

Food of the People.--Rice Cultivation.--Vast Artificial Lakes.--The
Stone Tanks of Aden.--Parched Australia.--Coffee Culture.--Severe
Reverses among Planters.--Tea Culture.--Cinchona Plantations.--Heavy
Exportation of Tea.--Cacao Culture.--A Coffee Plantation
described.--Domesticated Snakes.--The Cinnamon-Tree.--Cinnamon Gardens a
Disappointment.--Picturesque Dwellings.--Forest Lands.--The Ceylon
Jungle.--Native Cabinet Woods.--Night in a Tropical Forest.--Rhododendrons
                                                                         89

CHAPTER VI.

Arboreal King of the Forest.--The Palm Family.--Over-Generous Nature
and her Liberal Provisions.--Product of the Cocoanut-Tree.--The
Wide-Spreading Banian.--Excellent Public Roads.--Aquatic Birds and
Plants.--Native Fruit Trees.--The Mangosteen.--Spice-Bearing
Trees.--Treatment of Women.--Singhalese Rural Life.--Physical
Character of Tamil Men.--Tree Climbing.--Native Children.--Numerical
Relation of the Sexes.--Caste as respected in Ceylon.--Tattooing the
Human Body                                                              112

CHAPTER VII.

Experiences between Colombo and Point de Galle.--Dangers of Encountering
Reptiles.--Marvelous Ant Houses.--Insect Architects.--Curious Bird's
Nests.--Flamingoes at Rest.--Variety of the Crane Family.--Wild
Pea-Fowls.--Buddha's Prohibition.--Peculiar Wood-Notes.--Mingling of Fruit
and Timber Trees.--Fatal Parasitic Vines.--Stillness of the
Forest.--Superstitions of the Natives.--Snake Bites.--Railway Facilities
                                                                        131

CHAPTER VIII.

Colombo, Capital of Ceylon.--Harbor Facilities.--The
Breakwater.--Exposed to Epidemics.--Experiences on
Landing.--Hump-Backed Cattle.--Grand Oriental Hotel.--Singhalese
Waiters.--Galle Face Hotel.--An Unusual Scene.--Number of
Inhabitants.--Black Town the Native Quarters.--Domestic
Scenes.--Monkeys.--Evil Odors.--Humble Homes.--The
Banana-Tree.--Native Temples and Priestly Customs.--Vegetables and
Fruits.--Woman's Instinct.--Street Scenes in the Pettah.--Fish Market
                                                                        144

CHAPTER IX.

The English Part of Colombo.--Army Reserves.--Ceylon an Independent
Colony.--"A Paternal Despotism."--Educational Facilities.--Buddhism
versus Christianity.--Public Buildings.--The Museum.--Domestic
Dwellings.--Suburb of Colpetty.--The Lake of Colombo.--A Popular
Driveway.--A Sunset Scene.--Excursion to the Kalani Temple.--The
Jinrikisha.--Current Diseases.--Native Jugglers.--Hypnotism.--Houdin,
the French Magician, astonishes the Natives.--The Thieving Crows        166

CHAPTER X.

Birds on the Rampage.--Familiar Nuisances.--Silver-Spoon Thieves.--Doctrine
of Metempsychosis.--Various Nationalities forming the Population.--Common
Languages.--Tamils are the Wage-Earners.--The Singhalese Proper are
Agriculturists.--Queer Belief in Demons.--Propitiation!--The
Veddahs.--Attacking Wild Elephants.--Serpent Worship.--Polyandry.--Native
Singhalese Women.--Dress of Both Sexes.--Streets of Colombo on a Gala
Day.--An English Four-in-Hand.--Mount Lavonia                           186

CHAPTER XI.

The Ancient Capital of Kandy.--An Artificial Lake.--The Great River of
Ceylon.--Site of the Capital of the Central Province.--On the Way from
Colombo to Kandy.--The Tiny Musk-Deer.--The Wild Boar.--Native
Cabins.--From the Railway Car Windows.--The Lotus.--Destructive White
Ants and their Enemies.--Wild Animals.--The Mother of Twins.--A Little
Waif.--A Zigzag Railway.--An Expensive Road to build.--"Sensation
Rock" with an Evil History.--Grand Alpine Scenery                       206

CHAPTER XII.

Historical Kandy.--Importance of Good Roads.--Native
Population.--Temple of Buddha's Tooth.--The Old Palace.--Governor's
House.--Great Resort of Pilgrims.--Interior of the Temple.--The Humbug
of Relics.--Priests of the Yellow Robe.--A Sacred Bo-Tree.--Diabolical
Services in the Ancient Temple.--Regular Heathen Powwow.--Singhalese
Music.--Emulating Midnight Tomcats.--Chronic Beggary.--The Old
Parisian Woman with Wooden Legs.--A Buddhist Rock-Temple                225

CHAPTER XIII.

Ceylon the Mecca of Buddhism.--The Drives about Kandy.--Fruit of the
Cashew.--Domestic Prison of Arabi Pasha.--"Egypt for the
Egyptians."--Hillside Bungalows.--Kandy Hotels at a Discount.--The
Famous Botanical Garden of Ceylon.--India-Rubber-Trees, Bamboos, and
Flying Foxes.--Dangerous Reptiles in the Garden.--The Boa
Constrictor.--Success of Peruvian-Bark Raising.--Vicious Land
Leeches.--The Burrowing and Tormenting Tick.--Where Sugar comes from
in Ceylon                                                               241

CHAPTER XIV.

Fifty Miles into Central Ceylon.--Gorgeous Scenic Effects.--Gampola.--The
Singhalese Saratoga.--A Grand Waterfall.--Haunts of the Wild
Elephants.--Something about these Huge Beasts.--European Hunters
restricted.--An Indian Experience.--Elephants as Farm Laborers in Place of
Oxen.--Tame Elephants as Decoys.--Elephant Taming.--Highest Mountain on the
Island.--Pilgrims who ascend Adam's Peak.--Nuera-Ellia as a Sanitarium.--A
Hill Garden                                                             258

CHAPTER XV.

Port of Trincomalee.--A Remarkable Harbor.--How to get
there.--Nelson's Eulogium.--Curious and Beautiful Shells.--Pearl
Oysters.--Process of Pearl Fishing.--What are Pearls and which are
most valued?--Profit to Government.--A Remarkable Pearl.--Tippo Sahib
and Cleopatra.--The Singhalese not Sailors.--Ancient Ruins,--Hot
Springs near Trincomalee.--"Temple of a Thousand Columns."--Valuable
Supply of Ship Timber.--Salt Manufactures.--Tenacity of Life in the
Shark                                                                   272

CHAPTER XVI.

Point de Galle.--An Ancient Port, now mostly deserted.--Dangerous
Harbor.--Environs of the City a Tropical Garden.--Paradise of Ferns and
Orchids.--Neptune's Gardens.--Tides of the Ocean.--Severe
Penalties.--Floating Islands of Seaweed.--Fable, like History, repeats
itself.--Chewing the Betelnut.--An Asiatic Habit.--All Nations seek Some
Stimulant.--Soil near Galle.--Cinnamon Stones.--Diamonds.--Workers in
Tortoise-Shell.--Millions of Fruitful Palms.--Sanitary Conditions of Galle
                                                                        292

CHAPTER XVII.

Dondra Head.--"The City of the Gods."--A Vast Temple.--A Statue of Solid
Gold.--A Famous Rock-Temple.--Buddhist Monastery.--Caltura and its
Distilleries.--Edible Bird's Nests.--Basket-Making.--The
Kaluganga.--Cinnamon Gardens.--"The City of Gems."--A Magnificent
Ruby.--The True Cat's-Eye.--Vast Riches hidden in the Mountains.--Plumbago
Mining.--Iron Ore.--Kaolin.--Gem Cutting.--Native Swindlers.--Demoralizing
Effect of Gem Digging                                                   307

CHAPTER XVIII.

Circumnavigating the Island.--Batticaloa, Capital of the Eastern
Province.--Rice Culture.--Fish Shooting.--Point Pedro.--Jaffna.--Northern
Province.--Oriental Bazaars.--Milk ignored.--The Clear Sea and White, Sandy
Bottom.--American Missionaries.--A Medical Bureau.--Self-Respect a Lost
Virtue.--Snake-Temples.--Ramisseram.--Adam's Bridge.--A Huge Hindu
Temple.--Island of Manaar.--Aripo.--The Port of Negombo.--Tamil
Coolies.--Homeward Bound.--A Farewell View                              323

THE PEARL OF INDIA.

CHAPTER I.

     Introductory.--Coming from the Eastward.--Interesting Ocean
     Phenomena.--Denizens of the Sea.--Bird Travelers.--Delusive
     Mirage.--A Thrilling Adventure.--Prompt Seamanship.--A
     Struggle for Life.--Dust of the Sea.--A Dangerous
     Wreck.--Night Watches.--Sighting the Island of
     Ceylon.--Adam's Peak, among the Clouds.--A Beautiful
     Shore.--Steamers and Sailing Ships.--Curious Native
     Boats.--Singhalese Pedlers.--A Catamaran.--Tempting of
     Providence.--An Author's Position.

After a pleasant sojourn in China and Japan, with Ceylon as his
objective point, the author came westward by way of the Malacca
Straits, crossing the Indian Ocean on a line of about the eighth
degree of north latitude. It is a lonely expanse of water, in
traversing which plenty of time was found for meditation. The
equatorial rains, though brief, were at times so profuse during the
voyage as to suggest the possibility of a second universal flood, and
also the advantage which might accrue from being web-footed; but the
air was mostly soft and balmy, the nights were gloriously serene and
bright. The transparency of the atmosphere magnified to dazzling
proportions the constellations which looked down so serenely upon us,
while the moon seemed to have taken a position vastly nearer to the
earth than is its wont at the north. The phosphorescent waves tossed
glowing gems, like fire-opals, about the ship's hull, while setting
our long wake ablaze with flashing light, and producing a Milky Way as
luminous as that above in the blue ether. All phosphorescent matter
requires friction to infuse it with light, and so the thoroughly
impregnated waters were churned into liquid fire by our vigorous and
swift-revolving propeller. What millions upon millions of animalcules,
and these again multiplied, must contribute to produce this aquatic
illumination. During the day, large turtles, schools of dolphins,
flying-fish, occasional water snakes, together with whole shoals of
jelly-fish, were encountered on the widespread tropical sea. At times,
myriads of the fairy-like nautilus floated past in gossamer frames,
while in savage contrast, voracious man-eating sharks followed the
ship close upon either quarter, in eager watchfulness for human prey.
How terribly significant is the upright dorsal fin of this creature,
seen just above the surface of the water, indicating the hideous,
slate-colored body which glides swiftly and stealthily below!

Hovering over and about the tall masts upon untiring pinions, a score
of white-winged, graceful marine birds persistently kept us company
day after day. They joined the ship off the coast of Sumatra, as we
left the entrance to the Malacca Straits, introducing themselves at
first with noisy vehemence and piercing cries, as if to assert their
presence and purpose, a proceeding which was not again repeated. What
became of these handsome feathered creatures at night we never knew,
and it was found that the oldest seaman was equally ignorant. If they
slept upon the waves, they must have overtaken us with arrowy
swiftness at the break of day. They were undoubtedly able to do this,
as they outstripped us in speed at any moment when they chose to do
so, sailing through the air far ahead and all around the rapid,
steady-going ship. However early one came on deck, they were sure to
be in sight, glancing hither and thither upon the invisible air
currents without any apparent exertion. It was the very poetry of
motion. We came finally to look upon these tireless fellow travelers
with no small degree of interest, and should really have regretted
their absence. It is always a pleasing diversion to watch them, to
count and see that their full number is still present, and to delight
in their free and graceful movements.

During the period of their presumed nightly rest upon the heaving
bosom of the sea, our vessel must necessarily pass over a distance of
many leagues, far, far beyond the power of human sight. How marvelous,
therefore, must be the instinct which guides them unerringly to resume
our company with the earliest rays of the morning light. When, in the
arid desert, the exhausted camel sinks at last in its tracks to die,
and is finally left by the rest of the caravan, no other object is
visible in the widespread expanse, even down to the very verge of the
horizon. Scarcely is the poor creature unloaded, however, and left to
perish upon the sand, before there will appear in the far-away sky a
cloud of vultures, at first mere specks in the blue atmosphere,
swooping with lightning speed towards the dying animal, whose bones
they immediately strip with terrific voraciousness. One who has
witnessed this scene can never forget it. The vultures strain and tear
at the carcass, swallowing great pieces of hide and flesh, until at
last, when they are completely gorged, they can only rise a few feet
from the earth, to sink again exhausted upon their feet. Hours must
transpire before they can again soar any distance upon the wing, after
their gluttonous repast.

The sea in this region of the Indian Ocean teems with animal life, the
curiously shaped finny tribe often exhibiting colors as gay and vivid
as those of the birds and flowers in the low latitudes.

