On the Coromandel Coast/Chapter 1
ON THE COROMANDEL COAST
CHAPTER I
THE FISHER-FOLK
The Coromandel Coast is a term applied to the east coast of the Peninsula of India. The word means ‘The realm of Chora.’ It was in use among the Portuguese, who were a century ahead of the English in establishing their trade centres in India. The East India Company adopted it in their official documents. Their consultation books and diaries were thus inscribed: ‘The Diary and Consultation Booke of the Agent Governour and Councell; their Proceedings and Transactions for the Affaires of the Honbie. English East India Company in the Agency of ye Coast of Chormandell and the Bay of Bengale.’
The first English ship to arrive on the coast was the Globe (1611) belonging to the Company. It came by way of Cape Comorin and carried a contingent of merchants, among whom were two Dutchmen who had entered the Company’s service. The object of the Globe was to search the Coromandel Coast for a safe and convenient port where no Europeans had previously settled. The port must combine facilities for inland trade as well as a good anchorage. The little ship was a swift sailer, and she dispensed with an escort, thus exhibiting an unusual independence for those days when piracy and buccaneering nourished unchecked. She crept up the inhospitable coast observant but unsuccessful. A formidable line of surf confronted her throughout the entire length of the peninsula. She passed the spot where Madras now stands, then a barren stretch of pale sunburnt sand, and reached Masulipatam. Here the Dutch East India Company had already established a factory. A boat was lowered; an English merchant and one of the Dutchmen were sent ashore. The boat was upset in the surf and the Englishman was nearly drowned. He was already afflicted with that curse of the tropics, dysentery, which he had contracted in a former voyage to Java. The immersion brought on a return of it and he died a few months later at Masulipatam. He was the first victim claimed by the Coromandel Coast from the ranks of the Company's servants. He heads a list unnumbered that extends over nearly two hundred and fifty years.
The ships in which the Europeans made voyages to the East were of about three hundred tons burden. The travellers had to contend with many dangers. In addition to bad weather and attacks from pirates there was the vital question of food and water. The casks that contained the water supply rotted in the tropical climate and barely lasted out the voyage. The water with which they were supplied at the different ports of call teemed with bacilli, producing forms of disease unknown to the English doctors.
The jealousy of the Dutch did not allow the English to remain in peace at Masulipatam. At the end of a quarter of a century they were driven to seek a new centre for their operations. After various adventures this was found further south. The spot chosen had nothing to commend it but its negative qualities. It had no harbour, no natural fortress, no deep inland waterway. Its undesirability gave the handful of Englishmen who formed the first colony a reasonable hope that they would be left unmolested by a stronger power.
There was a village of Muckwas, the peaceful fisher-folk of the Coromandel Coast; but they pursued their gentle craft and paid no heed to the foreigners. Their humble mud dwellings were not calculated to excite the cupidity of the strangers and they had nothing to fear. Here upon the bleached sand in front of the terrible surf the servants of the Company built a fort which they named after their patron saint, St. George (1640). The fort formed the nucleus of the present town of Madras, and proved, by its steadily increasing prosperity, that the old merchants had made no error of judgment when they planted the Company's flag upon its walls. Whatever the difficulties of shipping might be without a harbour, it was the right centre for the inland trade.
The directors of the Company, however, were unable to pierce the secrets of the future. When they read a plain unvarnished description of their new settlement their faith in their agents was broken. They could see nothing in it that held out any hope of success. It was their custom in those early days to keep what they called 'Black Books,' two volumes of which still remain for posterity to smile over. The names of defaulting servants were entered with the offences of which they had been guilty. The names of the two men who were the founders of the new agency were duly inscribed in the following manner : 'Frauncis Day, blamed to be the first projector of the Forte of St. George. The worke begunne by Frauncis Day and paid for out of the Company's cash' After the name of Andrew Cogan, agent for the Coromandel Coast, comes 'To answeare the building of the fforte St. George, the charge whereof hath cost from ye first of March 1639 to ye thirtieth of June 1643 pagodas new 9250.'
