CHAPTER XI

Return to England—Visit Cornwall _en route_ to Ceylon for Two Happy Years.

February 1870.—In the next few months I paid a multitude of visits to kinsfolk and friends in London and many counties—from Dover, Canterbury, Rochester, and Cuckfield in the south, to Yorkshire, Northumberland, Perthshire, and Banff in the north.

The most out-of-the-common thing that my diary records is that on Sunday, 27th March, I went in the morning to Eaton Chapel, where the Rev. Samuel Minton[54] preached very ably on the command, “That ye sin not. But if any man sin, we have an Advocate.” In the afternoon I walked to St. James’s, Piccadilly, to hear the celebrated Canon Liddon. The church was densely crowded, and all sat riveted, while _for an hour and forty minutes_ he spoke on “Desire, when it hath conceived, bringeth forth Sin, and Sin ... bringeth forth Death.” It was highly intellectual, and very deep; but so eloquent that no one seemed to feel it long—not even I, whose capacity as a patient hearer, especially in the afternoon, is so limited!

In May I went to Birdsall (which is about two hours by rail and road from York, its post-town) to pay my first visit to Lord and Lady Middleton, whose eldest son, Digby Willoughby, had married my niece, Eisa Gordon-Cumming, while I was in India.[55] So that numerous brothers and sisters and cousins and aunts formed a large company of warm-hearted kinsfolk ready to welcome me also.

There for the first time I found myself in a real hunting family, the father of which was Master of his own foxhounds, and, with one exception, every son and daughter took to hunting as naturally as ducks take to the water. And another novelty to me was the family devotion to silky white fox-terriers, of which every one had his or her own

## particular idol.

For my own part, I find my affections invariably incline to rough animals in preference to smooth ones. I do admire beautiful collies (I once loved one—_i.e._ a grand Himalayan sheep-dog which was given to me as a puppy in Ramnee Forest, and which accompanied us home, and was the children’s gentlest playfellow), and I like some Skye terriers, Shetland ponies, young donkeys, picturesque, wide-horned Highland cattle, and splendid cart horses, but I do not find myself touched by well-bred cows, or an endless succession of faultlessly-groomed hunters in stalls, and packs of glossy hounds, still less by trembling little smooth terriers. What a confession! But Birdsall was and is a paradise for all manner of pets—rough as well as smooth.

That autumn, I paid another delightful visit to the Middletons at Applecross, their beautiful home and deer-forest in Ross-shire—beautiful in itself and commanding a most lovely view of the great Skye hills, from which it is only separated by a narrow strip of sea. It is, however, wide enough often to prove a sea of separation which occasionally prevents steamers from calling, so that guests who have for hours been waiting to embark at 1 or 2 P.M., are forcibly detained. Many come and go in their own yachts, the only access by land being a very long drive over “the Balloch,” which is a tremendously steep ascent and descent. Some rash guests recently resolved to come on their motor, and after many hours, during which their arrival was anxiously awaited, they arrived on foot exhausted, the motor having stuck half-way.

But once Applecross is reached, it is quite an ideal Highland home, with an exquisite garden. Specially delightful to me was its luxuriant hedge of _gloire de Dijon_ roses, for, in common with Lord Byron, I do love all yellow and orange roses; which to pink ones seem to me to hold in the flower-world the same relations as savouries do to sweets in regard to food—most sweets and pink roses being to me alike comparatively uninteresting.

I now found my brother William and his wife (Bill and Alexa) settled at Auchintoul—the home which for the next twenty years was destined to prove such a true family centre for us all.

But I do not purpose touching further on domestic matters, so will pass on to the autumn of 1872, when an invitation from the “beloved parson” of our dear old Altyre days—then Bishop of Colombo—to pay him and Mrs. Jermyn a long visit in Ceylon, led to my going thither, and remaining for two delightful years in that beautiful isle.

