It is a handsome light brown bird, about the size of an English
widgeon, but there is no peculiar formation in the feet to enable
them to cling to a bough; they are bona fide ducks with the
common flat web foot.
A very beautiful species of bald-pated coot, called by the
natives keetoolle, is also an inhabitant of the lakes. This bird
is of a bright blue color with a brilliant pink horny head. He
is a slow flyer, being as bulky as a common fowl and short in his
proportion of wing.
It is impossible to convey a correct idea of the number and
variety of birds in these localities, and I will not trouble the
reader by a description which would be very laborious to all
parties; but to those who delight in ornithological studies there
is a wild field which would doubtless supply many new specimens.
I know nothing more interesting than the acquaintance with all
the wild denizens of mountain and plain, lake and river. There
is always something fresh to learn, something new to admire, in
the boundless works of creation. There is a charm in every sound
in Nature where the voice of man is seldom heard to disturb her
works. Every note gladdens the ear in the stillness of solitude,
when night has overshadowed the earth, and all sleep but the wild
animals of the forest. Then I have often risen from my bed, when
the tortures of mosquitoes have banished all ideas of rest, and
have silently wandered from the tent to listen in the solemn
quiet of night.
I have seen the tired coolies stretched round the smouldering
fires sound asleep after their day's march, wrapped in their
white clothes, like so many corpses laid upon the ground. The
flickering logs on the great pile of embers crackling and sinking
as they consume; now falling suddenly and throwing up a shower of
sparks, then resting again in a dull red heat, casting a silvery
moonlike glare upon the foliage of the spreading trees above. A
little farther on, and the horses standing sleepily at their
tethers, their heads drooping in a doze. Beyond them, and all is
darkness and wilderness. No human dwelling or being beyond the
little encampment I have quitted; the dark lake reflecting the
stars like a mirror, and the thin crescent moon giving a pale and
indistinct glare which just makes night visible.
It is a lovely hour then to wander forth and wait for wild
sounds. All is still except the tiny hum of the mosquitoes.
Then the low chuckling note of the night hawk sounds soft and
melancholy in the distance; and again all is still, save the
heavy and impatient stamp of a horse as the mosquitoes irritate
him by their bites. Quiet again for a few seconds, when
presently the loud alarm of the plover rings over the plain -
"Did he do it?" - the bird's harsh cry speaks these words as
plainly as a human being. This alarm is a certain warning that
some beast is stalking abroad which has disturbed it from its
roost, but presciently it is again hushed.
The loud hoarse bark of an elk now unexpectedly startles the ear;
presently it is replied to by another, and once more the plover
shrieks "Did he do it?" and a peacock waking on his roost gives
one loud scream and sleeps again.
The heavy and regular splashing of water now marks the measured
tread of a single elephant as he roars out into the cooled lake,
and you can hear the more gentle falling of water as he spouts a
shower over his body. Hark at the deep guttural sigh of pleasure
that travels over the lake like a moan of the wind! -what giant
lungs to heave such a breath; but hark again! There was a fine
trumpet! as clear as any bugle note blown by a hundred breaths it
rung through the still air. How beautiful! There, the note is
answered; not by so fine a tone, but by discordant screams and
roars from the opposite side, and the louder splashing tells that
the herd is closing up to the old bull. Like distant thunder a
deep roar growls across the lake as the old monarch mutters to
himself in angry impatience.
Then the long, tremulous hoot of the owl disturbs the night,
mingled with the harsh cries of flights of waterfowl, which
doubtless the elephants have disturbed while bathing.
Once more all sounds sink to rest for a few minutes, until the
low, grating roar of a leopard nearer home warns the horses of
their danger and wakes up the sleeping horsekeeper, who piles
fresh wood upon the fires, and the bright blaze shoots up among
the trees and throws a dull, ruddy glow across the surface of the
water. And morning comes at length, ushered in, before night has
yet departed, by the strong, shrill cry of the great fish-eagle,
as he sits on the topmost bough of some forest tree and at
measured periods repeats his quivering and unearthly yell like an
evil spirit calling. But hark at that dull, low note of
indescribable pain and suffering! long and heavy it swells and
dies away. It is the devil-bird; and whoever sees that bird must
surely die soon after, according to Cingalese superstition.
A more cheering sound charms the ear as the gray tint of morning
makes the stars grow pale; clear, rich, notes, now prolonged and
full, now plaintive and low, set the example to other singing
birds, as the bulbul, first to awake, proclaims the morning.
Wild, jungle-like songs the birds indulge in; not like our steady
thrushes of Old England, but charming in their quaintness.
