ONE more word on Ceylon, and I will leave it for the present; but in concluding I cannot well omit reference to our trip to the sapphire mines, up the Kaluganga river.
The trip was an exceedingly pleasant and interesting one; and as it is easily accomplished, I would strongly urge on any one having a few days to spare at Colombo not to fail to go there. It is time and money well spent.
In chatting under the verandah of the Grand Oriental Hotel with the dealers in precious stones, I was informed that the sapphires, moon-stones, cat’s eyes, and other gems of value sold in Ceylon, are found in drifts and sunk mines laying at the foot of Adam’s Peak, a mountain 7353 feet high, which is visible from the deck of the steamer when one approaches Ceylon from almost any point of the compass. I was further told that a noble stream—the Kaluganga—taking its source from the great mountain ranges, runs through and fertilises a portion of the island, until it empties its surplus waters into the ocean at a small village called Kalatura, on the Galle road.
I was quite aware that the bulk of the sapphires, moon-stones, cat’s eyes, and other gems sold under the verandah and hawked on board the mail-boats came in “bulk” from the various glass-works in Birmingham; but it is nevertheless a fact that the mines exist, and are most profitably worked by both Singalese and other miners. My old digging recollections being limited to gold, silver, tin, or copper, and being told that the trip to the precious stone mines was a pleasant one, I decided on completing my mining education, and accordingly set myself to beat up recruits for an excursion. We had at the time a few nice people boarding at the British India Hotel, where I usually put up, owing to the fact that it belongs to my friend, Mr. Ephraim, who kept the first hotel I put up at when in Point de Galle in 1878. I broached the idea, called in Ephraim for advice, and before we retired for the night had arranged matters. Ephraim undertook to get traps for the next morning, a guide, and a letter of introduction to a brother boniface who keeps the Kalatura Rest-house or hotel.
Accordingly, after a hasty but hearty breakfast, and armed with a small portable bundle of “necessaries,” we started to catch the early train. Even in Ceylon the electric wire has crushed all romance, but in exchange has brought with its levelling, crushing effects, a certain amount of practical results. In this instance, when the train stopped at the Kalatura station we found a vehicle and an attendant awaiting our pleasure, and the welcome news that breakfast was ready at the Bungalow. This meal, considering the hour, we could not possibly accept as a breakfast, inasmuch as it would have been an insult to the one which we had done ample justice to before leaving Colombo, barely three hours before. We therefore made a compromise with our conscience, and made straight for this Kalatura “tiffin,” which, to our great delight, was preluded by a glorious feast of the most delicious, fresh rock oysters—the regular “claw” shell—which, in the good old days, before the waters of Port Jackson had been disturbed by so many steamers, were known all over Australia as “Sydney rock.” For “auld lang syne” we did ample justice to these. They acted as an aperative, and gave us a keen appetite for the really excellent repast our worthy host had, on Mr. Ephraim’s recommendation and telegram, prepared for us. The “prawn curry” I shall never forget. It was a triumph of Eastern culinary art. We were evidently favoured guests. Mine host had himself cooked the luncheon, and even condescended to wait at table!—to enjoy, no doubt, the well-deserved praise we unanimously gave him: first, for his display of artistic, gastronomic talent; and also for the great honour he conferred on us by waiting in propria persona on such humble travellers.
It seems that all our wishes had been already anticipated, and that between Ephraim and our guide, Kalatura was aware of our intention to sail or pull up the great river as far as Adam’s Peak. Having lit a cigar after a passable cup of coffee—(Bye-the-bye, it is a strange anomaly that in Ceylon, where the very best coffee is grown, it is quite as difficult to get a decent cup of that beverage as it is to buy, even at an enormous price, a sapphire without a flaw)—we strolled down to the banks of the river, and at the foot of an old Dutch fort met our Singalese guide. Wading through a motley group of boatmen and a crowd of coolies busy loading and unloading boats and drays, we were led to a large padé boat which had been chartered for our trip by the hotel-keeper. The padé boat, as I have already mentioned, is a large barge, upon the centre of which a wooden—or rather straw—hut has been built as a sort of deck-house. This having been thoroughly swept and cleaned, the floor covered with clean white matting, had been supplied from the hotel with a table, some reclining and other chairs, cooking utensils, and even the necessary napery, towels, &c.; a couple of cooks, and a well-filled larder, in which we found also a hamper containing beer, claret, and whisky in sufficient quantity to carry us over many days.