The start was unpropitious. We embarked on board the _Hindoo_, a very large, quite new steamer, but one which could not face such terrible weather as we encountered in the English Channel. We embarked at Tilbury, and for a week we battled with the storm; then in trying to make Plymouth harbour to take up other passengers, our steering-gear gave way, and we lay all night off the Eddystone rocks, firing rockets, burning blue fire and other signals of distress, which were fully understood on shore, but the storm was so furious that it was impossible to send us succour, and if any tug could have ventured out, what could she have done to aid such an unwieldy giant?

She had sprung various leaks, and had four feet of water in her hold. The lower fires in the engine-room were extinct, and had the water risen seven inches higher, the upper fires must have been quenched, and we must have foundered. As it was, the combined efforts of the donkey-engine and of “all hands at the pump” kept us afloat till morning, when the gale moderated, and it became possible to rig up some sort of steering-gear and to turn the ship’s head and run into Plymouth harbour.

Of course no one on board had dreamt of sleeping that night, as we all knew that we might founder at any moment. The fine old captain (Kerr) allowed me to sit on deck in a corner of the wheel-house, and I certainly never spent a more interesting night. It was all far too exciting to leave any room for fear.

After the storm came a great calm, and a clear blue sky. It seemed incredible that we had spent a night in such imminent danger, and yet landed on a peaceful Advent Sunday morning, 1st December, and went to St. Andrew’s Church like all the other folk who had slept in their quiet beds. How vividly I remember that fine old church, and the quaint dresses of an ancient charity school.

Of course the _Hindoo_ could go no further. She cost her owners £10,000 ere she could recommence her sea-going life, which was brief. Strange to say, eight years later (in the first week of March 1880), when I had just embarked in New York harbour on board the ss. _Montana_, and was on the point of sailing for England, the ss. _Alexandria_ came into port, having on board the passengers of the _Hindoo_, whom she had rescued just ere, on 22nd February, that ill-fated vessel foundered in mid-ocean! She had encountered a furious gale, and for a week was gradually sinking, funnel, cook-house, and all her ten boats swept away, and three officers washed overboard, when she was sighted by the _Alexandria_, which succeeded in saving her crew and passengers, fifty-three in all. On reaching New York, the five passengers were at once transferred to the _Montana_, which thus carried the FIRST and LAST passengers of the _Hindoo_.

Which of us was Jonah I cannot venture to say, but after a most prosperous voyage, when we were fully expecting to breakfast at Liverpool, we were awakened by a crash, followed by the alarming cry of “All hands on deck!” and quickly realised that in a dead calm, but dense fog, we had run right on to the cliffs opposite Holyhead, and lay in a most critical position with our bows high on the rocks.

Once more we fired signals of distress, which were distinctly heard at Holyhead; but for some inexplicable reason no one came to our assistance for many hours—not till a party of women and children had been rowed to Holyhead in a boat so leaky as to be more dangerous than the ship they had left. As I had all my precious portfolios on board, I had ventured to crave the captain’s permission to stick to the ship, which he allowed me to do at my own risk, and in the course of the afternoon I had the satisfaction of seeing them and myself safely transferred to a seaworthy tug, which took us to Liverpool.

To return to Plymouth and the _Hindoo_. Her owners soon perceived that it would be necessary for them to charter two smaller vessels, and divide our large body of passengers into an Indian and a Ceylon party. Till these could be got ready, we were each allowed ten shillings and sixpence a day, and were left to our own devices.

To me this was obviously the chance of a lifetime in which to visit Cornwall, and especially my great-grandmother’s estate of Penrose, near Helston, and the wonderful Loe-pool. Emily Sage, who shared my cabin on the _Hindoo_, resolved to accompany me, and Reginald Wickham thought he could not do better than escort us. And so our enforced detention led to a most interesting fortnight in Cornwall, and another in Devonshire, till on 30th December we embarked on board the _Othello_, and, after a very pleasant voyage, reached Colombo on 5th February 1873.

Our various adventures had so thoroughly shaken us all together, that we had become an exceedingly friendly party, and were henceforward known in Ceylon as the “Hindoo-Othellos,” who invariably drew together, just like boys from the same public school. That voyage resulted in at least three weddings, including that of the young couple whom I chaperoned in Cornwall, from whom, after a lapse of thirty-one years, I have just received a joint Christmas letter, reminding me of those happy weeks, and telling with gladness of their soldier and schoolboy sons.

