My First Voyage to Southern Seas Part 21

I certainly had no idea that such vast and magnificent edifices had existed in that part of the world in those days. Leaving this region of pillars, and pa.s.sing several broken statues of different animals, we were pursuing our way along the sh.o.r.es of another of those wonderful tanks of which I have spoken, when suddenly I heard a shot in the forest, then there was loud shouting and harking of dogs, and a huge buffalo, mad with rage and fear, burst through the jungle, and catching sight of the priest and me, with his head on the ground dashed towards us. There was a tree at a little distance, but it was too far off for the old man to reach before the buffalo would be up to us. I signed to him to fly to it, intimating that I would defend him with my rifle. He took my advice, and hastened towards it. Solon meantime ran off, barking loudly, towards the buffalo. This distracted somewhat the animal's attention, and he stopped to consider, apparently, which he should attack first, I might have hit him where he stood, but I preferred waiting till he came nearer, that I might have less chance of missing him. He first made a charge at Solon, but the brave dog was too quick for him, and nimbly leaped out of the way of his terrific horns.

Several times he stopped to b.u.t.t at Solon, but without being able to touch him. Then he turned towards me. Then my faithful dog saw that, he attacked him still more pertinaciously. I was afraid, however, when I fired, that I might hit the dog should I miss the buffalo, and I therefore kept shouting, "Solon, Solon," to call him off. I never felt more cool and composed. I really believe that I could have taken a pinch of snuff if I had had one. It was very necessary that I should be cool. The buffalo had got within ten paces of me, and in another instant he would have been over me, when, aiming at his forehead, I fired, and down he dropped in midway career, stone dead.

"Bravo, my lad, bravo!" I heard a voice exclaim from among the trees, it seemed. "Capitally done, capital!"

I looked round and saw riding out of the wood on my left a somewhat thin, but active, wiry-looking old man, but evidently from the tone of his voice and his appearance a gentleman. Meantime the old priest came back, and threw his arms round my neck to express to me the grat.i.tude he felt for the service I had done him. I thought that I even saw tears trickling down his eyes. While this ceremony was going on, the old gentleman rode up to the dead buffalo, and leaping from his horse examined its head.

"A first-rate shot steadily planted. You are a young sportsman. How came you here?" exclaimed the old gentleman.

I told him briefly how I was travelling through the country, and following a deer had lost my companions.

"Not an uncommon occurrence. However, I can help you out of your difficulties, I hope, and enable you to find your friends," he answered, in a brisk, kind tone. "Come to my camp. We shall find it pitched not more than two or three miles from this, towards the other end of this wilderness of ruins."

While we were speaking, a couple of Moors, hunters by profession they seemed, and other attendants, brown and scantily clothed, came up with a number of dogs. They expressed great satisfaction at seeing the buffalo dead, and cut out its tongue to carry away. The stranger directed them, as I understood, to return to the camp, saying that he would follow leisurely in a short time. He then turned to me.

"Thank the old Santon, and tell him you will not trouble him to come further," said he.

I explained that I could not speak a word of his language.

"Oh, you have only lately come to the country," said the old gentleman.

"I will then act interpreter for you."

He spoke a few words to the hermit, and gave him a silver coin, which the latter placed reverently in his bosom, bowing low at the same time.

"That is for himself, not for Buddha, though, I must tell him," observed the old gentleman. "We have no business to support their false G.o.ds and impious wors.h.i.+p, under any pretext whatever. It only encourages them in their errors, and brings down retribution on the heads of those who ought to know better. Now, come along, my lad. I cannot take you up on my horse, nor can I walk, but you appear to possess a pair of good legs, which will carry you over the ground at a rate sufficient to keep up with me. Is that your dog? He is a fine beast. I must make his acquaintance. Now, wish the old hermit good-bye. Salaam to him. That will do. Come along.

"A fine old man that," he continued. "It is a pity he should be a priest of so absurd a faith. Do you know anything about Buddhism? The Buddhists believe in the transmigration of souls (the doctrine of the _metempsychosis_, as it is called). In that respect they are like the followers of Brahma. It is doubtful, indeed, which is the older faith of the two--whether Brahminism is a corruption of Buddhism, or whether Buddhism is an attempt to restore Brahminism to its original purity.

Buddhism has existed for upwards of two thousand years; it is the chief religion of the Chinese, and that indeed of upwards of one-third of the human race at the present day. Buddhists are practically atheists.