Orders were given to cast off. Favoured by a fresh sea breeze, sails were hoisted, and in a very few moments, in spite of the strong current, we had lost sight of the Kalatura Bridge, and, indeed, all signs of civilisation. In order to avoid the full force of the stream we had to steer close in shore. This gave us full opportunity to admire the wonderful tropical vegetation of this favoured island, as well as occasionally to have a “blaze” at birds, squirrels, monkeys, or other quaint denizens of the thick jungle, which grows with astounding vigour right down to the very water’s edge. This noble river winds and turns like most mountain streams and narrows at places so that its course often runs under a canopy of luxuriant foliage, whilst at others it spreads over a wide area of flat land, giving it a lake-like appearance. In such spots small clusters of huts and patches of cultivated ground break the monotony and solitude of the voyage. We stopped at some of these native hamlets to study Singalese life and purchase fruit, milk, and eggs, all of which we found everywhere to be good, abundant, and remarkably cheap. From the apparent curiosity of the natives, it is evident that they are seldom visited by excursionists. The women and children in particular evinced great pleasure at seeing our party, more particularly if we distributed sweets and nick-nacks amongst them, when they accompanied us on board.
This first day’s excursion was one of endless enjoyment, every turn in the river opening up some fresh and charming scenery. The breeze, as we advanced farther inland, gradually failed us; still, before dusk, we had gone over many miles, which, considering the cumbersome shape of our boat, the size of the sails, and the rapidity of the stream, was very fair travelling. We anchored a short distance from the shore with a stern-line made fast to a bamboo clump. During the short twilight some of our party tried to penetrate through the jungle for sport, but soon returned, having found it an impossibility to make headway—the vegetation being simply prodigious, the trees and under-scrub actually matted together by creepers of all sizes and form, so as to render all progress an utter impossibility.
During the afternoon the native cook and his assistant had made good use of their time. How, where, and when they managed it I never could make out; but as soon as the boat was safely moored, and when we returned from our vain attempt to invade the sanctity of the jungle, we found the table laid, and really a capital dinner—soup, fish, two entrées, a roast, the inevitable curry, some pastry, fruits in profusion—the two last courses being the only things in which our chef had not had a finger in. His coffee, even, was passable; but I determined in future to attend to that myself, having some conceit as to my capabilities in that particular line. We had a long day, therefore did not linger—a few cigars, some tough yarns, and one by one dropped off. Beds had been extemporised on cane settees in an adjoining compartment of our floating house.
At an early hour—indeed, at dawn, which is by far the pleasantest part of the day all through India—we got out of bed and made for the bow of the boat, bent on a plunge in the waters of the Kaluganga. Luckily, we had our sleeping suits on, so that the stripping business gave us time to look round. It is quite as well we did. At about six or eight yards off, forming quite a semi-circle, were a number of black spots, which on closer scrutiny proved to be the muzzles of so many alligators! Needless to say that we changed our plans. A tub, if smaller, was decidedly safer. There being only two on board, those who had to wait their turn whiled away the time in “peppering” at the alligators—a harmless sport on both sides, and a great waste of powder. These brutes had a skin so hard and slippery that they only gave a snort and a sneeze when hit, and disappeared.
After our tubbing, and whilst discussing a cup of coffee of MY making, a screaming row overhead drew us out once more to the bow of the floating dwelling, to witness one of the strangest sights imaginable. The roof of our cabin was literally covered with bunches of bananas, baskets of fruit, and other delicacies, which had evidently attracted the attention of myriads of monkeys of all sizes and colour, which swarm in the jungle of Ceylon. The cunning imps had formed a living chain by hanging to one another from the nearest tree-top overhanging the river. The last one was dexterously grabbing our fruit, which, being passed from one to the other, would soon have found its way from our larder to that of these infernal chimpanzees. A rush was made for rifles and revolvers, but with our usual luck, when we were ready to fire the monkeys were gone. We did fire a volley at the grinning brutes, who seemed to enjoy the fun; but, like all preceding game, left us with unstained hands. Indeed, from their grins, it strikes me very forcibly that they turned the tables by making “game” of us.