It was in September 1877 that I had my first view of the long low shore of Madras. In the pearly haze of the muggy heat a Muckwa paddled his boat towards the steamer. His dark wet skin glistened in the rays of the sun like the scales of a fish brought up from the depths of the ocean. A rope was thrown to him, and by its aid he climbed up the bulwarks and dropped on deck. His sole articles of clothing were a diminutive loin-cloth and a conical grass cap. He took from the cap a packet of letters wrapped in oil-cloth and handed them to the captain's steward. Having executed his commission he departed as he came and paddled away towards his fishing-grounds. No wonder the old sea-captain, who saw the Muckwa for the first time, took him for a demon and recorded the event thus: '6 A.M.-Saw distinctly two black devils playing at single-stick. We watched these infernal imps above an hour, when they were lost in the distance. Surely this doth portend some great tempest.'
Since the entry was made in the log-book the Muckwas have changed neither their habits nor their appearance. The same primitiveness marks them in dress and in their mode of living. As the fisherman welcomed the huge steel ship of modern build, so one of his forbears must have greeted the Globe. He carried letters from the Shahbunder or port-officer to ask for information concerning the strangers and what their mission might be. In a similar manner St. Xavier and the Portuguese traders were met, and centuries earlier St. Thomas, who is said to have visited India fifty-two years after the birth of Christ. The boats of the fisher-folk remain unchanged in form. They consist of three logs lashed together and propelled by a paddle that is nothing more than a narrow plank. The rapidity with which the paddle is worked, now on one side, now on the other, is very suggestive of the infernal imp playing at single-stick.
St. Thomas and his successor, St. Xavier, were closely connected with the Muckwas, who are said to have received Christianity at the hands of the Apostle himself. The fact of St. Thomas's visit to India has never been historically proved; it rests solely on tradition. In the 'Acts of St. Thomas,' supposed to have been written in the second century, it is related that the twelve Apostles divided the world between them for the purpose of spreading the joyful tidings. India fell to the lot of St. Thomas, whose doubting heart sank appalled at the prospect of such distant journeyings. The legend proceeds to say that he hesitated and delayed in fear and trembling to take up his mission. A certain king in South India had com- missioned one of his merchants to bring back a carpenter. Our Lord appeared to the trader and sold St. Thomas for twenty pieces of silver; whereupon the vacillating saint was carried off by force to the East. He was put ashore at Cranganore on the west coast, and from there he went to Cochin; later he found his way to the Coromandel Coast, where he was martyred by the Brahmins, who were jealous of his success. Bishop Heber, Dr. Buchanan, Dr. Kennett, and various other authorities gave credence to the fact of his visit to the south as well as to the north of India.
In countries where there is no regular method of recording history, tradition is valuable. The people cherish the tales of their fathers and hand them down to posterity. As Dr. Kennett observed, Arabs, Syrians, and Armenians have made pilgrimages from time immemorial to the spot which they believed to be the burial place of St. Thomas, and such belief was not to be lightly regarded. When St. Francis Xavier, the friend of Ignatius Loyola, arrived in the middle of the sixteenth century he found a primitive form of Christianity in existence among the Muckwas. There is archaeological evidence that Christianity had been introduced into Mylapur and St. Thomas's Mount as early as the eighth century. The community at the Mount suffered persecution from the heathen ; but the fishermen with their poverty and gentle inoffensiveness escaped. In the eyes of their rulers they were beneath contempt, and they were left to practise any religious rites they chose to adopt. Their religion suffered from want of supervision. It was overlaid with the idolatry of the devil-worshippers of the south and it needed reformation. It was inevitable that this should happen, for they had been left to themselves too long. There is no record of their having received a visit from any missionary between the time of St. Thomas's death and the arrival of St. Xavier. It seems little short of miraculous that any instruction given by the Apostle should have remained at all. Their hearty welcome to the Portuguese saint showed that they were not altogether ignorant of the moribund condition of their Church. They listened to his teaching and submitted to a certain amount of reform. When he left them to their great regret they honoured his memory by adopting him as their special patron saint. As time passed on they almost deified him. To this day they appeal to him in moments of danger, crying 'Xavier! Xavier! Xavier!' and drown with his name on their lips. They make the same appeal in sickness and when they have any misfortune with their nets and find them empty.