Some strange and puzzling phenomena of nature were occasionally
witnessed. Now and again the whole ship's company were deluded by a
mirage; we seemed to be approaching land, though it was never reached,
and at the moment when we should fairly make out its bearings, it
faded slowly into thin air. So realistic were these appearances, often
repeated, that some passengers were curious enough to consult the
captain's sailing-charts to see if certain islands or shoals were not
laid down in or near the course we were steering. The nights were the
most enjoyable, so full of a delicious sense of repose, the stillness
broken only by the great heart-beats of the huge engine which formed
our motive power. The soft and refulgent atmosphere invited one to
linger on deck rather than to seek the close confinement of a
stateroom below, and thus many hours were passed in a half-dreaming,
half-conscious condition, while reviewing the varied experiences of
the past few months of travel. Tableaux of Japanese life and scenery,
bewitchingly attractive and enjoyable adventures in tea-houses, gay
excursions in jinrikishas, together with unique temples and huge
statues of Shinto deities, passed in endless procession before the
mind's eye. The oddities and the local color in Shanghai, Hongkong,
and Canton; the soothing motion of palanquins; the sloping-eyed,
yellow complexioned and pig-tailed people of China; a devastating
cyclone encountered in the Yellow Sea, and the wondrous sunset which
followed it; the gyrating waterspout which was seen off the Gulf of
Siam, a not infrequent experience where so many active currents of
wind and water meet; the many living pictures well-remembered of the
islands of the Malay Archipelago engraven upon the brain at Singapore,
Borneo, Sumatra, Penang, and Java, the latter containing more active
and extinct volcanoes than any other known region,--all these seemed
very real, though only silently rehearsed in dreamland.

Soon after leaving the straits and gaining the broad ocean, a brief
but heavy gale of wind was encountered, which created for some hours a
most boisterous sea. On the morning after the storm, a foremast hand
was sent over the starboard bow to make fast some gearing which had
become loosened by the gale. Almost immediately afterward, the cry of
"Man overboard!" rang fore and aft the ship. A wide-awake passenger
who happened to be standing near the taffrail instantly took a knife
from his pocket, and cutting loose a life-buoy which was fastened to
the starboard quarter ratline, promptly threw it towards the man in
the water as he floated away from the ship. The sailor saw it, and
being a good swimmer struck out for and reached it. A moment later, it
was seen that he had succeeded in thrusting his head and arms through
the opening of the sustaining buoy. In the mean time, the captain at
the sound of the ominous cry sprang up the ladder leading to the
bridge, and took personal charge of the ship, sending the first
officer, whose watch it happened to be, to superintend the lowering of
a quarter-boat to rescue the unfortunate seaman if possible. There was
no flurry, no confusion among the crew. Not a word was spoken except
by the officers. The silence of discipline was supreme. A sailor was
promptly ordered into the shrouds to keep run of the man, who was soon
out of sight from the deck, so rough was the intervening water. The
quarter-boat was lowered from the davits, and was afloat in less than
three minutes after the order was issued, with six stout seamen at the
oars and the first officer in the stern. What a mere cockle-shell it
appeared in that angry sea, one moment low down in the trough, and the
next upon the summit of the waves towering above the deck of the ship.
Nothing of less importance than the saving of a human life would have
warranted the launching of a boat in such a wild condition of the
waves. The sailor who had been sent into the shrouds was ordered to
point constantly toward the man in the water, so that those in the
boat might know in what direction to steer.

"Give way, men, give way with a will!" said the officer, and the oars
bent to the muscular power of the crew.

The ship had been under a twelve-knot headway when the accident
happened, and the man, supported by the buoy, was already a mile or
more to leeward. Then occurred a singular and inopportune
circumstance, which was for a moment the cause of dangerous delay. The
sturdy seaman who pulled the stroke oar of the boat just launched was
seen to falter, cease rowing, and suddenly to bend forward, as though
he were paralyzed. The excitement of the moment completely unmanned
him. His heart for an instant ceased to beat. The first officer
comprehended the situation instantly. Seamen are trained to
promptness; so off came his coat, the tiller was thrust into the
half-fainting sailor's hand, accompanied by a brief command,--he could
steer if he could not pull,--and the officer bent his own stout arms
and body to the stroke oar. There was no time for words,--the stake
was a human life. One or two of the anxious passengers whispered the
word "Shark!" Where were those tiger-fish at this critical moment? The
boat made slow but steady headway towards the distant seaman, while he
at the tiller steered as was indicated by the man stationed high up in
the ship's shrouds. Upon reaching the bridge and relieving the officer
on duty, the captain, while issuing his other orders, had coolly rung
down to the engine-room,--"Stand by! Slow down! Stop her! Back her!"
with a brief interval between each signal. Then, stepping to the
starboard end of the bridge, he waved his handkerchief to the fast
disappearing seaman to let him know that his commander was at his post
and would do his best to save him. The big hull, in response to her
reversed propeller, after a few moments of tremulous indecision, began
to move stern foremost. Several passengers ascended the rigging to
keep the boat in view, for it too was lost to sight from the deck. It
struggled stoutly with the angry sea, which seemed loath to give up
its victim. Those in the shrouds gazed eagerly, and almost held their
breath. The steamer drew very slowly nearer to the man in the water,
as well as to the boat. By and by, after a period of terrible
suspense, the man in the water was seen to be seized by his messmates
and drawn into the boat, which was then turned toward the ship. It was
a long and severe struggle still, to contend successfully with the
high sea which was running, but the boat was finally brought on the
lee side of the vessel, the stout ropes were made fast to the
ring-bolts in its stem and stern, and with all on board it was quickly
run up to the davits. The rescued man and his brave deliverers were
received on board with three hearty cheers, and the big ship, once
more under a full head of steam, took her course westward.

Prompt action, cool courage, and good seamanship saved the life of the
imperiled sailor. There was more than one grateful heart on board
which was relieved by a silent prayer of thanksgiving.

Some of our lady passengers complained of being seriously annoyed by
sea-dust, which at first thought seems ridiculous. Dust at sea! But
there is nevertheless an impalpable collection of salt matter or dry
spray, so to speak, which rises at times from the ocean, especially in
these latitudes, causing the eyes to smart, and giving a distinct
saline flavor to the lips, while it is so penetrating as to thoroughly
impregnate one's clothing. When the sun shines, this deposit seems to
be less abundant, but like the dew, it affects those most who are
exposed to the night air. The "dust" of the sea is very real, as any
experienced sailor will testify.

Our voyage was not without several eventful occurrences. On the
second day after the storm, the lookout reported some object ahead
lying almost directly in our course. At first it looked like a huge
whale, the dark body well out of water, or like the top of a sunken
rock; but as we rapidly approached, it was made out to be the hull of
a large ship, keel uppermost. It might have proved to be a fatal
encounter, had we run upon it in the night. A sharp lookout, together
with the sun shining upon the object, revealed it, but being so near
the color of the sea and having no top-hamper in sight, it could not
have been discovered at any considerable distance at night. Probably
half-sunken vessels have been ere this the cause of other and equally
fatal wrecks. The size and character of the one we had encountered
could only be surmised. The name, even, could not be made out. It
appeared to be a sailing craft of eighteen hundred or two thousand
tons, which had "turned turtle," as sailors term it, perhaps in the
storm which we had so lately encountered. The air retained in the hull
when it capsized evidently served to keep it afloat. Our steamer was
stopped within a safe distance, and a boat was lowered and sent in
charge of an officer to examine the hull, with orders to cut a hole in
the bottom. This would naturally cause the very dangerous obstruction
to sink. It was slow work to cut an opening in the stout bottom with
an axe, but when it was finally accomplished and an aperture two feet
square was made, the downward pressure of the huge structure forced
out the air and water with tremendous power, like a monster whale
spouting. It was now plain enough what had kept the hull afloat, for
as this confined air rushed out, producing a noise like escaping
steam, the dark mass began slowly to settle, so that before our boat
had returned and was fairly secured at the davits, it had sunk below
the surface of the waves, which washed over it for a few moments, as
though it were a coral reef. Then it suddenly disappeared altogether.
These treacherous seas have been well named the graveyard of commerce.
The mystery of the wreck, so far as we know, was never solved.
Doubtless all hands perished together when the vessel capsized.

Of course, such an experience sets one to speculating upon the
possibilities which it involves. Sometimes a terrible sense of
loneliness comes over the voyager upon the ocean, notwithstanding the
ship and its immediate surroundings, when he realizes the immense
space covered by the wilderness of the sea. It is not so much fear as
it is awe inspiring.

The passengers watched the captain with great interest daily, as he
went through the formula of recording the ship's course. Any incident
at sea is eagerly seized upon to vary the monotony. As is well known,
the commander of a ship corrects his time by the observation of the
sun at meridian, thus specifying his position upon the waste of
waters, and enabling him to mark upon the chart his exact latitude
and longitude. The process is a mystery to the average traveler, but
its simplicity will delight him, if he once takes the trouble to
understand it.

It was a bright December morning when we made the island of Ceylon.
Not a cloud was seen breaking the intense atmospheric blue that
overhung the vast expanse. Many of the passengers, on retiring the
night previous, left word with the steward to be called at an early
hour in anticipation of our sighting the land. The sea had been quite
calm for the last two days, and the nights sublime. A few of us found
it sufficiently restful to remain on deck amid such surroundings,
gazing idly among the clustering stars, so far away, and watching for
the first view of the shore. Thus the night passed, and the big red
globe of the sun came up out of the sea to the eastward, as though it
had been sleeping submerged there since it bade us good-night in the
west at twilight. Adam's Peak, in the shape of a perfect cone, had
been in view from the deck since the break of day, half lost in the
far-away sky. In clear weather, this famous elevation can be seen
sixty miles off the shore of the island. The height of the mountain,
and its looming form, at first produces the effect of a mountain
rising abruptly from out of the perfect level of the waves, but we
were now rapidly approaching the land, and just as the steward's bell
summoned us to breakfast, the lighthouse on the end of the breakwater
of Colombo came dimly into view. The first meal of the day, usually
partaken of at sea with such hearty zest, was neglected by most of the
passengers that morning. A welcome and absorbing sight was before us.
We had last been on land at Penang, which was now left thirteen
hundred miles astern. All were weary of the sea, and in a favorable
mood to fully enjoy the gentle land breeze which came to us laden with
the fragrance of flowers distilled from a wilderness of bloom.
Tropical luxuriance and languor reigned supreme. What a summer world
it was, beautiful beyond expression! The sunshine had not yet asserted
its oppressive power, and the island was seen at its best. An artistic
eye could not but delight in the lavish display of well-defined color
which was presented in the azure sky, the deep green of the
vegetation, the pale blue of the shoal water, and the snow-white
feathery spray combing over the stout granite coping of the
breakwater. As we came nearer to the influence of the shore, the air
was tinctured with rank odors, and the water was heavy with yellow
seaweed, while the hoarse murmurs of the contentious waves sounded
their mournful anthem. No matter how calm the outer sea may be, the
large green rollers of the ocean break with great force when they meet
with any abrupt impediment on the shore. One does not readily forget
such an impressive moment. It remains a joy forever.

It is curious how sensitive the judgment is to external influences.
Nothing is more likely to produce a fixed and unfavorable impression
of a new place than to approach it beneath a cheerless, cloud-darkened
sky, while bored by some personal annoyance. On the contrary, if one
is introduced to a fresh locality under cheerful auspices, while
Nature herself is in a happy mood, he unconsciously reflects a similar
spirit, and is heartily prepossessed in its favor. It was only
necessary to observe one's companions to see this fully illustrated.
There were a few disaffected ones to whom the world seemed all awry,
but the majority felt the inspiration and joyousness of the scene.

It was now clear enough that Adam's Peak ("Mount of the Holy Foot"),
which had seemed a short time since to rise abruptly from the very
bottom of the sea, was really situated far inland, dominating a whole
family of lesser elevations, and having many miles of low,
thick-wooded country lying between it and the ocean. As we rounded the
lighthouse, half a dozen European steamships came into view, riding at
their moorings, making a brief call here on their way east or west,
together with a considerable fleet of small coasting crafts, and a
long line of idle catamarans, drawn up upon the shelving beach.
Besides these, there were a couple of full-rigged European sailing
ships, presenting a strong contrast to the mammoth steamers with their
invisible motive power. One of the ships was getting under weigh,
bound for Australia. A number of her busy crew were aloft, engaged in
setting sail after sail, and covering the ample yards with canvas
wings, while the capstan bars were manned by others getting up the
anchor, their hearty and melodious nautical refrain coming clearly to
our ears across the intervening waters.

