the terribleness of my suffering. Could
it be cholera, the plague, or simply appendicitis with which I was
stricken? The sailors held me down, but not a soul on board knew a word
of English. I was positive that my end had come, and the thought of
expiring away from friends and with a pocketful of prepaid
around-the-world tickets was not agreeable. In an hour the pain was
excruciating, and it continued for ten long hours with varying severity.
Morning came, and the Indian skipper was plying his furnace with
lubricating oil and turpentine--with anything that would help him get me
to Colombo and medical skill. At last, eighteen hours out from
Marichchikkaddi, the _Active_ was in the harbor and I was being carried
to the Grand Oriental Hotel.

"What about the two bags of oysters, the captain wishes to know!" the
hotel interpreter asked.

"Oh, give them to the men," was the answer; "I have ceased to care for
pearl-studded tiaras and collars. I'm glad to get away alive from the
decaying millions of oysters at the fishery. Even God's free air there
is poisoned by them. What I want most is a doctor."

CHAPTER IV

UPWARD TO THE SHRINE OF BUDDHA

From Colombo it is but seventy-five miles to Ceylon's ancient capital,
and the journey thither is picturesque almost beyond description. For
fifty miles the railway leads through the rich vegetation of the
lowlands, with groves of cocoanut palms seemingly as boundless as the
sea. In a suburb of Colombo the sacred Kelani River is crossed, at a
point not remote from the Buddhist temple claimed to be contemporary
with Gautama himself. The valley of the Kelani is vivid with rice-fields
of green. The line then pushes its way through a bewildering medley of
tropical vegetation--there are miles of cashew and breadfruit trees, of
frangipani and jaks, and more than once a stately talipot-palm is
discerned in full blossom--for half a century the tree has stored its
vitality for this one effort; and the burst of splendor spent, its
career on earth is ended. For twenty-five miles the train zigzags up
hills, running now and then on the edge of a shelf from whence the
traveler looks down hundreds of feet sheer upon foam-crested rapids. The
journey from Colombo to Kandy affords one of the memorable experiences
of Ceylon.

[Illustration: A LADY OF KANDY]

England has held the interior region of the island, controlled for
centuries by the Kandyan kings, for but ninety odd years, and it i