On certain occasions they make sacrifices to the Blessed Virgin Mary on the beach. The ritual is semi-heathen in its character and is of a propitiatory nature. It takes place at night and its performance is picturesque and impressive. The sacrificial fires are lighted on the sand near the rolling surf. The worshippers group themselves round the flickering light of the flames and perform a pujah without the assistance of their priests. The ceremonies are more suggestive of the practices of the Dravidian followers of local demons than of a Christian rite. Yet the Muckwas cannot be called anything else but staunch Christians. They possess their own churches in the various villages along the coast. Their ritual is jealously preserved, and any attempt to eliminate unorthodox ceremonial meets with opposition and resentment. The want of education renders reformation difficult, and of late years the priests who serve their churches have thought it wiser not to interfere. These priests are of Portuguese extraction and come from Goa. They are chosen by the fisher-folk because they belong to the same national church to which their beloved saint belonged. In retaining the services of these men the same conservative spirit is shown as that which prompts the retention of the doubtful Christian ceremonies.
Their churches usually stand within sound of the sea. The fishermen present the first catch of the season in the buildings, bringing the fish fresh and dripping from the nets. Although close to the waves the highest points on the shore have been chosen as sites, and the fishermen's huts cluster round them. The presence of the church, instead of the temple, is a marked feature of the Muckwa hamlet, and reminds the voyager of the sunny coasts of Italy. The church in Madras is dedicated to St. Peter. It occupies a large piece of ground granted a century ago when land on the Coromandel Coast was less valuable than it is now. In former days the Muckwa village stood near the opening of the river Cooum. The fishermen had built themselves a little church similar in character to those round the coast. At the beginning of the nineteenth century Government desired to clear the immediate neighbourhood of the fort of surrounding buildings. In carrying out the improvements it was necessary to remove the village and the church. A piece of ground upon the sea-shore further south was given as a site for the hamlet, where it now stands. The church was built to the north of Madras. There had always been a colony at this spot. To suit its needs, as well as those of the colony in the south, Government assigned a piece of waste ground beyond the limits of Georgetown for the church and also for a burial ground. Attempts have been made more than once on the part of certain bodies to dispossess the Muckwas of their property, but the grant holds good, and the attempts have been unsuccessful. All encroachments, whether in the matter of ritual or in the appropriation of their property to other uses, have been steadily resisted, and the Muckwas' church stands intact, proving that in spite of their love of peace they could be firm and deter- mined if they chose.
The Europeans were not long in discovering the utility of the caste. When the merchants wished to land the Muckwas piloted them through the surf, which was too heavy for the ship's boats. When they had established themselves ashore, the fishermen again served them, this time as porters and palanquin bearers, transporting them and their goods inland as they had transported them through the surf. The Muckwa still plies the oar in the masulah boats that carry cargo to and from the ships anchored in the harbour. The rest of the tribe continue their former occupation of fishing, which is a thriving trade in the present day. They live in huts built of mud and thatched with palm leaves. Some of the huts are circular in form, the walls being not more than four feet high, and the space within extremely limited. The village that lies between the Fort and St. Thome possesses some dwellings of a better class. In the centre of this group stands a brick-house with terraced roof and substantial verandah. Its proportions are not large, but compared with the humble huts that nestle up to its side, it is a palace. It is the residence of the head of the caste, the fisher-king as the people call him. In bygone times the chief of the Muckwas occupied a hut like the rest of his fellows. A modern ancestor is said to have met with a stroke of luck by which he was enabled to build himself a mansion suitable to his dignity as head of the caste.