No sooner had our ship come to anchor than it was surrounded by a
score and more of curious native boats, which are called on this coast
catamarans (_katter maran_, "tied tree"). The true catamaran is to be
seen all along the east coast of India, consisting of three or four
trunks of trees bound together with thongs. These contrivances form
the rude floats which are used by the Coromandel fishermen, and hence
the name. A few of the boatmen who were permitted to come on board
vociferously importuned the new-comers for a job, or pressed great
bargains upon us in the shape of fresh fruit, Brummagem stones,
curiously ornamented boxes of shells, and toy carvings in ivory and
ebony, the latter mostly representing elephants and Chinese idols.
Altogether there was a perfect babel of tongues adding to the
confusion incident upon the landing of passengers and baggage. There
was much handshaking, while many hasty but hearty farewells were
spoken, for it must be remembered that the good ship, after leaving a
few of the cabin passengers safely on shore and taking on board a
supply of coals, would continue her voyage toward far-away England.

The queerly constructed boats to which we have referred consist of a
rudely dug-out tree trunk, fifteen or twenty feet long, having planks
of wood fastened to the sides lengthwise, to form gunwales and afford
some protection from the water. No nails are used in their
construction, the woodwork being securely lashed--we might say
sewed--together with Ceylon cordage, made from the fibrous bark of the
palm. An outrigger, consisting of a solid log of wood, is fastened
alongside six or eight feet away, by means of two arched poles of
stout, well-seasoned bamboo. The outrigger, which is about half the
length of the boat, prevents the possibility of overturning it, but
without this attachment so narrow a craft--less than twenty-four
inches in width--would not remain in an upright position, if occupied,
even in a perfectly calm sea. The outrigger is always kept to
windward, and as these canoes have both ends constructed alike, they
sail equally well either way. The mast and single sail, being
portable, are easily shifted from one end to the other, or adjusted to
suit. The similarity of these rude boats to those one sees throughout
the Eastern Archipelago shows us whence the idea was probably
borrowed. Some of the larger canoes are over forty feet in length, but
none are wide enough for two persons to sit abreast in them.

In these apparently frail floats the natives go fearlessly twenty
miles to sea in almost any weather short of a gale, to catch
deep-water fish, and it is a very rare occurrence to hear of any
serious mishap befalling a catamaran, or its hardy navigators. A
European, upon finding himself in one of these "floating scarecrows,"
according to the remark of a fellow passenger after reaching the
shore, "feels as if he were recklessly tempting Providence; and though
he may not be drowned, still he deserves to be." They are wretchedly
uncomfortable, these awkward boats, for one not accustomed to them,
but experience demonstrates that they are quite safe. As to the
natives, they tumble recklessly about in a catamaran, holding on like
monkeys, both with hands and feet.

Some of the passengers were observant enough to watch the handsome
birds which followed us a thousand miles and more across the sea, even
into the harbor of Colombo. There were others of the same species
flying about near the shore, but we fancied it possible to select our
special fellow travelers, as they still kept near to the ship's masts,
though she was now at anchor. Food was thrown to them from the cook's
galley, and that important functionary declared that when the ship
resumed her voyage, on the following day, the flock of gulls would
follow it as closely as heretofore, even through the Suez Canal and
the Mediterranean Sea, until the far-away English coast was reached.

Thus much we have said by way of introduction, and having now landed
on this "utmost Indian isle," let us endeavor to intelligently depict
its unique characteristics, together with its past and present story,
for the entertainment and information of the patient reader.

The author who sits down to write upon a given subject is generally so
full of his theme that he must constantly put on the brakes, as it
were, to curb his fancy. He is never thanked for what he omits from
his pages, though there is so much which he might but does not
express, lest his readers should feel bored by a detailed account of
that which, with the added charm of time and place, may have had
unwonted interest for himself. It is to be feared that words rarely
convey the real spirit of what most fascinates the eye, and whatever
they do not help the reader to see, like glass, they darken.

CHAPTER II.

     A Classic Island.--Topographical Position.--Maldive
     Islands.--Lands rising out of the Sea.--Size of
     Ceylon.--Latitude and Longitude.--A Link of a Powerful
     Chain.--Important British Station.--"Mountain of the Holy
     Foot."--Remarkable Mountain View.--Queer
     Speculations.--Insect Life in the Island.--Acknowledged Gem
     of the Orient.--Wild Elephants.--In Olden
     Times.--Far-Reaching Historic Connections.--Arboreal and
     Floral Beauties.--Perennial Vegetation.--The Feathered
     Tribe.

Ceylon, the Lanka Dwipe, "resplendent island," of the Hindus, the
fabled isle of the Arabian Nights, and appropriately called the "Pearl
of India" by the English, who are its present masters, is separated
from the southern extremity of the continent by the Gulf of Manaar.
Were it not that a shallow watercourse of about fifty miles in width
intervenes, the island would be a peninsula. As it is, a barrier to
navigation known as Adam's Bridge, consisting of several ledges of
parallel rocks, nearly forms a connection with the mainland. Aided by
coral growth and the sand deposit of the ceaseless current setting
into the Strait of Manaar from the long reach of the Coromandel coast,
this may in the course of time be consummated. The tendency is
certainly in that direction, notwithstanding a system of dredging
which has been adopted by the English government, enabling vessels
which do not draw over ten feet of water to pass through the strait,
and thus avoid the necessity of doubling the island at its southern
extremity. Ceylon,--the Serendib of the Arabs,--is the gem of the
Indian Ocean, an intimate acquaintance with which fully sustains the
delightful promise it suggests to the stranger who beholds it for the
first time as he approaches the low-lying, palm-lined shore. Indeed,
it might appropriately be called the Isle of Palms, so interminable is
the array of cocoanut-trees which fringe the beach.

Judging solely from its present appearance and its geographical
position, it would seem to have been a portion of the mainland at some
former period, though there are many able writers who do not accept
this idea, reminding us that animals, birds, insects, and reptiles
which are quite unknown on the continent of India exist in this
island. There are no hyenas, tigers, wolves, or foxes here, though
there are plenty of these creatures just across the Strait of Manaar.
As an argument this is not of so much importance, however, as might at
first appear, since there are so many well-known instances of a like
character. The dissimilitude of Sumatra and Java, separated by only a
narrow channel, occurs to us, as well as that of Madagascar, but
narrowly divided from the neighboring continent. So able a writer on
physical geography as Sir J. E. Tennent believes that Ceylon is not a
dismembered portion of India, but a distinct formation, perhaps part
of a continent which has long since disappeared. In this suggestive
opinion Professor Owen also agrees with him.

The Maldive Islands, situated five hundred miles west of Ceylon, are a
group of seventeen coral islets containing a vast number of cocoanut
palms, and are rich in varied tropical vegetation. They have a
population of thirty thousand Mohammedans, ruled by an hereditary
sultan, who pays yearly tribute to the present government of Ceylon in
recognition of his dependency.

Legend informs us that two thousand years and more before Christ,
multitudes of isles were attached to the kingdom of Lanka (Ceylon),
which were suddenly overwhelmed by the sea. At the time of the great
catastrophe, it is represented that the splendid capital city of
Sri-Lanka-Pura, which stood to the westward of any part of the present
island, was engulfed, and disappeared forever. The Portuguese, on
their arrival in Ceylon in the sixteenth century, found the natives
fully believing in the traditions of its former extent, and its
partial submersion. This is duly recorded by the Portuguese writers of
that period. The substance of this legend is also to be found in the
Mahawanso, or native chronicles of the island.

So far as the flora and fauna of Ceylon are concerned, it resembles
the islands of the Malay group lying far to the eastward, much more
than it does the land which is situated so near to it at the north.
Geologists tell us that the island has for ages past been slowly
rising from the ocean level, and we know that well-preserved marine
shells are found in masses at a considerable elevation, ten miles
inland, both in the north and the south of Ceylon, and especially in
the foot-hills of the central mountain, or Kandian range, as it is
called, near Ratnapura. When we pause to consider for a moment the
possible age of these marine deposits, preconceived and popular ideas
of the time which has passed since the creation of the world are
utterly nullified. That the process of rising above sea level has been
progressing for ages is undoubtedly true, as in the instance of Norway
and Sweden, where careful measurements have been recorded, from time
to time, during a period of three hundred years, clearly demonstrating
that the land of those countries is steadily rising, while the
adjacent sea subsides. In some other instances the process is directly
reversed, the land obviously, though slowly, sinking, and the ocean
rising. This is a well-known operation, not confined to any one
portion of the globe. At the ancient town of Pozzuoli, on the shore of
the Bay of Naples, there is a solid marble pavement once belonging to
a pagan temple, built between two and three thousand years ago. The
temple was doubtless originally founded on the dry land, but this
indestructible floor is between nine and ten feet below the level of
the sea at this writing.

Ceylon is peculiar in its shape, resembling a cone, the smaller end
nearest to the continent which lies so close to it. This northern
portion of the island is a flat, narrow peninsula with a sandy soil,
but which by proper management is made to yield certain crops fairly
well. The western and southern coasts are low and densely wooded,
having many small bays and picturesque indentations, while the eastern
side is characterized by a bold and precipitous shore, quite
inaccessible from the sea, yet affording one or two excellent harbors
and several indifferent ones. The important and much-praised port of
Trincomalee is on this side of the island, where several open
roadsteads are commercially available for coasting vessels, so built,
like most oriental water-craft, that they can be drawn up on the beach
in rough weather. The coast is blockaded on the northwest by
numberless rocks, shoals, and sandbanks, impeding navigation, though
the island can be circumnavigated, as already indicated, by means of
the Paumben Pass, between Ramisseram and the continent. The north and
northwest coasts are especially low and flat, undoubtedly formed by
ages of sand deposits brought down from the north by the ceaseless
currents and lodged upon coral formations as a foundation. In area,
Ceylon is more than three times the size of Massachusetts, containing
twenty-five thousand square miles. The circuit of the island by water
is calculated to be about seven hundred miles. In Pliny's time he made
the circumference four times that distance. The latest statistics give
it a population of three millions, which is a sparse occupancy for so
extensive a territory, and one whose natural resources are sufficient
for the support of that number of people many times multiplied. Taken
as a whole, the island is perhaps the most thinly inhabited spot in
the Orient, though it is the largest and most important of what are
known as the crown colonies of the British Empire. Its number of
people is annually on the increase, as shown by the English Colonial
Blue Book,--an indisputable evidence of material prosperity. The
extensive ruins of ancient cities existing in the interior show that
there must have been in the past at least thrice the present number of
people upon the island, while some authorities place the possible
aggregate much higher than we have named, basing their calculation
upon the extraordinary size and number of the "buried cities," one of
which is reputed to have contained three million inhabitants, and over
four hundred thousand organized fighting men, whose weapons were bows,
arrows, and spears.

For the sake of completeness, it may be mentioned that the
geographical situation of Ceylon is between the sixth and tenth
degrees of north latitude, Point de Galle, in the extreme south, being
six degrees from the equator, and Point Pedro, in the farthest north,
a trifle less than ten. Dondra Head is a few miles farther southward,
and actually forms the extreme point of the island in that direction,
but Point de Galle, so much better known, is generally named to
represent the position. In the olden time, the former was a more
popular resort than the latter, a fact which some grand ruins clearly
establish; indeed, Dondra was the site of the Singhalese capital
during a part of the seventh century. A substantial and costly
lighthouse has lately been erected here by the English government.

By turning for a moment to any good modern map, the reader will
greatly facilitate the ready understanding of these pages.

Lying thus just off the southern point of India, at the entrance of
the Bay of Bengal, Ceylon stands, as we have intimated, in the same
relation to it that Madagascar does to Africa, forming a link of the
powerful chain of fortified outposts which England has shrewdly
established to maintain an open route to her Indian possessions. This
cordon, beginning at Gibraltar, extends to Malta, Aden, Ceylon,
Penang, Singapore, and Hongkong, thus dominating the southern coast of
Asia, and insuring the maintenance of British power in the East. Of
those named, Ceylon is the most central British military garrison.
Colombo, the capital, is situated nine hundred miles from Bombay, six
hundred from Madras, fourteen hundred from Calcutta, and sixteen
hundred from Singapore. With all these places it has constant steam
communication. Sir Henry Ward, then governor of Ceylon, sent an entire
infantry regiment to Calcutta at one day's notice, when the outbreak
known as the Indian mutiny occurred in 1857. These troops were the
first reinforcement to arrive on the scene at that critical period.
Touching the matter of home connection, Colombo is nearly seven
thousand miles from England by way of the Suez Canal, which is the
most direct route. As we proceed with our story of Ceylon, the
relevance of these statistics will become more apparent.