Buddha Gotama, to whom all Buddhists look up, was, they believe, the incarnation of excellence. They fancy that everything was made by chance, and that Buddha was only infinitely superior to all other beings, and therefore that he is a fit object of admiration and contemplation, and that the height of happiness is to be absorbed in some way, after having been purified by many changes, into his being.

They believe in the perfectibility of man, and therefore their great aim is to become moral and virtuous, while the employment of their priests is chiefly to contemplate virtue, and to inculcate its precepts and practice. Indeed, it may be said to be less a form of religion than a school of philosophy. Its wors.h.i.+p appeals father to the reason than to the imagination, through the instrumentality of rites and parades; and, though ceremonies and festivals are introduced, the more enlightened are anxious to explain that these are either innovations of the priesthood, or in honour of some of the monarchs who have proved patrons and defenders of the faith. No people, perhaps, are so dest.i.tute of all _warmth_ and fervour in their religion as the followers of Buddha. They believe because their ancestors believed, and they look with the most perfect complacency on the doctrines of the various sects who surround them. As Sir Emmerson Tennent says--'The fervid earnestness of Christianity, even in its most degenerate form, the fanatical enthusiasm of Islam, the proud exclusiveness of Brahma, and even the zealous warmth of other northern faiths, are all emotions utterly unknown and foreign to the followers of Buddhism in Ceylon. Yet, strange to tell, under all the icy coldness of this barren system there burns below the unextinguished fires of another and a darker superst.i.tion, whose flames overtop the icy summits of the Buddhist philosophy, and excite a deeper and more reverential awe in the imagination of the Singhalese. As the Hindus in process of time superadded to their exalted conceptions of Brahma, and the benevolent attributes of Vishnu, their dismal dreams and apprehensions, which embody themselves in the horrid wors.h.i.+p of Siva, and in invocations to propitiate the destroyer; so the followers of Buddha, unsatisfied with the vain pretensions of unattainable perfection, struck down by this internal consciousness of sin and insufficiency, and seeing around them, instead of the reign of universal happiness and the apotheosis of intellect and wisdom, nothing but the ravages of crime and the sufferings produced by ignorance, have turned with instinctive terror to propitiate the powers of evil, by whom alone such miseries are supposed to be inflicted, and to wors.h.i.+p the demons and tormentors, to whom this superst.i.tion is contented to attribute a circ.u.mscribed portion of power over the earth.' They call their demons Yakkas, and, like the Ghouls of the Mohammedans, they are supposed to infest grave-yards. They believe also in a demon for each form of disease--delighting in the miseries of mankind. Thus in every domestic affliction the services of the _Kattadias_, or devil-priests, are sought to exorcise the demon. Although the more intelligent Singhalese acknowledge the impropriety of this superst.i.tion, they themselves resort to it in all their fears and afflictions. It has been found to be the greatest impediment to the establishment of Christianity; for, though the people without much difficulty become nominal Christians, they cling to the terrible rites of their secret demon-wors.h.i.+p with such pertinacity, that while outwardly conforming to the doctrines of the truth, they still trust to the incantations and ceremonies of the devil priests. Notwithstanding this we must not despair. The struggle with Satan, the author of devil-wors.h.i.+p, may be long and fierce, but if we go on perseveringly endeavouring to spread a knowledge of the gospel, we shall most a.s.suredly gain the victory over him in the end."

Such were the remarks of the old gentleman as Solon and I walked alongside him on our way to where he expected to find his camp pitched.

We found the tents pitched under a widespreading tamarind tree, in the immediate neighbourhood of a number of cocoa-nut palms. Close at hand were piles of curious ruins, near a beautiful lake bordered by trees; while carved slabs, fallen columns, and broken statues lay scattered around. The stranger's cortege was much of the same character as was Mr Fordyce's. Camp-fires were already lighted, near which the horses were sheltered, while four or five elephants stood, as usual, busy fanning off the flies in the background.

"I have a young companion with me, also a stranger in this country. He met with a slight accident, and could not come out hunting to-day. I have no doubt he will be glad to make your acquaintance."

The moment the old gentleman said these words my heart beat quick. He saw my agitation. I thought of Alfred.

"Who is he--pray tell me?" I asked.

His hand was on the curtain of the tent. He made no answer, but threw it back. I entered. A young man was there. He looked up. No, it was not Alfred, but my old schoolfellow whom I had met at Teneriffe, Lumsden.

"Marsden, my dear fellow, I am delighted to see you," he exclaimed, jumping up. "How did you find your way here?"

"Marsden!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the old gentleman, looking earnestly at me.

"Marsden!--who are you?"

"Ralph Marsden, sir," I answered hurriedly. "My father has lately died; my mother was Miss Coventry."