The old fisherman, who has no longer strength to go out with the fishing fleet, occupies himself on shore searching the high-water mark for flotsam and jetsam. He discovers all kinds of treasures, driftwood that serves for fuel, baskets, fittings of ships, and articles thrown or lost overboard, remnants of cargoes swallowed by the sea in shipwreck; even jewels and money may sometimes be found washed up after long years under the salt water. The storms create fresh currents, the sandbanks are displaced, and the treasure is released. It is said that a Muckwa chief, too aged to accompany his sons, employed himself in this manner one day after a severe storm. He picked up a box that had been washed ashore which contained a number of bank-notes. Neither he nor his family recognised the nature of the treasure trove, and the notes were thrown aside as being valueless. A grand-daughter tidying the little mud hut found the slips of paper and fastened them round the walls by way of ornament. One day a Government peon had occasion to call at the hut of the Muckwa. It happened to be a cold monsoony day, and the person he wanted to see had taken refuge inside. He stood at the open door and glanced round the room with eyes that grew wide with astonishment. He could scarcely believe that he saw aright. Seventeen thousand rupees in Government notes were fastened in neat rows upon the walls of the hut. No owner could be discovered for them, and the lucky old fisher-king became the happy possessor of a part of the sum. With it he bought more nets and logs for boats and built his house. To this day the family is wealthy in fishing-tackle; and the women wear jewels which mark them as rich in comparison with their neighbours.
When the monsoon has blown off some of its fury and settled down into gentle breezes the sea is comparatively smooth, although it never sinks to the gentle ripple of the southern English coast in summer. There is always a line of breakers even in the calmest weather. They roll in from the Bay of Bengal, as the waves roll in from the Atlantic on the French coast and fall in subdued thunder upon the sand. The Muckwa braves the elements at most times of the year, and the waves must be very boisterous to keep him from his calling. At dawn the log-boats are launched and are paddled out of sight, where the long deep nets are floated. The water teems with fish. The catch is sold to middlemen, who dispose of it to the market stall-holders. A considerable quantity is sent up country, and a large percentage is salted for native use. The salt fish of India is an abomination to the nostrils of the European. When curried its strong odour is almost lost in the pungent spices with which it is prepared. To a palate vitiated by garlic, assafoetida, and fiery arrack it is doubtless acceptable, but the European regards it with suspicion as being a possible source of cholera. It also bears the evil reputation among the medical men of producing a form of leprosy known as elephantiasis, common on the Coromandel Coast. The people themselves will hear nothing against their much- loved diet, and ascribe the malady to another cause. They say that it is the result of the curse laid upon the descendants of the murderers of St. Thomas; and cholera, they aver, is the work of the malign goddess, Kali.
The boats return between five and six in the evening, sailing landwards with their square sails set. The patches of brown upon the horizon redden in the glow of the setting sun. The colour of the sea deepens to a rich purple. The sky overhead is spanned with broad belts of rosy light stretching from the west to the very verge of the sea-line on the east. The log-boats rise on the long rollers, and sink out of sight in the trough of the waves until they are near the breakers. The paddles twirl with marvellous rapidity in the endeavour to keep the rudderless boats straight on the waves. Usually they ride in successfully, but now and then it happens that in spite of all his efforts the Muckwa gets caught broadside on by a vicious wave. The logs part company, letting him drop through into the sea. He seizes his basket of fish and leaves the rest of his property to take care of itself. Through the boiling surf he comes with a debris of floating planks, logs, mast, sail, and paddles. Unceremoniously the sea rolls him ashore, tossing his disintegrated boat after him. Its wrecking causes no damage whatever, and the morrow sees the little fishing craft reconstructed with all its pristine strength and durability. No one is anxious about the result of the accident, for no one doubts that the amphibious Muckwa will reach the shore safely and retrieve every stick of his scattered property.