The surface of the island is picturesquely diversified by hills,
valleys, and plains. Its highest mountain, Pidarutalagalla, exceeds
eight thousand feet, while its most famous one, Adam's Peak, rises a
little over seven thousand feet above sea level. This is a lonely
elevation, springing abruptly into a sharp cone from the bosom of the
low hills which surround it, and from out of a wilderness of tropical
jungle. Few mountains of its height require more persistent effort to
reach the apex. Serious and even fatal accidents have many times
occurred among the pilgrim hosts, who have been drawn hither from
great distances for the purpose of prostrating themselves before the
alleged footprint. The ascent from the Maskeliya side is much easier
than that known as the "Pilgrim's Path" from Ratnapura, but the latter
is considered to be the proper one by which the truly devout should
seek the holy spot. Upon its summit ceaseless prayers and praises have
ascended for thousands of years. Is it an instinct of man, one pauses
to ask, which leads him to ascend such a height that he may seem to
be a little nearer to the God he worships? Besides the daily visitors
in the month of April, crowds of pilgrims from thousands of miles away
in northern India, Persia, and Arabia come hither annually to bow down
before a crude indentation of the rocky summit. The natives have a
legend that Buddha ascended to Heaven from this mountain, but other
religionists substitute the name of Adam; hence the designation which
it bears. There is an irregular cavity in the rock supposed to have
been made by Buddha's or Adam's foot, whichever may best accord with
the pilgrim's faith. But surely the foot of nothing less than a human
giant or an elephant would be nearly so large as this misshapen,
so-called footprint. It is curious how far zealous fanatics will go in
the line of self-deception, and out of what flimsy material fictitious
legends can be constructed. Dreamy orientals ascend this mountain
solely for devotional purposes, but the western traveler comes up
hither with infinite labor to enjoy the grand view from such an
elevation, and to see the sun rise in all its glory. He comes also to
witness a remarkable natural phenomenon, which once seen is never
forgotten. As the sun rises in the east, there suddenly appears upon
the western sky the vast reflex of the peak, as clearly defined as
though a second and precisely similar mountain were actually there.
Through the shadow, which seems to have some peculiar telescopic
effect upon the atmosphere, one sees Colombo distinctly, though it is
nearly fifty miles away. As the sun rises higher, the great mysterious
shadow fades slowly away like a ghostly phantom, growing less and less
distinct, until presently the west is also suffused with the waking
and regal glow of the morning.

Then is spread out before the view a scene of inspiration, rich in
contrasting effects and remarkable for its variety of lovely tints.
One may search half a lifetime without discovering anything to equal
its combined charms. The mountain stretching east and west, the
verdant plains, the picturesque tea and coffee plantations, the groves
of oranges, palms, bananas, and other tropical fruits, are as distinct
to the view as though within an arrow's shot. What a charming picture
to frame and hang within one's memory.

According to the priests, four Buddhas have visited the peak. The
first was there B. C. 3001, the second B. C. 2099, the third B. C.
1014, and the fourth, Gautama, B. C. 577.

Adam's Peak is by actual measurement the fifth elevation in point of
altitude among a list of one hundred and fifty mountains varying from
three thousand to seven thousand feet in height. It is doubtful if the
existence of so well-defined and extensive a mountain range in this
equatorial island is generally realized. One would like to know what
could have been the primary and real inducement for selecting this
spot as a sanctuary. The Buddhists think that the miraculous
impression of Buddha's foot has made the place sacred; the Hindus
revere it as being marked by the foot of Siva; the Mohammedan
considers it holy as bearing the footprint of Adam; and so on. How
came Hindus, Buddhists, and Mohammedans alike to attribute special
sanctity to this particular mountain? Such unanimity of sentiment
among widely differing sects must have had its rise, it would seem, in
some legitimate cause, and not in the mere chance selection of a
shrine.

A late writer upon the subject of Adam's Peak refers to the fact that
in the Septuagint, the word "Serendib" is found in Genesis viii. 4,
instead of Ararat, as being the place where Noah's ark rested after
the deluge! Serendib, it should be remembered, is the Arabian name of
Ceylon. One thing is quite certain, Asiatics of all creeds join each
other in a profound veneration for this bold and striking mountain.
Marco Polo, the famous Venetian traveler who wrote seven centuries
ago, spoke of the peak as containing the tomb, not the footmark, of
Adam. The Mohammedans, ever ready with a poetical legend, still
declare that when Adam and Eve were driven out of Paradise, they were
sent to Ceylon to console them for their banishment.

In order that a story or legend should touch the credulity of, and
become current among, oriental people, there are two grand essentials:
it must be sufficiently marvelous and ridiculously extravagant.

The author recommends the ascent of Adam's Peak to any member of the
Alpine Club who is ambitious to achieve a laborious climb heavenward.
There are few mountains only seven thousand four hundred feet in
height which present such difficulties as this, when approached from
Ratnapura.

The huge iron chains which aid the pilgrims to ascend the almost
vertical path are relics of so great antiquity that in the legends of
Mohammedans they are associated with the name of Alexander the Great.
The marvel is, how even iron could so have withstood the wear of ages,
thus exposed to atmospheric influences.

The mountains of Ceylon cover about one sixth of its area, rising in
the centre of the middle province, and extending nearly across the
island from coast to coast. The southern portion is in all respects
the most attractive, though a thousand years ago the northern part of
the island was the most populous and the most highly civilized. At the
north, there are still to be seen the ruins of cities whose size and
riches were once marvelous. Unknown agencies, together with civil wars
and foreign invasions, have destroyed these ancient capitals and
turned the neighboring highly cultivated lands into a wilderness.
To-day it is the region south of the ancient Kingdom of Kandy--a
kingdom no more--which most invites the stranger, rendered beautiful
by an endless succession of musical streams, waterfalls, mirror-like
lakes, palm groves, and flowery labyrinths,--the very realization of a
tropical dream. This region, dense with forests of palms, rich in
fruit trees, gorgeous in flowers, is the paradise of fireflies;
phosphorescent clouds of these little fairy-like torch-bearers
illumine the night at all seasons, reveling beneath the shadow of
feathery bamboos and broad-leaved bread-fruit trees. Here they sport,
contrasting their pyrotechnic display with the emerald lamps of the
glow-worms. In the daytime, radiant, sun-loving butterflies on
gossamer wings fill the atmosphere with flashing prismatic hues, the
harlequin-like parrot and the royal-plumed peacock completing the
outdoor carnival of colors.

The great green-winged ornithoptera, prince of the butterfly tribe,
rivaling the humming-bird in size, is nearly as abundant as at
Singapore, a living gem, measuring six niches across the extended
wings,--the giant of its species. Enthusiastic naturalists give
fabulous sums for specimens of this beautiful creature, much to the
amazement of the simple natives, who have been familiar with it all
their lives. The appearance of this lovely insect tribe in Ceylon is
gorgeous, in their yellow satin, black velvet, and steel-blue costumes
of gossamer texture, daintily spotted with white, green, crimson, and
ruby red. These frail beauties are as various in form as in hues,
still a perfect harmony of order is always observed. At certain
seasons of the year and at uniform intervals, migration of myriads of
butterflies takes place in Ceylon, but whence they come in such
countless numbers, or whither they go, no one seems to know. When on
the wing, these delicate creatures make marvelous progress against the
northeast monsoon, though they are of such frail construction that one
would think the slightest puff of wind must dismember their bodies.
Where there are so many blossoms and odorous flowers, Nature did not
forget also to supply myriads of the delightful little humming-birds,
which are seen, with breasts and throats of gold and purple, stealing
their sweets all day long, yet leaving enough for the innumerable wild
honey bees, and to flavor the air with exquisite odors. Ceylon has
been called the happy hunting-ground of naturalists, for collectors
are overwhelmed by the number, beauty, and variety of specimens which
present themselves, and which are easily secured.

A resident told the author of a lady friend who was an enthusiastic
naturalist and skillful preserver of specimens, and who visited the
island solely to gather examples of this fairy-like creature. She was
absent from England five months, three of which were passed in the
neighborhood of and at Colombo, Point de Galle, and Kandy. Our
informant said that the lady not only added vastly to her own
priceless collection, but she realized from those she sold to others a
sufficient sum to pay the expense of her visit to Ceylon. Every one
might not expect to do this, but the person referred to was a
professional in her line of occupation, and produced finished,
artistic results.

It has been the author's privilege to visit nearly all parts of the
world, not omitting the principal islands in both hemispheres, north
and south of the equator. With this experience, he does not hesitate
to place Ceylon in the first rank for natural riches and
attractiveness, and, next to Malta, in the same relative position as
regards its far-reaching and interesting historical associations. In
the exuberance of its vegetation, the productiveness of its glorious
palms, the abundance of its luscious fruits,--including that seductive
apple of the East, the mangosteen,--and the fascinating beauty of its
variegated flora, it is not surpassed by any island or continent on
the globe. A spirit of romance is engendered by the very name of
Ceylon, the chosen field of oriental fable, recalling its mighty
ruins, its unique native gems, its tribes of peculiar people, its
mysterious jungles, its array of brilliantly colored birds, and its
huge wild animals inviting the spirited hunter to deeds of daring and
adventure. A simple statement of statistical facts will emphasize this
last reference. The printed records show that, during the five years
ending in 1862, sixteen hundred wild elephants were ensnared, and
sufficiently tamed to be exported to India. In accomplishing the
capture of these, about two hundred are believed to have been killed
by the bullets of the hunters, besides others which escaped while so
seriously wounded that they must have died in their nearly
inaccessible haunts. Since the date named, such wholesale slaughter
has been prohibited by government. Comparatively few are now exported
yearly, and the only market for them is India, if we except a limited
demand from European zoölogical gardens, and American circuses and
traveling menageries.

At one time, not many years ago, the English authorities paid a reward
for the killing of elephants. The fact is, they had become so numerous
and destructive, especially in the rice-fields at harvest time, that
it was absolutely necessary to reduce the number of the wild ones. A
reward of ten shillings was therefore offered and paid for each tail
brought to the official headquarters. These animals, at that time, had
long been undisturbed, and were consequently less shy; while now, on
the report of a gun, all the wild elephants within hearing, impelled
by an intelligence bought by experience, rush for the depths of the
jungle, which is quite inaccessible to human beings. They are mostly
magnificent and wary creatures. No white ones are ever seen here,
though they are so abundant in Siam. The elephants are measured, in
Ceylon, at the shoulders, and a full-grown male stands usually about
nine feet in height at this point, rather under than over. The largest
elephants on the island are said to haunt the country about the
ancient ruins of Pollanarua, where there are some almost impassable
forests. The fever-haunted jungles have no terrors for these huge
creatures, which seemingly enjoy entire immunity from all the ills
attendant upon such surroundings. In its native wilds, no one ever saw
an elephant ill from natural causes. When death threatens them from
old age or the wounds of the huntsmen, they retire and hide
themselves, to die.

The charms of this island were well known in past ages. It is no new
discovery of our day, as the earliest writers celebrated the pearls
and gems of "Taprobane," and ornaments composed of its precious stones
decked Asiatic queens of beauty twice ten hundred years ago. Ancient
thrones were beautified by its sparkling sapphires, and the products
of its spice-fields rendered fragrant the fires which burned upon the
altars of pagan gods. The Greeks called it the "land of the hyacinth
and the ruby." Primitive nomenclature is not only poetically
descriptive, but is nearly always appropriate.

The island is very ancient in its historical relations. Its most
famous capital is supposed to have been in its prime five or six
hundred years before the Christian era, while some of its crumbling
monuments belong to a much earlier age. It is confidently believed by
many students of history to be the Ophir of the Hebrews; and the fact
that it still abounds in rubies, sapphires, amethysts, garnets, and
other precious stones, seems, in a degree, to corroborate this
supposition. An intelligent estimate as to the aggregate value of the
gems exported from Ceylon during the long past places it at so
enormous a figure that we decline to give it in this connection,
though fully realizing that the yield has been going on
uninterruptedly for a period of two or three thousand years. But aside
from this very attractive feature, it is, as a whole, the most
beautiful island of the East, producing many other gems besides those
of a mineral nature. "It is truly impossible to exaggerate the natural
beauty of Ceylon," says the author of "The Light of Asia," and adds:
"The island is, in fact, one prodigious garden, where the forces of
nature almost oppress and tyrannize the mind, so strong and lavish is
the vegetation." Marco Polo, who visited it in the thirteenth century,
said that it was the choicest island of its size on the earth; and
though, in the dim light of such information as was obtainable in his
day, he made some grotesquely incorrect statements relating to the
country, he was most certainly right in this superlative praise. He
adds that the territory of Ceylon was much larger in former times than
in his day, a great part of it having crumbled away and sunk into the
sea. This is an important conclusion, with which our modern
geographers are very ready to agree, though conjecture only can say to
what extent it may have occurred.