"Then you are my grandson, young gentleman, and right glad I am to welcome one who has proved himself so true a chip of the old block!"

exclaimed Mr Coventry.

I had had no doubt who he was from the moment I had seen Lumsden with him. He seized me by the shoulders, and, gazing in my face for a minute, gave me as kind and warm a hug as I could expect to receive.

"Your old friend here told me to expect you, as you were come out in search of poor Alfred. What has become of him I cannot tell. You heard nothing of him at the Mauritius, I fear?"

"No, sir," I answered, much agitated and grieved. "Cannot you tell me where he is?"

"No, indeed, I cannot, my boy," replied Mr Coventry; "I would give much to discover. I have kept him actively employed ever since he found me out. He has been twice at the Mauritius, once I sent him off to Singapore, and the last time I despatched him on a mission of importance to Mozambique, after which, before returning here, he was again to go to the Mauritius. This was many months ago. Not a line have I had from him, nor can I obtain the slightest information as to what has become of him. He is not a good correspondent, as I daresay you have discovered.

After he left his s.h.i.+p, he took it into his head that his family would consider that he had disgraced them, and begged that I would allow him to call himself by a different name, hoping if he did not write home that he might be considered dead, and be soon forgotten. I did not oppose his fancy, because I hoped that he would soon reason himself out of it. This will account for your not having heard of him, as also for your father's not receiving any information when he wrote about him.

Had he written to me, poor man, I would have replied, and might have perhaps induced the lad to return home. However, let bygones be bygones. I am pleased with you, Ralph. I like your notion of coming out to look for poor Alfred, and your way of proceeding, and I will help you by all the means in my power."

"Thank you, sir; thank you for all you say of me and promise to do," I replied, taking my grandfather's hand. "Now that I find you do not know where Alfred is, the necessity of my searching for him is greater than ever. I feel that I hitherto have not been as diligent in carrying out my object as I ought to have been. I was always buoyed up with the idea that you knew where Alfred was to be found, and was much less anxious than I should have been had I known the true state of the case."

"It is happy for you that you did not know the true state of the case; it is better for all of us that we do not know what the future may bring forth," observed my grandfather. "When you were at the Mauritius, it appears Alfred had not reached the island, and I shall hear on our arrival at Trincomalee whether he has since got there. I expect also to receive replies to various inquiries I have inst.i.tuted in different places, from Aden down the whole of the eastern coast of Africa. I have traced him as far as Aden, but I do not know the name of the vessel in which he left that place. I feel confident that he did not go up the Red Sea, nor is he likely to have come eastward again. You have thus, then, a definite direction in which to search for him. Rather a wide region, certainly, and difficult of access, but by perseverance you may in time succeed in your object."

My grandfather's remarks again raised my hopes of finding my brother.

At first when I discovered that he was not with him, I felt my heart sink within me.

"I will continue my search for him in spite of pestiferous climates, or savages, or any other difficulties which I may have to encounter," I exclaimed, half speaking to myself.

"That is the spirit which will enable you to succeed, my lad," said my grandfather, putting his hand on my back. "And now I want to know all about your family at home. You have not yet told me."

I briefly told him all that had occurred, of my father's death, and of the poverty in which my mother was left. He looked very grave and sad as I spoke.

"This should not have been," he muttered to himself. "I have been an unfeeling, unnatural father; wild, reckless, thinking only of myself, and of gratifying my own roving propensities."

He was silent for some time. "Ralph," he said suddenly, "I have made up my mind to go home to see your mother. I shall leave my property here and in the Mauritius under the charge of careful agents, and set off as soon as I can make the necessary arrangements. I will leave ample means with you to prosecute your inquiries, and you can return when you have found your brother, or should you be led to believe that further search is hopeless."

I need not enter into the particulars of our conversation during the evening. We had, however, a great deal. My grandfather had numberless questions to ask, which I had to answer; while I also had much information to gain from him on a variety of subjects, on which he was in no way unwilling to satisfy me. I found him, as I had expected, somewhat eccentric, but at the same time far more kind-hearted, generous, and liberal, than I had been led to believe he was.

My great anxiety was now to get to Trincomalee as soon as possible, and I believe that Mr Coventry equally wished to be there. We could not, however, proceed without letting Mr Fordyce know that I was in safety.