The harbour at Madras was in course of construction in 1877, and it was not sufficiently advanced to allow of ships anchoring within it; we therefore had to pass through the surf just as men and women of all ages had done before us. There had been a storm recently, and the sea was rougher than usual in the month of September. The prospect of boarding the heaving masulah boat that awaited us with its eight rowers was not inviting. Aided by a friendly ship's officer and the strong brown arm of the Muckwa captain, we and our luggage were safely transferred. With short vigorous strokes of their spade-like oars the boatmen sent us landward. The captain, who took the helm, shouted to his crew; they responded in a monotonous chant by which they marked time. The boat climbed the large rollers and dipped into the hollows. The boom of the surf upon the shore grew louder as we approached the dreaded barrier. At a signal from the commodore the rowers stopped, and we lay outside the white line for the space of a minute or two. The panting oarsmen recovered their breath, and gathered their energies for the final effort which was to bring us safe to land.
Everything depended upon the boatmen. With oars in the heaving sea they held up the boat until the advent of a larger wave than usual. At the word of command they bent to their work with might and main, straining every muscle in one supreme effort, and shouting their inarticulate refrain. We were caught on the crest of the roller and driven forward with the impetus of the breaking wave, which crumbled beneath the keel into hissing foam. A glance backward showed a second roller almost as big as the first. It towered above the boat, now helpless in the boiling surf, and threatened to overwhelm it immediately, but the boatmen were too quick for the curling wall of water. At a shout from their captain they abandoned their oars and plunged waist-deep into surf hauling us onwards. The roller fell, seething but harmless, just short of our stern. To my inexperienced eyes it seemed a hairbreadth escape, but the Muckwa captain showed no want of confidence in his men. With each breaking wave a rush of water tossed us onward, until we were safely grounded in the long sweep of foam ten to fifteen yards from the dry land. The roar of the sea, the shouts of the struggling boatmen, and the violent movement of the boat created a scene that was impressed upon my memory for ever. The relief of feeling safe from the perils of the ocean was great. It remained only to lift the passengers from the boat and convey them ashore. Seated on a rough board I was carried by a couple of stalwart Muckwas over the creamy foam and placed upon India's 'coral strand.'
In the old days the landing was frequently attended by accidents in stormy weather. Boats were overturned and valuable cargo was lost. Even if only partially swamped much damage was done to perishable goods by the sea-water. The accidents were often the result of carelessness on the part of the boatmen. Occasionally the carelessness was not altogether accidental. In spite of his Christian teaching, the Muckwa is a thorough Oriental, sharing with his fellow-countrymen the common traits of character to be found throughout the East. The boatmen traded upon the fears of their passengers, as they do in other ports of the present day, and demanded extra fees after they had embarked, pleading as an excuse that extra exertion was needed through stress of weather to avoid an accident. It is on record also that when the baggage was known to have contained valuables they allowed the boat to be upset in the surf. With a show of concern and self-devotion to the travellers they rescued them and received a reward for their pains. The unhappy owners of the baggage were assured that their property was irretrievably lost in the boiling waves. When they had been safely disposed of, the Muckwas dived for the precious boxes and carried them off to their mud huts, where receivers of stolen goods were not wanting.
Through the surf has been carried many a hero who assisted in the building up of the British Empire in India. Every civilian and soldier who had a part in establishing our rule throughout the length and breadth of the peninsula had to go through it, and be temporarily at the mercy of the 'infernal imps' of the single-stick. Through the surf was carried Olive, the friendless despondent lad who was destined to be one of the greatest of those builders. In the same fashion came Sir Eyre Coote and Lord Cornwallis, who laid down their lives in India, and whose names will live in history as long as the fascinating story of British India is told. When the body of the former was transferred from a vault in St. Mary's Church in the fort to rest in the family vault at home, it was carried to the beach, and the Muckwas piloted it for the last time through the surf and assisted to place the honoured remains on board the Company's ship. The body of Cornwallis still lies in India. Fair women, toiling men, soldiers, merchants, statesmen, and adventurers have listened with beating heart to the roar of the falling waves and tothe shouts of the boatmen; and they have sent up their silent thanks to heaven when they have felt the welcome beat of the boat's keel upon the sand of the Coromandel Coast.