As already mentioned, the arboreal and floral display is glorious
beyond expression, forming a very paradise for botanists. Nature
seems in this latitude to revel in blossoms of novel and fascinating
species. Moisture and heat seek here an outlet to expand their
fructifying powers. Situated in the path of the two monsoons, the
southwest from the Indian Ocean, and the northeast from the Bay of
Bengal, there is hardly a month of the year without more or less rain
in Ceylon; vegetation is therefore always green and leafage luxuriant.
In the jungle, large and brilliant flowers are seen blooming upon tall
trees, while the eye is attracted by others very sweet and tiny in the
prolific undergrowth, nestling among creepers and climbing ferns. In
fact, the flora is endless in variety and intoxicating in fragrance.
Perfume and bloom run riot everywhere. It would be vain to attempt an
enumeration of the myriad examples, but memory is quick to recall the
charming pitcher plant, the lotus,--its flower eight inches in
diameter,--the yellow jessamine, the gorgeous magnolia, with
innumerable orchids in their perfection of form and color, not
forgetting the orange-hued gloriosa, and the beautiful vine bearing
the wild passion-flower. There is also the large pearl-hued
convolvulus which blossoms only at night, known in Ceylon as "the moon
flower," and conspicuous through the dimness by its radiant whiteness.
Many of the orchids exhibit a most singular similitude to animals and
beautiful birds in their unspeakable and sweet variety. At first
sight, a collection of them strikes one like a bevy of gorgeous
butterflies and humming-birds, flitting among the green leaves. It
seems as if Nature had created them in one of her happiest and most
frolicsome moods,--"so true it is," says Macaulay, "that Nature has
caprices which Art cannot imitate." Occasionally the senses are
charmed by the fragrant, yellow-flowered champac, held sacred by the
Hindus, from the wood of which the small images of Buddha are carved
for the temples. Here, too, we have the odorous frangipane, the flower
which Columbus found in such abundance on first landing in Cuba. Was
it indigenous, one would like to know, in both of these tropical
islands so very far apart? It is a tall plant, with few branches
except at the top, but having fleshy shoots with a broad-spread,
single leaf. The sensitive plant, which is such a delicate house
ornament with us, fairly enamels the earth in this island, growing
wild from Adam's Peak to Point de Galle, multiplying its dainty,
bell-like pink blossoms, mingled with the delicate feathery acacia.
Growing so exposed, and in weed-like abundance, it is natural to
suppose that it would become hardened, as it were, to rough usage; but
it is not so, as it retains all its native properties, in exaggerated
form, if possible. Our puny little hothouse specimens are not more
delicate or sensitive to the human touch than is this Ceylon mimosa.
It is the most impressible of all known plants, and is appropriately
named. Curious experiments prove this. If a person will fix his eyes
upon a special branch and slowly approach it, the plant is seen
gradually to wilt and shrink within itself, as it were, before it is
touched by the observer's hand. It is endowed with an inexplicable
intelligence or instinct, and what appears to be a dread as regards
rude contact with human beings. A few years since, the author was at
Cereto, in the island of Cuba, where he was the guest of an English
physician who was also a coffee planter. While sitting with the family
on the broad piazza which formed the front of the bungalow, a thrifty
sensitive plant was recognized and made the subject of remark. The
doctor called his young daughter of eleven years from the house.

"Lena," said he, "go and kiss the mimosa."

The child did so, laughing gleefully, and came away. The plant gave no
token of shrinking from contact with the pretty child!

"Now," said our host, "will you touch the plant?"

Rising to do so, we approached it with one hand extended, and before
it had come fairly in contact, the nearest spray and leaves wilted
visibly.

"The plant knows the child," said the doctor, "but you are a
stranger."

It was a puzzling experience, which seemed to endow the mimosa with
human intelligence.

One brings away especially a vivid memory of the brilliant scarlet and
golden bloom which covers the flamboyer so densely as almost to hide
from view its foliage of velvet green. Only in far-away, mid-ocean
Hawaii does the traveler see this gorgeous tree so perfectly
developed.

The former superintendent of the Royal Botanical Gardens near Kandy,
whither we shall take the reader in due time, is a scientific
botanist, and an enthusiast in his profession. He tells us that he
classified nearly three thousand indigenous plants, which is double
the flora of Great Britain, and about one tenth of all the species in
the world yet described. Thirty of these are declared to be found only
upon this island. If correct, this is certainly a very remarkable
fact, and forms an additional incentive for exploration on the part of
naturalists.

Any reader of these pages who can conveniently visit Cambridge, Mass.,
should not fail to enjoy the unique and comprehensive collection of
specimens representing the flora of Ceylon, now in the Agassiz Museum.
The material is glass, although it seems to be wax, but so perfectly
has the work been done, under direction of Professor George L.
Goodale, of Harvard College, as to be indeed realistic. We have called
this collection unique, and it is absolutely so. Bostonians can find
no more charming local attraction with which to entertain appreciative
visitors from abroad than this in the department of botany at the
institution named.

There is a constant unvarying aspect of green pervading the scenery of
Ceylon, owing to the perennial nature of the vegetation. The trees do
not shed their leaves at any fixed period of the year. The ripe and
withered foliage drops off, but it is promptly replaced by new and
delicate leaves, whose exquisite hues when first expanding rival the
blossoms themselves in beauty of color. If fruit is plucked, a flower
quickly follows and another cluster ripens,--Nature is inexhaustible.
There is no winter interval or sleep for the vegetation, no period of
the sere and yellow leaf, as with us in the colder north. The fruits
and flowers are ever present, yet there is a certain resemblance to
spring and autumn, as we are accustomed to see them. The shrubs and
trees are decked more or less with young fresh leaves at all times,
while the ground is strewn with those in a state of decay which have
ripened and faded out of life. The latter with us are the harbingers
of winter, the former coming only with the opening spring. Thus it is
that we call it the reign of eternal summer, for all out-of-doors
seems like a conservatory of choice flowers and birds of dazzling
hues. Although these highly colored creatures of the feathered tribe,
like the butterflies, are almost innumerable, one is forced to admit
that there are few sweet songsters among them. Paroquets in mottled
green, practicing their dainty ways, present themselves in flocks,
lighting upon the nearest bushes and branches with a winning
fearlessness and confidence. They will slip quietly away if one
attempts to catch them, but when taken young they are easily
domesticated, accommodating themselves to human associations with the
utmost facility, and though they are left free to seek the woods and
jungle when they choose, they are sure to return voluntarily to the
cabins of the natives, to be fed and petted by human hands.

One variety of the green paroquet has a curious rose-colored ring
about its neck, like the turtle-dove, so delicate and uniform as to
seem almost artificial. The natives call it the love-bird. The
youthful Singhalese women, like those of Japan, take great pains in
the arrangement of their ebon-black hair. It was a unique and very
pretty sight observed one day in the native district of Colombo, when
a pair of live paroquets' heads, forming the apex to a native woman's
abundant coil, were seen coquettishly twisting and turning hither and
thither. The little beauties were quite content, perched up there amid
their mistress' wealth of tresses. They were hardly confined, though
their bodies were laid cosily beneath the braids as though resting in
their native nest. What a field this tropical isle would have been for
Audubon!

One often sees hovering about the gardens and bungalows a little bird
as large as an English sparrow, called the Ceylon bird of paradise,
but which does not deserve that name. It has a black head, a
neutral-tinted body, and a long tail, five times the length of its
body, consisting of pure white feathers. Its only marked peculiarity,
so far as is apparent, consists in its singular and disproportionate
tail. It has a little fretful, discordant twitter, but no connected
notes. The Singhalese name for the bird escapes us at this writing.

Ornithologists make out a list of over three hundred distinct species
of birds in Ceylon, among which the largest variety is found in the
parrot family, very nearly equaled by the wading and aquatic tribes.

CHAPTER III.

     The Wearisome Tropics.--Waterspouts.--Climatic
     Conditions.--Length of Days.--A Land Rich in Prehistoric
     Monuments.--History and Fable.--Last King of
     Ceylon.--Ancient Ruins.--Aged Cave Temples.--Gigantic Stone
     Statue of Buddha.--French Vandals.--A Native
     Chronicle.--Once the Seat of a Great Empire.--System of
     Irrigation.--Mysterious Disappearance of a Nation.--Ruins of
     a Vast City.--Departed Glory.--The Brazen Palace.--Asiatic
     Extravagance.--Ruined Monument.

The author had been expressing a sense of hearty appreciation, on a
certain occasion, in a domestic circle at Colombo, as to the perennial
character of the vegetation, together with the endless variety of
fruits and flowers in this favored land, but it appeared that those
who had adopted it as their home did not find it to be absolute
perfection. There is no terrestrial paradise; there was never a golden
age; both of these figures of speech are born of poetical license: but
to the traveler who recalled for a moment the ice-bound aspect and
chilling snow of his New England home which must have prevailed at
that moment, the contrast which surrounded him here had a magic charm.

"It seems almost like heresy to say so," remarked the cultured and
amiable wife of our host, an English official, "but one does sometimes
weary of the sameness in the verdure of the tropics, lovely as it is,
while remembering with a sigh the beautiful, varying autumn and the
joyous springtime of more northern regions. Here we are always upon a
dead level, so to speak; no contrasts present themselves. Eternal
summer palls upon one. Perpetual youth in the vegetable kingdom," she
added, "seems as unnatural and undesirable as it would be in human
life. We have no winter, spring, or autumn in our Ceylon calendar."

The equable and fruitful climate of the island is not produced, as is
the case upon the west coast of California, by the influence of the
ocean. There the Kurosiwo or Japanese current, which closely follows
the trend of the land like a mighty river, with a constant temperature
resembling the Gulf Stream of the Atlantic, and a width of five
hundred miles, makes a semi-tropical climate of a latitude which is
often Arctic farther inland. Its equatorial situation alone endows
Ceylon with endless summer.

It is curious to observe how the nature of some plants and trees is
changed by transplanting them hither, and the same is also remarked of
the average individual who has come from other less genial lands to
settle in an equatorial climate. If it proves to be a healthy one, he
takes very kindly to the delightful do-nothing of such a region,
together with its lazy, sensuous enjoyments, losing in a large degree
the energy and ambition naturally developed among the people of the
north. The moral is obvious. He who runs may read. It requires a
colder clime, with a soil not too willing, to awaken human energy, and
to place man at his best. Luxury enervates; necessitous labor
strengthens.

Fruit-bearing trees transplanted from the United States, such as
peach, cherry, and pear trees, have in many instances ceased to
produce fruit, and have become partial evergreens. Experiments with
grapevines from northern climates have met with similar results. In
nearly the same latitude, however, though in opposite hemispheres, the
transplanting of some fruit trees, and especially of the vine, seems
to impart fresh life and fruitfulness. Those brought from France and
Italy put on new vigor when they are domesticated on the Pacific coast
of this continent; while the mission grapevine and others native in
California, exported thence to the countries named, flourish
marvelously and produce abundantly. At this writing, news comes to us
of the partial failure of the grape crop in some of the vineyards of
southern France, and also that, following out the results of late
experiences, the old vines are to be replaced by the introduction of
California varieties. The grapevine does not seem adapted to tropical
climes. It is not a perennial growth, but must enjoy its long winter
rest in order to thrive. Even in mild, equable southern California,
its fruit-bearing branches are cut back annually to the main stalk,
where the principal life is stored. The new branches of the mission
grape, as it is called in this region, produce bunches of the
luscious fruit yearly, which often weigh four and five pounds each;
but as we have said, the new growth is cut away every year after
fruiting.

Checking the vagrant inclination of pen and brain to travel afield,
let us turn to matters more relative to the expressed purpose of these
pages.

The island of Ceylon is favorably situated outside the region of the
cyclones which so frequently prevail in the Bay of Bengal and the
neighboring ocean, while it is also free from the hurricanes of the
Mauritius Sea and the volcanic outbursts of the Eastern Archipelago.
There is no evidence of seismic disturbance in this region, either
past or present. One does not leave waterspouts entirely behind in the
Gulf of Siam, on reaching the shore of this island. Just before the
season of the monsoons, they appear sometimes off this coast. They are
never, however, of a fierce, whirlwind character, so as to cause any
serious harm.

As regards climatic conditions, the coolest season of the year is
during the prevalence of the southwest monsoons, or from the end of
April to the end of October. The northeast monsoon is of shorter
duration, prevailing during November, December, January, and February.
Both these periods are ushered in by heavy thunder-storms and a
liberal downpour of rain. The reader who has never experienced an
equatorial land-storm has no conception of the fury of the elements
under such circumstances. The continued blaze of the fiery lightning
and the deafening crash which echoes through the skies are beyond
description. Timid people try to hide themselves in the dark corners
of the bungalows, while even the natives and animals often become
tremulous with fear. It must be admitted that fatal accidents are
frequent enough during these thunder-storms to keep an apprehension of
danger constantly alive. In the mountain regions about Kandy and
Ratnapura, where the echoes supplement the grand electric discharges,
the deafening noise and reverberation can only be compared to the
quick, sharp, detonating reports of heavy artillery. The monsoons
occur with the utmost regularity, both here and over a large portion
of the neighboring continent, and they are so regular that their
arrival can be calculated upon nearly to a day. Electrical phenomena,
thunder and lightning, are, as just intimated, often very grand. So,
also, is the prevalence of optical displays, such as rainbows and
mirage. As to moonlight nights and their dazzling exhibitions, like
those of the tropical regions generally, words are inadequate to
express their splendor, at once so brilliant and so calm.