The next two years were one prolonged delight, each day being crammed with matters of interest, and the very varied scenery of mountains or sea-coast, rivers and lakes, temples and palaces, marvellous ruins of pre-Christian cities in the depths of the great forests, stupendous artificial tanks, gorgeously coloured foliage, and most picturesque men, women, and children, Singhalese and Tamil, peasants and great chiefs—each and all offered subjects so tempting to an artist that the mere question of what to draw first was positively bewildering.

Not content with such sights as could easily be reached by ordinary routes, the bishop most kindly arranged that his daughter and I should accompany him on some of his visits to places most difficult of access. One such tour was done entirely by water, passing from one calm lagoon to another by means of connecting rivers and canals, where every turn was a new vision of beauty.

The bishop’s “luxurious” house-boat was simply an ordinary rice cargo-boat, cleaned and hung with white calico—so small that most people would never have dreamt of sharing it with two unnecessary companions; but, as I have often proved, “WHERE THERE IS HEART-ROOM THERE IS HEARTH-ROOM,” and in truth those two companions did most thoroughly enjoy the expedition thus unselfishly made possible for them.

Another was a riding-trip through the great forests to visit some Vedas—the wild aborigines, a few of whom were just beginning to be slightly tamed and semi-Christian. Thus incidentally we camped among the wonderful ruins of the city of Pollanarua, and of the great tanks which in bygone ages irrigated vast tracts of country, now arid thorny jungle, except where in recent years British engineers have restored some of these ancient works.

Long, delightful visits to the Commander of the Forces and the Governor, _i.e._ General and Mrs. Kenny, and Mr.[56] and Mrs. Gregory (the latter at Government House, Kandy and Queen’s Cottage, Nuwara-Eliya), blended gay society life with many beautiful expeditions. Alas! the most interesting of all, which was a very carefully organised three weeks’ journey from Kandy to the pre-Christian city of Anaradhapura, in the heart of the Isle, and back to Kandy, involving a good deal of riding, proved too much for a delicate constitution, and Mrs. Gregory became very ill from what proved to be an internal development of dysentery, and a week after reaching her beautiful home in Kandy, she passed away on 28th June 1873.

Such an event naturally cast a sad gloom over the Isle—she was so truly sympathetic and considerate for every one. For myself I proved, as I have often done before, how soothing are long days of solitary sketching, alone with beautiful nature; and at that time I found peculiarly lovely subjects among the huge bamboo clumps overhanging the beautiful river Gangarowa, on whose banks I was the guest of the proprietors, Mr. and Mrs. Horsford, most kind friends.

Then another long, restful visit to a very popular fellow-passenger, who had come out with us to marry her own love, Tom Farr. Their sweet nest, Oolanakanda, was perched very high on the majestic Allegalla Peak, at the foot of a mighty crag, and overlooking a billowy sea of mountain ranges. Few houses command so vast a view, far above the misty valleys, and the wonderful stillness of the mountains brought a sense of peace.

From there we could see in the far distance the other great mountain of Ceylon, known to us as “Adam’s Peak,” but to the Singhalese as the “Sri Pada,” or Mount of the Holy Foot, because of an impression, six feet in length, on the extreme summit of that lofty peak, which is reverenced by millions of the human race as that of whatever saintly person they most revere. The Buddhists believe it to have been the footprint of Buddha, the Mohammedans of Adam, the Sivites of Siva, while the Roman Catholic Christians suppose it to have been that of St. Thomas.

All these sects alike make pilgrimage to that sacred summit, truly climbing “the steep ascent to heaven.” It is very steep, and a toilsome expedition, and at that time I could only hear of two white women who had ever attempted it, but as both had accomplished it, and one was Lady Robinson (afterwards Lady Rosmead), I refused to be scared by accounts of its difficulty, whereupon half a dozen stalwart planters undertook to be my escort, and well we were rewarded.