Sailing was now out of the question. Our men put out their long sweeps, the steersman, perched on the roof of the deck-house, keeping the helm well down. We proceeded on our course at a fair pace, keeping as close in-shore as the length of the oars would permit.
Towards tiffin-time we got well in amongst the mountainous part of the river, where the scenery became grander—in some parts huge piles of hills covered with vegetation, with here and there some capricious, overhanging rocky projections. In the distance, wherever the stream ran straight for the Peak, we had glimpses of that great mountain, which takes its name from our first father—it being firmly believed that Ceylon was THE Garden of Eden, where our first parents learned horticulture, and bartered civilisation for a taste of a fruit which we, their unworthy descendants, can purchase at four a penny; whilst, strange to say, it does not grow on this most prolific island!
Ceylon is certainly an earthly paradise, where serpents are quite abundant enough to scare an unprotected female, and the climate mild enough to warrant the use of vine leaves in preference to heavier clothing.
Of course, we had ample leisure to discuss these various pre-historic points as we lazily glided over the smooth surface of the noble river.
Native settlements as on the previous day, were located when and where the banks were flat enough to admit of easy cultivation. The Singalese do not believe in hard work; and, as I explained before, where he can grow a few cocoa-nut trees, he has only need to provide for the time that elapses between the planting of the nut and the first crop. After that, he and his surroundings are amply provided for.
On the third day we reached our destination. Like a great many other alluvial diggings, these mines are devoid of interest. Some straggling huts, a poor, ill-fed lot of natives and Moormen—very few of the latter, who are merely there to pick up, as cheap as they can, any fairly good stone found. The best part of this excursion is the journey on the river, and more particularly that going up, when everything has the cachet of novelty.
Had we known the topography of the island better, we might have gone back to Colombo by train. However, in this as in many other instances, experience had to be bought. We did not pay much for this—indeed, our return to Kalatura was a dream. Making a start at dusk, we reached our hotel the next day before tiffin. We slept nearly all the way back. What with the current and the sweeps, we travelled at a rare pace.
The summing up of our excursion is—a charming, and certainly most inexpensive trip, which I strongly urge all globe-trotters to make on the same lines, returning to the city overland; and above all, beware of the vendors of precious stones at the mines. If you have to be swindled (which you are sure to be) let it be done in Colombo. The cut glass you purchase there has at all events the appearance of genuine stones, whereas at the mines you will fill your pockets with rough pebbles—warranted genuine sapphires, cat’s eyes, rubies, or moon-stones—intrinsically worth a rupee a cart-load for gravelling garden walks, but utterly valueless for any other purpose. Indeed, the only drawback to Ceylon—and, for the matter of that, the whole of India—is the abominable bore a visitor is subjected to from the myriads of swindling dealers who actually persecute him from morning till night, and beset him everywhere he goes. I had the satisfaction in one solitary instance to pay one of that tribe in his own coin. During one of our morning drives to the Cinnamon Gardens, some hawkers kept pace with our horse, flinging bouquets of flowers, cinnamon walking-sticks, &c., into the carriage, and asking most outrageous prices for their wares. I had exhausted my stock of small change, but wanted to secure one of the bunches of flowers offered; and finding in my purse my Melbourne season ticket for the Opera—a very natty, small, red morocco card, with a bright gold coat of arms on the cover—I tendered it to the fellow, who greedily took it in payment for his bouquet. When he had it examined by an expert, he called at the hotel next day and endeavoured to get a refund, and was much crestfallen to find that for once he was “had.”
The Indian mail having arrived—the Siam, under the command of my very old friend, Captain Ashdown—I moved on board with bag and baggage for Calcutta, taking Madras en route.