The climate is very much like that of Java, humid and hot, especially
in the southern portion nearest to the coast; it is, however,
considerably more moderate than that of the mainland of India.
Although so very warm, it is equable; one is aware of what to expect
and can prepare for it. Occasional frosts occur in the highlands, but
snow is unknown even on the mountain tops. The length of days, owing
to the proximity to the equator, does not vary more than one hour, the
sun setting at Colombo at about six o'clock all the year round. At
Dondra Head, the extreme southern point of Ceylon, the difference
between the longest and shortest day of the year is only forty
minutes.

This interesting island is rich in prehistoric monuments, Buddhist
temples, and lofty dagobas, some of which were originally over three
hundred feet in height, exceeding that of the Cathedral of Notre Dame,
in Paris, by sixty feet. This, be it remembered, was representative of
a civilization which existed upon an island of the Indian Ocean
between two and three thousand years ago. The lofty, gorgeous colored,
and eccentric temples which the traveler regards with such curious
interest in India belong to a much more modern period. They are
structures which have been raised oftentimes upon the site of former
heathen shrines. So in Rome, many of the churches which we visit
to-day and accredit with great antiquity are rebuilt upon edifices
formerly dedicated to strange gods. Some remain intact, like the
Temple of Hercules and the Pantheon. These Ceylon dagobas are only one
class of monuments, and are to be considered in connection with other
vestiges of vast public structures, the origin and purpose of which
have been lost sight of in the lapse of ages. Slabs of granite
engraven with half-effaced inscriptions in Pali, and in unknown
characters, are still found, mystifying the most learned antiquarians,
while the significance of others has been made plain by means of
commendable patience and scholarly acquirements. What an object lesson
is here presented, attesting the evanescence of all mundane power and
glory. Here are evidences of vast and costly enterprises, such as the
rearing of grand monuments whose legitimate object can only be
conjectured, and the names of whose builders are forgotten. The annals
of the Singhalese, to whom we are not accustomed to give much credit
as a literary people, yet afford consecutive historical data for
twenty-four centuries back, though, as in most oriental countries, the
records of their past combine truth and fable almost indiscriminately,
so that it is often difficult to distinguish one from the other. These
Eastern writers had a royal mode of assertion, much more impressive
than convincing; as regards the general fidelity of these annals,
however, there is no reasonable doubt, after allowing for what may be
termed poetical license of expression. We may well ask ourselves how
many lands can, like Ceylon, tell so much of their past history in
authentic records verified by enduring monuments. As is well known, we
in America go back only about four centuries before the trail of
history is lost. To be sure, conjecture is abundant enough, but
conjecture is not history.

Compared with the probable age of the globe, how quickly history fades
into fable! Agassiz thought this to be the oldest country of which we
have any reliable knowledge. The Western mound builders were
undoubtedly a distinctive race, yet who can tell their story? The
mysteries of Yucatan are unsolved. There was a civilization once
existing in Peru whose history is to us a blank. Of the origin of the
Sphinx, older than the Pyramids, what do we really know? On Easter
Island, in the South Pacific, are indestructible evidences of an
ancient people, who possessed a written language so old that no one
can decipher its admirably graven characters. Where did that island
come from, and what became of its people? Were they and their country
submerged, like another Atlantis, and is this island the apex of a
mountain range left above the devouring ocean to tell the tale? This
is not a wild supposition. It has been suggested and declared possible
by more than one astute and scholarly writer upon physical geography.
As to antiquity, the monuments of Egypt enable us to trace back the
history of civilized man only six thousand years, though all
intelligent archæologists know that the earth must have been inhabited
by human beings an infinite number of years prior to that period.
Philology and geology are sufficient to prove this.

Singhalese annals record in detail the reign of one hundred and sixty
sovereigns during a period extending from the conquest of the island,
B. C. 543, by Wijaya, a prince from northern India, to the deposition
of Wikram Raja Sinka by the English in 1815. This was the last king of
Kandy, the then native capital of Ceylon. Sufficient is recorded of
the personal character of Wijaya, the early conqueror of the island,
to prove his utter barbarity, so that we are naturally led still more
to wonder whence came the artists--for artists they were--who designed
and built such cities as Anuradhapura and Pollonarua, the first of
which was probably founded during his reign. Either the Singhalese as
a race must have retrograded in a most marvelous manner, while other
nationalities were in the line of progress, or foreign artists and
builders must have been imported to rear such grand and beautiful
capitals in this Indian isle. Does the reader realize that our best
architects to-day go back for suggestions to the elaborate and elegant
ornamentations which prevailed at this period in stone columns and
lofty façades? Though scarred by warfare with the ages, these still
form rare and choice object lessons to the appreciative artist.

Among the remarkable evidences of great antiquity in Ceylon, we recall
the elaborate cave-temples of Dambula, hewn out of the primitive rock,
and which have existed at least two thousand years, representing an
infinite amount of patient labor, which must have been executed with
tools admirably adapted to the purpose assigned. The principal
temple--there are four of them--was dedicated to Buddha, whose creed
is still the prevailing faith of Asia,--a doctrine ages older than our
so-called Christian religion. The entrance to the principal
cave-temple is elaborately carved in the solid stone, and is
wonderfully well-preserved. The design is harmonious with the purpose,
presenting a score or more of figures in bas-relief, with
embellishments appropriate to the Buddhist faith. Two mammoth figures,
one on either side, represent, probably, guardian spirits or gods.
Just within, there is an altar with a sitting figure of Buddha,
opposite the entrance. It is interesting to note the ornamental
entrance to the temple, as exhibiting the degree of artistic
appreciation which existed here in Ceylon between two and three
thousand years ago. This largest temple is one hundred and eighty feet
long, eighty wide, and twenty-five high, a gloomy vault at best,
containing a gigantic recumbent stone statue of Buddha, forty-seven
feet in length, the head resting on the right hand, indicating repose,
one of the favorite positions in which the prophet is usually
represented in the temples of Ceylon. The chambers or halls, which are
hollowed out of the rock, are reached by long flights of stone steps.
Each temple is most grotesquely painted with scenes supposed to
represent the past history of the island. In the first of the caves is
the immense statue already spoken of. In the others are those of
ancient kings in heroic size, but not nearly so large as that of
Buddha. On the several walls are rudely-painted tournament scenes,
elephant hunts, and half-effaced battle pictures. Some of the
apartments have iron-grated windows, and were evidently places of
confinement for political prisoners, some time in the far past. An old
Buddhist priest is in charge, grumpy, reticent, and apparently
dissatisfied with himself and the world generally. In the first and
largest of the stone chambers of this huge rock at Dambula, besides
the large recumbent figure of Buddha, there is a statue of Vishnu,
held especially sacred, and before which solemn oaths in litigated
cases were administered, without any other recourse for settlement.
This was when one of the parties agreed to abide by the solemn oath of
the other, to be given in specified form before this statue of Vishnu.
It is a rudely executed figure in granite, as indeed are all the
statues of the period. In the second chamber or temple there are half
a hundred statues of Buddha, besides representatives in stone of
various heathen gods, painted in yellow, blue, and white robes, but
why the multiplicity of Buddhas it would be difficult to divine. In
front of the cave-temples is a flourishing boo-tree, and a small grove
of cocoanut palms which have grown to a great size. As usual,
centuries of age are claimed for the first-named tree. Round about the
plain, among the rude, wild vegetable growth, a peculiar cactus is
seen, a familiar acquaintance, first met with on the plains of Mexico.
Its thick leaves form also its branches, each leaf being attached to
its neighbor endwise, like links of a chain, and being bordered by a
bright yellow ruffle of profuse blossoms. These cave-temples of
Dambula are cut in a solitary mass of rock, rising from the otherwise
level plain to about five hundred feet in height and four times that
in length. This is undoubtedly the most remarkable group of
cave-temples upon the island.

One is vividly reminded by these peculiar and enduring structures of a
similar famous place of Hindu worship cut out of the solid rock on the
island of Elephanta in the outer harbor of Bombay, and also of those
found at Ellora and Carlee, in India proper. These three Buddhist
temples are known to have been in existence for about twenty
centuries, and are very similar in design. The elaborate sculptures in
bas-relief which decorate them are almost identical in character, but
they have little or no artistic merit, being in fact as crude as
Chinese or Japanese idols, mere caricatures as seen from a modern
point of view, and yet they are clearly the result of a distinctive
purpose. As to depicting the human figure with any regard to its
anatomy, that was not understood by these artists, any more than are
the laws of perspective by the Chinese or Japanese of to-day. So in
ancient Egyptian sculpture, an approximation to the true outline of
the human figure is all that is attempted. The stone pillars and
figures at Elephanta, so venerable from age and association, were
nearly destroyed by French cannon-balls, the guns being brought on
shore at considerable trouble, and maliciously directed, for this
purpose. It seemed to be a fixed principle with the soldiers of the
first Napoleon to purloin everything of value which was portable in
the countries they invaded, and what they could not steal and carry
away, with true barbaric instinct they destroyed. Churches, charitable
institutions, hospitals, were all alike looted by these French
vandals. Even tombs were invaded by them in their rapacity, as at
Granada, where the leaden coffins in the royal vaults were pried open
with bayonets in search of treasures supposed to have been buried with
the bodies. At Seville, they broke open the coffin of Murillo, wherein
finding nothing of commercial value, they scattered the ashes of the
great master in art to the wind. It will also be remembered that
Marshal Soult--to his lasting disgrace be it recorded--treated the
ashes of Cervantes in a similar manner; a most petty and disgraceful
meanness for a marshal of France to be guilty of.

The Mahawanso, "Genealogy of the Great," a native chronicle, contains
a history of the several dynasties which have controlled the island
from B. C. 543 down to A. D. 1758. This unique and remarkable
Singhalese book is a metrical chronicle written in Pali verse, and
forms what is universally received as an authentic and most invaluable
record of the national history of Ceylon. A scholarly translation of
the same is now extant in English. Pali, as the reader doubtless
knows, is a dead language founded upon the Sanscrit, though Buddhists
claim that it is the original of all tongues. This is an assumption
easily disproved by Egyptian inscriptions dating back over six
thousand years. The island, under its Sanskrit name of Lanka, is also
the subject of a mythical poem of the Hindus, and its conquest by Rama
is the theme of the Ramayana, doubtless one of the most ancient epics
in existence. The Mahawanso, though the oldest, is by no means the
only Singhalese chronicle of a historic character. It was designed by
a priest named Mahanamo, who compiled the early portion, commencing
five centuries and more before Christ, and bringing it down to the
year 301 of our era. After this it was continued by able successors,
who carried on the original plan of the beginner to the period when
the English took forcible possession of Ceylon. There are several
comprehensive manuscripts devoted to native history, written upon
talipot palm-leaf, carefully preserved in the museum at Colombo.

Besides these important records there is abundant evidence of a
tangible character to show that there once existed upon this island a
great and powerful empire in a condition of advanced civilization.
The gigantic remains of palaces and temples tell us this. There are
also evidences of a system of irrigation which was remarkably perfect
in conception and consummation, though it must have been achieved by
the simplest means, that is, by the aid of no mechanical facilities
such as we possess. This system covered the face of the country, north
and south, like a network. Immense lakes were formed by damming the
natural outlets of the mountain streams at the mouth of extensive
valleys, and that was all that was artificial about them. Nature had
prepared the way; still, the amount of labor involved in the practical
application of the principle was enormous. The remains of these great
reservoirs thus created are objects of admiration to our modern
engineers, not only for the boldness and magnificence of their
construction, but also for the beneficence of their purpose. The
marvelous ruins of these reservoirs are the proudest and most
significant monuments which remain of the former greatness of this
country. No constructions for a similar purpose found in any part of
the world have ever surpassed them. So long as they were in repair and
fully operative, the people of Ceylon had no occasion to go abroad for
rice upon which to subsist. The grand supply of water for the
distributing tanks was conducted from the distant mountains, through
dense forests, across broad ravines, and around the sides of
intervening hills, by stout channel-ways miles and miles in length. No
considerable population could have been supported in a country
subject to prolonged droughts without the aid of some such fertilizing
agency, and no other system would have been so well adapted to the
raising of the staple grain of the island. Most of these artificial
lakes are now in ruins, overgrown with jungle grass, and in some
instances by heavy forests.

