Presently carriages, the carriages of Europeans,
varying from victorias to buggies and dog-carts, commenced to scatter
the motley yet picturesque throng of natives that always fills the road.
Banks, offices had closed. Europeans were either going home or were out
for their evening drive. How they looked at Cynthia! Some— and these
the best bred, those really high in the social scale—raised their hats;
others stared, and if they had their wives and daughters with them, the
latter made some sneering remark which, however, the husband, to his
credit be it said, did not encourage, but flicking the horse hastened
on. Such incidents forced Cynthia to wonder if, when Bishop Heber wrote
those lines—
they were intended to imply to the "heathen"
native alone. May be 'twas the pretty tea-gown that excited envy or
derision—which? But what more suitable when the thermometer stands at
110° than a loose muslin robe? Cynthia had at any rate the courage of
her opinions and acted accordingly, let Mrs. Grundy of the Colony deride as she might—or envy!.
Wellawatte was passed; Bambalapitiya nearly, when the Appoo, approaching, pointed to a group assembled under the shade of a mango tree.
There was the horse, there the Muttu, and
squatting around the animal were some three or four of the lowest
caste, most ruffianly looking natives it had ever been Cynthia's
misfortune to behold.
"Muttu," said Cynthia, drawing nearer, "release the horse and bring it home."
The Muttu came a step forward—reluctantly.
"Come—quick," continued Cynthia firmly.
But the group of rapscallions were up at this,
their hands on the animal's halter, their voices in chorus addressing
Cynthia, " Sinhalese men saying wanting ten rupee, Lady," interpreted
the Appoo^ standing at a
distance, as became his high caste. Cynthia was sharp enough to detect
glances being exchanged all round. Freemasonry always exists among the
natives in spite of caste—until their individual interests clash.
"Muttu, take the horse—I insist."
But the Muttu made no advance. He either would not or he dared not. Useless to transfer the order to the Appoo. Cynthia came forward herself. Soon as her fingers touched the knot the halter fell from the tree. She was surprised
at the success herself. The ruffians, infuriated, surrounded her,
talking vociferously, and making endeavours to bar her way. With her
sunshade, however, she kept them at bay. Afterwards she said her "good
demon must have been at hand and helped," for whilst one hand was
occupied with Mr. Peter Robinson's parasol, the other, securing the
halter, led the horse away. A sorry situation for an English lady, but
Cynthia was blessed with that priceless bump of humour— born with it. It
helped her over many a stile. It helped her now. Spite of heat,
fatigue, fear (if fear she had) of these low caste native ruffians,
Cynthia held on—literally as well as figuratively held her own, leading
the animal until, once out in the open road, she insisted again on the Muttu taking
her place. This he did now— willingly, his mistress having proven
herself, if not the stronger, at any rate the superior power. "Nothing
succeeds like success " is true as it is trite with human nature, black
as well as white. Thus the procession proceeded homeward. After dinner
the Muttu was summoned to the
verandah to tell his story of what Cynthia designated this "novel system
of equine brigandage." It was this. While leading the animal quietly
along the public highroad, some three or four men, suddenly emerging
from a side garden, seized the halter out of the Muttu's hand and led the horse away
to a mango tree, where they secured it. Upon the Muttu remonstrating, the men—strangers to the Muttu (of
course) demanded ten rupees ere the animal should be released or
restored. Useless to argue, to reason, or to resist. Ten rupees or the
horse remained captive.
Funny, downright funny was this.
"Worthy of French opera bouffe" as Cynthia said. "But—the flag of sober, serious, just old England waves o'er this fair isle." Herein lay the anomaly.
"But," bringing herself back to the gravity of the question, "was there no constable about?" she inquired.
"No," said the Muttu, "no constable 'bout."
"H'm. You may go, Muttu."
That evening passed merrily, as indeed their
evenings always did. Cynthia made sketches of natives being kept at bay
with Mr. Peter Robinson's parasol by way of illustration to her graphic
encounter with "ye native brigand." The sequel to the adventure occurred
a morning or two later, when they were eating their appas again
on the verandah. A yellow Malay in blue approaching, handed an
envelope, likewise blue. The contents, also blue—a summons to appear at
the Colombo Police Court: "Whereas the said So-and-So did permit of his
property—a horse and a man—a Muttu in the said So-and-So's service, to trespass
on and thereby do injury to the property of Soand-So at Bambalapitiya."