We were on the point of sending off messengers to try and discover his camp, when a couple of armed natives were seen coming from among the trees, followed by two laden elephants and a number of bearers, whom, as they approached, I discovered to belong to Mr Fordyce's party. On finding who we were, they pitched their tents close to ours, and he himself very soon afterwards made his appearance. I could not but be gratified at the pleasure he expressed on discovering that I was safe, but I was much concerned to find that Nowell and Dango had not been heard of. He had sent scouts out in every direction, but not a trace of them had hitherto been discovered.

As soon as I heard of this, I wanted to set out to search for my friend, but both the old gentlemen protested against my doing so; indeed, I myself was scarcely aware how tired and worn I was. Mr Coventry was also able to send out scouts to search for Nowell, so that I became now reconciled to not going out myself for that purpose. Lumsden, however, volunteered to go out early the next morning to look for him should he not have been found in the meantime. We had an hour or more to spare after we had dined before darkness would set in; and both my grandfather and Mr Fordyce, having heard of a curious temple in the neighbourhood, hewn in the bare rock, were anxious to employ the time in visiting it.

We set off on horseback, the distance being considerable, hoping to find Nowell safe at the camp on our return. We pa.s.sed on our way heaps of ruins, very similar to those I have before described, till at length we found ourselves before the precipitous side of a hill of granite. On approaching nearer, we saw directly in front of us a temple about twenty feet in height, the roof supported by pillars, with a sitting figure of Buddha in the centre, the whole hewn out of the solid rock. On the right was a standing figure upwards of twenty feet in height, and beyond it a rec.u.mbent one between forty and fifty feet long. On our left was another sitting statue placed on a pedestal, elaborately carved, with a great deal of carved-work on the wall behind it. All these statues were of Buddha, the different att.i.tudes being intended to represent his calm and contemplative character.

"What is Monasticism but Buddhism under a slightly different form? What are hermits but Buddhists? How different is true Christianity, with its active spirit of benevolence ever going about to do good, and thus to repress and overcome evil," I heard Mr Fordyce remark to my grandfather. He responded to the sentiment warmly. "Unhappily, Buddhism is to be found, not only in Asia, but in civilised Europe and America," he remarked. "What was the 'Age of Reason' in France but Buddhism fully developed? What were its results? Tyranny, murder, cruelty unexampled. Sinful and corrupt man--had we not the Bible to tell us, history does so in every page, and the present state of the world speaks loudly the same lesson--never has, and never can, guide himself by reason alone. Here we have throughout Asia one-third of the inhabitants of the globe attempting openly to do so, and see in what a state of moral degradation they are, and have been, as far back as their records can carry us. How lifeless, how soul-debasing is the system!

Though in theory the religion of Buddha is infinitely superior to that of Brahma, how exactly similar are its effects on its votaries! While the Sepoy wors.h.i.+ppers of the one in India were ruthlessly murdering men, women, and children, the Chinese were attempting precisely the same acts at Singapore and Sarawak, and wherever their numbers afforded them any prospect of success; while nothing can exceed the cruelties they inflict without compunction on each other. This people, too, profess to believe in a faith which inculcates mildness and gentleness; which forbids taking the life of any living creature; which copies, indeed, all the precepts of Christianity, but which, unlike Christianity, trusts implicitly to the guidance of human reason, and ignores any other influence. Now, the true Christian does not ignore the guidance of reason, but he does not trust to it. To one thing only he trusts--the guidance of the Holy Spirit of G.o.d, to be obtained through his grace by faith, prayer, and obedience."

"I am glad to hear you speak thus, my old friend," said Mr Fordyce.

"No man can begin to think too early on the subject of religion; but it is better late than never, when, through G.o.d's mercy, our lives have been spared to do so at all. How dreadful it is to contemplate a man gradually sinking into the grave, who year after year has had the gospel freely, liberally offered to him, nay, pressed upon him, and yet who has refused, and continues to refuse, to accept it!"

"Yes, Fordyce, I feel deeply what you say," answered my grandfather. "I have lived too much to myself. Henceforth I hope to live to serve One to whom all honour and allegiance are due."

I need not say how thankful I felt at hearing my grandfather speak in this way. I had been taught to believe, and not incorrectly, that he had led a thoughtless life, utterly indifferent to religion, and that it was owing to this that he had lived abroad and shown no regard for my mother. Lately it seemed that a new heart had been given him, and that he had become a changed man.

The conversation I have described took place in front of the rock-hewn temple. We were struck by the immense amount of labour bestowed on it.

First, a perpendicular face must have been given to the solid rock. On this the outline of the temple and the figures must have been drawn, and then with chisel and hammer inch by inch cut out. These temples, it must be remembered, were formed at a time when art in Europe was at its lowest ebb, and unable to produce anything at all equal to them.