No one can truly say what caused the decadence of the several ancient
capitals now lying in the dust, leaving only a blank memorial of their
former existence. It is a puzzling question as to what could have
swept a population of millions from the face of the globe and left no
clearer record of their occupancy and departure. When there is pointed
out to the traveler in Japan a location where a big and populous city
once stood, but which is now only a series of thrifty grain-fields, no
great surprise is felt. Japanese houses are only constructed, as a
rule, of bamboo frames with tissue coverings, but the ruined cities of
Ceylon were built of stone and brick, presumedly indestructible except
by some great and general catastrophe. The ruins of Anuradhapura show
that in mediæval times it must have been a city containing a vast
concourse of people. We know that it was recognized as the capital of
Ceylon from three to four hundred years prior to the birth of Christ
down to the year 770 of the present era. It has been justly called the
Palmyra of Ceylon, and was contemporary with Babylon and Nineveh. It
was a royal city, wherein ninety kings reigned in succession, and its
dimensions exceeded the present area of London. What a grand and
imperial metropolis it must have been in its pristine glory! At a time
when England was still in a condition of barbarism, this capital of an
island in the Indian Ocean was at the zenith of its prosperity,
enjoying luxuries which argued a high condition of civilization. The
reason for selecting this plain in the heart of the country as a
suitable location for its capital is not obvious, except that from the
earliest ages the spot has been sacred to the votaries of Buddha. Its
site is near the centre of the great plain which occupies the northern
portion of the island, about one hundred miles from Kandy, and three
hundred feet above the level of the sea.

Here, amid tall trees and thick undergrowth, are scattered hundreds,
nay, thousands of stone columns, huge monoliths, granite statues,
fragments of grand palaces, and elaborate public buildings, which once
adorned broad and level thoroughfares, while the surrounding country
exhibited a wide expanse of rice-fields irrigated by numberless
canals, together with all the beauty of cultivated tropical
vegetation. The early chronicles tell us of the surprising loveliness
of this region round about the ancient metropolis, the brilliancy of
its native jewels, the fertility of its carefully nurtured soil, its
magnificent palms, the abundance of its fruits, the sagacity of its
elephants, and the constant fragrance of its spice-laden atmosphere.

Anuradhapura! how little we of the nineteenth century have even heard
of its people, who built temples of stone and palaces of marble,--a
nation which lived for twenty centuries in oriental splendor; a city
which was rich, populous, and famous, long before Rome had risen to
power; a capital which achieved such ambitious architectural results
only to sink at last suddenly and mysteriously into oblivion. What the
possible purpose could have been in creating such a singular page in
the annals of history as the building and peopling of a giant
metropolis on this Indian island, whose accomplished mission
illustrates only the mutability of all terrestrial things, only that
inscrutable Wisdom which rules the universe can answer.

Except the mountain range which so nearly divides the island at its
centre, and the spurs which it throws out at intervals, there are few
elevations worthy of notice in Ceylon. One, known as Mihintale, about
a thousand feet in height, dominates the ruins of the ancient city
just described, and is so perpendicular that to reach its summit one
must avail himself of the artificial steps cut in the solid rock.
These stones, smoothed and indented by centuries of use, are said to
have been thus worn by thousands and thousands of pilgrims, who
ascended to the shrine above upon their knees. This notable hill,
which almost deserves the name of mountain, was fortified by the
aborigines in the olden time, as shown by irregular lines of
defensive works in stone, whose dismantled and disintegrated condition
testifies to their antiquity. On the summit stands a shrine, showing
that it was held to be a sacred spot from the earliest ages, probably
long before the date when the now mouldering capital was founded. The
view afforded on either hand from the apex of the mount embraces the
far-away ocean, and the nearer sea of undulating forests and groves of
palms, clad in the exquisite verdure of the tropics.

Anuradhapura was the largest city in the island, and is confidently
asserted to have contained, in its prime, three million people, over
four hundred thousand of whom were fighting-men. But there were
others, considerable in size and importance, which existed during the
period of its prosperity. The records show that this ancient
metropolis was fifty-two miles in circumference, or sixteen miles
across in a straight line from the north to the south gate, covering
two hundred and fifty-six square miles! What have we in modern times
to equal these ruins in spaciousness? Perhaps some deduction should be
made from such remarkable figures. Of course, the reader will
understand that the area here given was not actually covered by solid
blocks of dwellings. Private residences were generally surrounded by
small but elaborate gardens. There was ample air space about the
temples, palaces, and public buildings, together with large open
commons for military parades, for public baths, for elephant fights,
for political forums, and market-places. Spaciousness and elegance
were the characteristics of this ancient Singhalese metropolis, this
grand city of the plains, where one stands to-day surrounded by
centuries of tangible history. The eye rests upon miles and miles of
broken stone statues of bulls, elephants, sarcophagi, and heavy
capitals of granite columns, many of whose delicate, artistic capitals
and designs are still intact.

All oriental narrative is tinctured with exaggeration, but Sir James
Emerson Tennent, so long officially connected with the island, and
personally familiar with the ruins of Anuradhapura, says no one who
visits the place to-day can doubt that Ceylon, in the zenith of its
prosperity, contained ten times its present population; and as he
wrote this in 1859, when the aggregate was about one million, he
wished to signify that the number of inhabitants, at the period to
which he referred, was probably ten millions. The same writer tells us
that this density of population must have been preserved through many
centuries, in spite of revolutions and invasions, in order to produce
the results, the ruins of which are still visible to all observers.

That the people of Anuradhapura were early and skillful workers in
brass, iron, and glass, articles unearthed among these ruins
abundantly testify. Further explorations and excavations will
doubtless result in valuable information. Five or six feet of earth,
upon an average, must be removed before the process of uncovering can
be said to have fairly commenced, so that the prospective labor of
exhumation is simply immense. Still, almost every year brings some new
enthusiast to the front, whose time and money are freely devoted to
this object until his ardor is appeased, and he leaves the field to
some one else. A steadily sustained effort, aided and directed by the
government, might accomplish something worth recording, but such
desultory and spasmodic attempts are of very little account. At
Pompeii, where, by persistent effort, a whole city has been unearthed,
we see what such exhumation signifies, though the circumstances are
not precisely similar, the one having been suddenly covered by an
eruption of the neighboring volcano, while the other yielded to the
wear of time and the effect of foreign invasions. A score of cities,
however, like Pompeii would not cover the area once occupied by this
vanished metropolis.

The ancient capital was named in honor of a certain prince, Anuradha,
by whom it was founded twenty-five centuries ago. A thousand years
since, this city was still populous, gay, and beautiful, with fragrant
gardens, thriving shops, proud dwellings, gilded palaces, lofty
temples, religious processions, and frequent displays of royal
pageants. The Singhalese chronicles are full of references to
agricultural prosperity, to ample herds, the breeding of cattle, and
the extensive culture of grain. They speak of women who were treated
with great deference, and of priestesses and queens who held high
places with honor. Rich furniture was used in the dwellings, and
costly textures for dress, these of course imported from other
countries. Though the inhabitants of Anuradhapura were not themselves
a maritime people, they were constantly visited by others from afar,
who brought with them rich goods to exchange for pearls and precious
stones. We know that Ceylon was rich in these at that period, even as
she is at the present time, and exported peacocks, apes, and ivory. In
the ancient Hebrew records, the names of these were the same as those
known at present to the natives in this island. To-day, mutability is
written upon its scattered and neglected ruins in a language all can
understand. Who can wonder that individuals perish and are forgotten,
when the entire population of a great, imperial metropolis thus
vanish, while their noblest and most enduring works crumble into dust?
The significance of such instances should humble the proudest mortal
who walks the earth. The spot where the Brazen Palace, so-called, once
stood in the ancient capital still shows scores of granite columns in
the shape of undressed monoliths, projecting about twelve feet above
the level of the ground, upon some of which there exist the remains of
elaborate capitals, closely resembling the Grecian Corinthian order.
This edifice, dating about two hundred years before Christ, was not
the royal residence, but a palace devoted to accommodation of the
priesthood, and was originally nine stories in height, covering a
square of ground measuring two hundred and thirty feet each way. "The
roof," according to native chronicles, "was of brass, and its great
hall, which was supported by golden pillars, also contained a throne
of solid ivory," though what the Buddhist priesthood required of a
"throne" we are not informed.

This description of the great hall with its golden pillars sounds
perhaps like an oriental exaggeration, but the people of those days
came originally from India, where such examples of extravagance were
by no means unknown during the Mogul dynasty. The probability is that
the Brazen Palace was in reality the royal residence. Speaking of
Indian extravagance, we all remember the peacock throne of the king of
Delhi,--a throne of solid gold, six feet long and four feet broad,
surmounted by a canopy of gold, and supported by twelve pillars
composed of the same precious material. The back of this costly
structure was made to represent a peacock with its tail-feathers
expanded, hence the name. The natural colors of the feathers were
closely imitated with rubies, sapphires, diamonds, and other precious
stones. The total value of the whole exceeded thirty million dollars.
The author has stood within this royal chamber at Delhi, but the
gorgeous throne has long since disappeared. Enough, however, still
remains to show what regal splendor must have existed in this
marvelous palace. These Mogul rulers used costly gems, gold and
silver, together with precious marbles and rarest stones, as freely as
modern potentates employ granite, combined with bricks and mortar. The
wealth of the then known world was in the possession of a very few
individuals, and the poor were all the poorer in comparison; despotism
was rampant, and royalty commanded at will the unpaid services of the
million.

Near the site of the Brazen Palace of Anuradhapura are several
dagobas, partially hidden by rank tropical verdure. One of these
peculiar structures was originally over four hundred feet in height,
antedating the Christian era by many years. Does the reader realize
what an amount of solid masonry such a structure represents? When we
say that this dagoba was nearly twice the height of Bunker Hill
Monument, and that it was three hundred and sixty feet in diameter at
the base, the comparison may aid the imagination. Verily, nothing but
the Egyptian pyramids compare in magnitude with these shrines of
Ceylon, while no modern engineering enterprise excels in immensity the
artificial lakes which were created upon her surface. One writer has
gone into a careful calculation regarding the structure, and says that
it contained material enough originally to build a wall ten feet high
from London to Edinburgh.

These peculiarly shaped dagobas are scattered all over the island,
each being the receptacle of some saintly relic. Tradition says they
are thus formed to resemble a bubble floating upon the water, but they
are really bell-shaped, and most of them have a low, ornamental spire.
Near the summit is the secret chamber wherein is deposited the sacred
treasure. Time effaces all mundane things. With the exception of the
Temple of the Tooth, at Kandy, no one can say what special relic any
one of these remarkable structures was originally designed to shelter.

Let us quote for the reader's edification an ancient native
description of this famous city of the plain when it was in its glory.
It is a literal translation from the original:--

"The magnificent city of Anuradhapura is refulgent from the numerous
temples and palaces whose golden pinnacles glitter in the sky. The sides of
its streets are strewed with black sand; they are spanned with arches
bearing flags of gold and silver; on either side are vessels of the same
precious metals, containing flowers; and in niches are statues holding
lamps of great value. In the streets are multitudes of people, armed with
bows and arrows; also men powerful as gods, who with their huge swords
could cut asunder a tusk elephant at one blow. Elephants, horses, carts,
and myriads of people are constantly passing and repassing. There are
jugglers, dancers, and musicians of various nations, whose chank shells and
other musical instruments are ornamented with gold. The distance from the
principal gate to the opposite gate is four gaws (sixteen miles); and from
the north gate to the south gate four gaws. The principal streets are Moon
Street, Great King Street, and Great Sandy Street. In Chandrawakkawidiya
are eleven thousand houses, many of them being two stories in height; the
smaller streets are innumerable. The palace has immense ranges of
buildings, some of two, others of three stories in height; and its
subterranean apartments are of great extent."

Sir J. E. Tennent gathers from various ancient sources, including the
veritable Mahawanso, that Anuradhapura, between four and five
centuries before Christ, contained the temples of various
religions,--"temples and palaces whose golden pinnacles glittered in
the sky,"--besides spacious public gardens and free baths, together
with almshouses and hospitals, in which animals as well as human
beings were tenderly cared for.

One king gave the "corn of a thousand fields" for the support of the
hospitals, another set aside a certain quantity of rice to feed the
squirrels which frequented the city gardens, while a third monarch
displayed his skill in treating the diseases of elephants, horses, and
domestic cattle. The streets were lined with grand shops and bazaars.
On festive occasions, barbers and dressers were stationed at each
entrance to the capital for the convenience of strangers who visited
the city. Public officials vied with each other in their patriotic
deeds designed for the public good.

In one corner of the widespread ruins of Anuradhapura there is now a
small village, with a Christian mission and school for the native
children. There are also a few bazaars, a post-office, telegraph
station, and a court house, which serve, by affording a strong
contrast to the former splendor which reigned here, to emphasize the
historic grandeur of the defunct capital.

CHAPTER IV.