We spent a perfectly clear moonlight night on that wondrous summit, and had the rare good-fortune, both at sunset and sunrise, to see the extraordinary perfectly triangular blue shadow falling from the base of the mountain to the horizon, exactly as I subsequently saw a similar triangle cast by Fujiyama, the equally sacred mountain of Japan. I think there can be little doubt that to these simple nature-worshippers this mysterious and unaccountable natural phenomenon must have been the original cause which led them to venerate these lofty peaks.

Not that the shape of the mountain is in any way responsible for the sharply defined, geometric form of the shadow. I am told that the same thing is sometimes seen from Pike’s Peak in the United States, which has a rounded summit; but whether the Indian tribes there reverenced either the mountain or its shadow, no one seems to have inquired.

The size of the footprint is well in keeping with that of the so-called “holy tooth,” reverenced by many millions of Buddhists as that of their founder, but which is probably that of a crocodile, and fully two inches in length. The original small tooth was burnt by the Portuguese conquerors. So then it was revealed to a devout priest that if he looked in a certain spot on the lake he would find it again in a lotus blossom.

He accordingly sought, and found this treasure, which is so jealously guarded that it is only shown when the great temple at Kandy is in special need of funds, and then devout pilgrims from afar crowd to worship it. Fortunately for me, one of these rare exhibitions occurred while I was at Kandy, and I passed among the worshippers so often that at length I secured in the palm of my hand a perfectly accurate representation of the revered ivory.

There is a very gorgeous annual “Perehera,” when the tooth is supposed to be carried round the city on a splendidly caparisoned elephant, escorted by many other elephants, and by all the Singhalese chiefs in their strange costume; but that is altogether a fraud, as the tooth is never really taken outside of its own secure part of the temple, and only an empty shrine receives the homage of the multitudes.

But I must not suffer myself to wander off into memories of beautiful Ceylon and of the many hospitable homes to which I was so heartily welcomed in all parts of the isle. I brought away several hundred very careful paintings of exceeding interest, which (together with many in other British colonies) were borrowed and framed for exhibition by the representatives of these colonies at the great Indian and colonial exhibitions in London, Glasgow, and elsewhere.

All the most interesting details of my wanderings are recorded in _Two Happy Years in Ceylon_, now published in a one-volume edition by Messrs. Chatto and Windus, London. On its blue cover is depicted a Talipat palm-tree in blossom, showing the stupendous crown of white feather-like blossom, rising to a height of from twenty to twenty-five feet above the tree, an effort which occurs but once, after the palm has lived about forty years; it then produces an amazing weight of nuts, each the size of a small apple, but useless, and dies of exhaustion. Its gigantic leaves sometimes measure twenty-five feet from the base of the leaf-stalk to the outer rim of the leaf.

I am glad to say that this book also was most cordially received by critics and the public, as also by the many religious denominations, to whose overlapping work I had occasion frequently to refer.

I returned to Britain in the end of July 1874, and (accompanied by Ceylon portfolios) paid such a round of visits in England and Scotland, and got through so much writing, sketching, and other work, as fairly takes my breath away even to think of, now that I have reached the later stage, physical and mental, as described by Longfellow:

“The young heart, hot and restless, And the old, subdued and low.”

Perhaps the pleasantest of all these visits was one to Inveraray, where Duchess Elizabeth still reigned in all her beauty and charm, surrounded by a large number of her sons and daughters, and where Princess Louise showed me many of her own excellent works of art. The Duke was always keenly interested in any new ideas or illustrations of antiquities or natural phenomena, and on this occasion my very careful drawings of the pre-Christian “jungle” cities, and, above all, the triangular shadow of the Sri Pada, gave him special pleasure.

This he requited by himself taking me for several of his favourite long drives, which compelled me to confess that Ceylon itself could produce nothing more exquisite than Inveraray’s cadmium and burnt sienna-coloured beech-trees, fairy-like golden birches, and profusion of scarlet rowan-berries, with a sea-loch as blue as the autumn sky, and wild Highland cattle of every shade of sienna and ochre, nibbling the brilliantly yellow sea-weed that fringes the loch. After a prolonged sojourn among large-leaved, luxuriant tropical foliage, the greatest charm of British woods lies in the smallest leaves, and the graceful Highland birches excel above all others.

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