     Oriental Dagobas.--Ancient City of Pollonarua.--Laid out
     like our Modern Capitals.--Unexplored Ruins.--Elaborate
     Stone Carvings.--Colossal Stone Figure.--The "Buried
     Cities."--The Singhalese not a Progressive People.--Modern
     History of Ceylon.--Captured by the English.--The
     "Resplendent Island."--Commercial Prosperity.--Increasing
     Foreign Population.--Under English Rule.--Native
     Soldiers.--Christian Sects and Churches.--Roman Catholic
     Church.--Expulsion of the Jesuits.

The very interesting and in many respects unique ruins of
Anuradhapura, like those pertaining to the city of Pollonarua, with
its curious and enormous mass of crumbling brick-work in the shape of
a dagoba surmounted by a temple, are supposed to have been thus
mouldering in the dust for more than six centuries. These dagobas,
doting with age, as we have shown, are relic shrines, like in purpose
to the pagodas of Burmah, which they somewhat resemble. Their
substantial outside finish must have given them very much the
appearance of being built of pure white marble. In dimensions they are
exceeded only by the pyramids of Ghizeh, but there is no genius or
architectural excellence evinced in the construction of either. Judged
by the light of our day, there is no legitimate reason for their
existence. Religious fanaticism gave birth to one, and personal pride
to the other. They neither subserve the purpose of utility nor of
beauty. As monuments of personal aggrandizement, or as individual
memorials, what total failures they have proved! Think for a single
moment of the vast contrast between either of the Egyptian pyramids,
or these bell-shaped dagobas, with their plain stuccoed coverings, and
that modern shrine and tomb combined,--the Taj Mahal of Agra. The
pyramids and dagobas are crude, barbaric embodiments of bulk and
imposing loftiness; the other is a realization in marble of a poetic
dream. The former are remarkable only for magnitude; the latter, for
its exquisite grace.

There is sufficient evidence still left us to show that the olden city
of Pollonarua was laid out in a perfectly systematic way, and built up
in the most regular manner. Its founders evidently started with a
well-perfected purpose. It was not a chance settlement of a few
cabins, which gradually increased hither and thither in various
directions until it assumed the proportions of a metropolis.
Notwithstanding the present confusion, the general features of its
topography are clearly discernible amid the mounds of mouldering
material. The main street from the principal entrance-gate continued
perfectly straight for four miles between royal palms to the opposite
extreme of the city, crossed at right angles in the centre by a
similar thoroughfare, thus forming two main streets, which terminated
at four great gates of entrance and exit to and from the
town,--north, east, south, and west. From these main streets radiated
lateral and smaller roadways, evidently occupied by humbler dwellings,
together with an occasional temple or other public building. The ruins
of what is known as the Treasure House of Pollonarua are unusually
interesting, as exhibiting some of the finest and best preserved
bas-reliefs to be found in Ceylon, and as showing also certain marked
peculiarities of skill in architecture which prevailed in
pre-Christian times. On either side of the principal thoroughfares of
the city were handsome and substantial dwellings, palaces, and sacred
temples. The latter, with their gorgeous gilded domes, were dedicated
to various pagan gods. Other spacious buildings and open areas were
devoted to pleasure entertainments for the masses of the people, not
unlike the modern idea of public gardens and outdoor theatres.

Here and there labyrinths of unexplored ruins are entirely hidden by
lofty, broad-limbed trees and a tangle of low, dense shrub, as though
the big city had been originally built in a forest. We pause, and gaze
thoughtfully at the desolation which speaks so emphatically in its
dumb way. It is the language in which the decline and fall of great
empires is written,--monuments of mutability.

    "Tully was not so eloquent as thee,
     Thou nameless column with the buried base."

It is not to be wondered at that learned European antiquarians make
pilgrimages hither to see with their own eyes what others have
graphically described, and to translate for themselves these
black-letter records of by-gone ages. We met at Pollonarua one
enthusiastic traveler who had neither eyes nor ears for anything else
but that which related to the almost forgotten past. The mouldering
ruins of Ceylon were food and drink to him, with which he gorged
himself to repletion. Each new student of antiquity who comes hither,
being informed of the progress of those who preceded him, takes up the
thread of discovery where they left it, and adds something to illumine
the darkness which enshrouds these sombre ruins.

It could not always have been peaceful in these populous cities of the
past, where strange gods and strange customs prevailed. The
imagination easily depicts dire tragedies and bloody conflicts which
must have drenched their broad avenues with blood. Such has been the
history of the world since the beginning of time.

The best-preserved construction amid all the ruins is a Buddhist
rock-temple, which, having been hewn out of the native stone, is still
intact, though supposed to date back three hundred years before our
era. It is only a small chamber about twenty feet square, containing
an altar and three stone figures of Buddha in different positions,
sitting, reclining, and standing. The entrance to the chamber is an
archway; on either side, inscriptions are engraven in the Pali
language, but these, we were informed, had never been translated. The
native rock, from which the small temple is cut, rises abruptly from
the level plain.

Anuradhapura, as wonderful in its way as Pompeii or Herculaneum, is
known as the ancient capital of Ceylon, and Pollonarua as the
mediæval, but even the former is antedated by other half-buried cities
in the island, that of Bintenne, for instance, which exhibits ruins of
great interest and of admitted antiquity. There is a dagoba here which
is spoken of by the former Dutch occupants of the island, in A. D.
1602, as being still in good preservation, surmounted by a gilded
dome, while its smooth, white exterior was quite unblemished. The wear
and tear of the centuries has not yet obliterated this monument.

These dagobas, shaped like half an eggshell, are very similar to the
topes of India proper. The interior consists of earth and sun-dried
clay, built about and rendered substantial with burned bricks and
tiles, the whole being coated on the exterior with a stone-like mortar
or chunam. The burned bricks which are found in the débris of the
"buried cities" have their form quite perfect, and were so well fired
when made that they still retain their sharpness and consistency. The
best examples of brick-work are to be found among the ruins of
Pollonarua, where the mortar that was originally used shows the
remains of the burned pearl-oyster shells from which it was made. The
principle of the true arch secured by its keystone does not seem to
have been understood by the people of that period in this island,
though what is called the false arch, produced by projecting one layer
of bricks beyond another, is clearly shown. The carving in stone was
carried to a high degree of excellence, and is still in good
preservation, as shown upon slabs, risers to steps, and on octangular
columns of graceful proportions. The entrance to some of the
cave-temples also exhibits ability in the carving of stone which is of
no mean quality, depicting innumerable single figures and many groups.
None of the Indian topes are more than half as large as these Ceylon
dagobas. The latter were solid, hemispherical masses, standing upon a
raised square platform of granite six or eight feet high, and
approached by broad stone steps. The incrustation of the dome-like
edifice was after the fashion of our modern stucco process, except
that it was very much more thickly laid on. The preparation consisted
of lime, cocoanut water, and the glutinous juice of a fruit which
grows upon the paragaha-tree. This compound was pure white when dried
and hardened, receiving a polish like glass, and was remarkable for
durability.

We were told of, but did not see, carved stone capitals and
elaborately draped monoliths, found among the ruins of Bintenne, which
represented early perfection in architecture as displayed in a region
now indeed barbaric, but where a civilization flourished in the far
past in all the pride and pomp of oriental grandeur. To-day, the
jackal and the panther, unmolested by man, prowl about the spot in
search of prey.

When the hosts who formed the population of these long-buried cities
disappeared we may not know, nor what fate befell them. There are many
intelligent theories about the matter, but very little positive
evidence. The most plausible supposition would seem to be that a
devastating famine must have been the fatal agent. Most of the works
which these people left behind them, except the bell-shaped and nearly
indestructible dagobas, are now covered with rank vegetation. The
first structure of this character erected at Anuradhapura is still
extant, and is believed by some writers to be one of the oldest
architectural monuments in India. With this conclusion we certainly
cannot agree, as the chronicles tell us it was raised by King Tissa,
at the close of the third century before Christ, over the collar-bone
of Buddha. The author has seen at Benares many sacred structures, some
in ruins, which are much more ancient. After all, these milestones of
the centuries afford us little data by which to unravel the mysteries
of the past in Ceylon. They are only isolated mementos, forming
disjointed links in the chain connecting us with by-gone ages, mute
but eloquent witnesses of a former and high degree of civilization.
The most erudite antiquarian finds no coherent or reliable history in
such crumbling monuments; generalities only can be deduced from them,
however suggestive and interesting they may prove.

Neither the ancient nor the modern Singhalese seem to have had any
distinctive order of architecture, though the variety which they
adopted was infinite. Here, among these half-defaced ruins, one
detects Egyptian, Greek, Roman, and Moorish inspirations, calculated
to puzzle the scientist as to their probable origin. The singular
conglomerates of our own day are not more confusing than some of the
best-preserved specimens to be found in these ruined cities of ancient
Ceylon.

Another notable object of antiquarian interest in the island is
recalled in this connection. It is that of a colossal, upright figure
of Buddha, a figure hewn out of the solid rock, to which it is still
attached, though it is statuesque and not in bas-relief, the original
material only furnishing its support at the back. This rude piece of
sculpture is fifty feet in height and otherwise duly proportioned,
vividly recalling the mammoth bronze statue of Dai-Butsu at Kamakura,
in Japan, which is nearly sixty feet in height, though it is
represented in a sitting position. Within this statue fifty people can
stand together, the interior being fitted like a chapel. As regards
antiquity, the Japanese figure is supposed to be but six centuries in
age, while that of Ceylon is surely three times as old, and probably
four. The great Singhalese statue is now in the jungle, which has
grown up about it during centuries of neglect, near to the great Tank
of Kalawera. The surrounding rocks were in ancient days turned into a
cave-temple with infinite labor, by hewing and excavating them into
chambers of suitable dimensions. Without excellent tools of steel and
iron, very nearly approaching in efficiency those of our own time,
this could not possibly have been accomplished.

The carved pillars, fluted, beveled, and spiral columns, mounds of
ruined masonry, crumbling flights of stone steps, ornamental fragments
of temples, and granite statues skillfully wrought which are scattered
in all directions throughout the jungle, in some instances overgrown
by tall trees, attest both departed greatness and far-reaching
antiquity. Broken bricks, tiles, and sculpture are so knit together by
snakelike tree-roots, while shaded by their lofty branches, as to form
one solid mass for hundreds of rods together, dotted here and there by
simple wild flowers which modestly rear their delicate petals and
perfume the air. One represents the tomb of decayed magnificence and
oriental luxury, the other is the sweet and simple emblem of Nature
undefiled. Thus she covers up the wrinkles of age with blooming
vegetation, screening the mouldering architecture of a forgotten race
beneath fresh arboreal and floral beauties. There still remain, though
partially buried beneath the earth, the suggestive memorials of a
prosperous and energetic people, who were once the possessors of this
beautiful Indian isle. These decaying monuments are at the same time
indisputable evidence of the high civilization which once existed
here, and also, sad to realize, of the deterioration of the Singhalese
as a people. However gradual may have been the decadence of the race
from the proud condition of their ancestors who built the "buried
cities," the contrast is so strong to-day as to seem singularly
abrupt, notwithstanding the intervening centuries.

Fifty years ago, it was only at the risk of one's life that these
famous ruins of Ceylon could be reached. Such expeditions were not
even attempted without a strong escort and governmental aid. Hostile
native tribes and equally fatal malarial influences, together with
almost impassable forests and unbridged rivers, were all arrayed
against the curious visitor. This is now changed so that enterprising
travelers can with but little trouble enjoy a view of some of the most
extraordinary monuments to be found in the East, and which are of much
more than ordinary archæologic and artistic interest.

In this neighborhood, at Vigitapora, are the ruins of a city, once a
royal residence, which is more ancient than Anuradhapura. This place
was a populous centre five hundred years before the Christian era, of
which there seems to be little if any record preserved, even in the
comprehensive pages of that national text-book, the Mahawanso.

The native tribes of Ceylon cannot be said to form a progressive race,
even under the advantages which modern civilization affords them.
Their present condition is one of dormancy. Those who form the rising
generation, after enjoying school advantages to a certain degree, on
arriving at the age of responsibility lapse, with some exceptions,
into the condition of their parents. Thus many of our Western Indians,
who in youth have been educated in schools presided over by the
whites, return finally to their native surroundings, promptly adopting
from choice the barbaric methods and rude life of their roaming
tribes. There is a certain wild instinct which it seems almost
impossible to eradicate. A few native Singhalese have availed
themselves of the opportunities freely extended to them, and have
risen to position and influence both with their own race and the
European population. There are also descendants of English fathers and
native mothers, who, after enjoying special advantages, have developed
into intelligent manhood, and who form a recognized element of the
community. A native Singhalese is, or was very lately, judge of the
supreme court of Ceylon, while the offices of attorney-general and
government solicitor were, and we believe still are, filled by
natives. Others of the same race are respected as county judges,
magistrates, and leading barristers.

So far as current history can be relied upon, we find that Ceylon was,
from five hundred years and more before the Christian era up to the