an open space, somewhat marshy in appearance. A number of cattle,
young and old, were browsing about on the long grass, or sipping a
draft from the clear stream which ran through the low ground. They
were confined within a rude but stout fence, and on one side was a
range of low sheds for their shelter. The cattle appeared in good
condition. They were purchased, when very young, from the drovers who
bring them in hundreds from the Malabar coast; and many were then fit
for the cart, the carriage, or the knife. At the end was a manure
shed, and outside stood a keeper’s hut, with a store attached, in
which were piled up dried guinea-grass, maize, &c.
The manure pit was deep and large, and in it lay the true secret of
the magical productiveness of the trees I had just seen. Good seed,
planted in light, free soil, well cleared and drained, will produce a
fine healthy tree in a few years; and if to this be added occasional
supplies of manure and a few waterings during the dry season, an
abundant yield of fruit will most assuredly reward the toil and outlay
of the cocoa-nut cultivator.
Leaving this spot, I strolled through the next field to see what a
number of little boys were so busy about. There were a dozen dark
urchins, running about from tree to tree; sometimes they stopped,
clambered up, and appeared to have very particular business to
transact at the stems of the leaves; but oftener they passed contented
with a mere glance upwards at the fruit. They had a sharp-pointed
instrument in the hand, whilst at the wrist of each was hung a
cocoa-nut shell. I paused to see what one of these children was
searching for, half hid as the little fellow was amongst the gigantic
leaves. Intently scrutinising his motions, I observed that he forced
the little sharp instrument into the very body of the tree. Down
it went to the inmost core of the giant stem; all his strength was
employed. He strained and struggled amongst the huge leaves as though
he were engaged in deadly strife with some terrible boa or cheetah. At
last he secured his antagonist, and descended with something alive,
small and black, and impaled on the barbed point of the little
weapon. A few questions elicited the whole secret. The cocoa-nut tree,
it seems, has many enemies besides squirrels—the elephant, the wild
hog, the rat, the white ant, the porcupine, the monkey, and a large
white worm, either attack it when young or rob it of its fruit when
mature. But the most numerous and persevering enemy which it has to
encounter from the age of three years until long after it produces
fruit, is _cooroominiya_, or cocoa-nut beetle; a black, hard-coated
creature, with beautiful wings, and a most powerful little tusk,
which it employs with fatal activity to open a way into the stems of
the palms. Its labours commence in the evening, and by early morning
it will be buried half-a-dozen inches deep in the very centre of the
tree, where, if not detected and removed, it feeds on the soft, pithy
fibres, deposits its eggs, and does not depart in less than two or
three days. These holes are always made in the softest and sweetest
part of the tree, near the crown; and in young plants they prove
seriously hurtful, checking the growth and impairing the health of
the future tree. In a morning’s walk an active lad will frequently
secure as many as a score of these _cooroominiyas_, which, after being
killed, are strung upon liliputian gibbets about the estate, as a
warning to their live friends.
Farther on I perceived, gathered in anxious consultation, three of the
lads around a tree that was loaded with fruit; they looked up at the
leaves, then at the root, then at the trunk. At last one little fellow
started off, swift-footed as a hare, and was soon out of sight. The
others began scraping the earth from the root as fast as possible,
and all the information they would impart was “_ledde gaha_,” or sick
tree; so that there was nothing for it but to imagine that the little
messenger had been despatched for the doctor. He soon came back, not
with the medicine-man, but a _mamootie_, or Dutch hoe, and a _cattie_,
or sharp bill-hook. And then the busy work went on again. In little
more time than I take to tell the story, the soil was removed from
about the root, a hole was discovered in the trunk, and its course
upwards ascertained by means of a cane probe. With the _cattie_, one
of the boys commenced cutting and opening midway in the trunk of the
tree. On looking up I perceived that the patient gave unmistakable
symptoms of ill health. The long leaves were drooping at the end, and
tinged with a sickly yellow; many of the nuts had fallen off, and
others had evidently half a mind to follow the example. The flower,
which had just burst above, hung down its sickly head, weeping away
the germs of what had else been fruit. The hole was now complete;
it was large enough for the smallest boy to force his hand in, and
it soon brought away a basket full of pith and powdered wood from
the body of the tree. There, amidst the ruin, was the enemy that has
caused so much mischief and labour. It was an unsightly worm, about
four inches in length, and as thick as one’s small finger, having a
dull white body and black head. I then began to wonder what had next
to be done—whether the tree would die after all this hacking and
maiming. Would the medicine-man now be sent for? No. The interior of
the wounded tree, as well as the aperture, was thoroughly freed from
dirt and decomposed fibre—which might have aided in hatching any eggs
left by the worm—and finally the root was covered up, and the opening
and inside of the palm tightly filled with clay. I was assured that
not more than one of ten trees thus treated ever fails to recover its
health.
The nocturnal attacks of elephants are checked by means of lighted
fires, and an occasional shot or two during the night. Wild hogs and
porcupines are caught in traps and hunted by dogs. The monkeys are
shot down like the squirrels, and the white ants are poisoned. In
spite of all these measures, however, an estate often suffers very
severely, and its productiveness is much interfered with by these
depredators.
The soil over which I had as yet passed had been of one uniform
description—a light sandy earth, containing a little vegetable matter,
and but a little. Afterwards I arrived at a tract of planted land,
quite different from its nature and mode of cultivation. It was of a
far stiffer character, deeper in colour, and more weedy. This portion
of the estate was in former days a swamp, in which the porcupine,
the wild hog, and the jackal delighted to dwell, sheltered from the
encroachment of man by a dense mass of low jungle, thorns, and reeds.
To drive away these destructive creatures from the vicinity of the
young palms the jungle was fired during dry weather. It was then
perceived that the soil of this morass, although wet and rank from
its position, was of a most luxuriant character. A few deep drains
were opened through the centre, cross drains were cut, and after one
season’s exposure to the purifying action of the atmosphere and rain,
the whole of it was planted, and it now gives fair promise of being
one day the finest field in the plantation.
From this low ground I strolled through some long avenues of trees
on the right; their long leaves protected me from the heat of the
afternoon sun, which was still considerable. The trees on this side
were evidently older; they had a greater number of ripe fruit; and
further away in the distance might be seen a multitude of men and boys
busily engaged in bearing away the huge nuts in pairs to a path or
rude cart-track, where a _cangany_, or native overseer, was occupied
in counting them as they were tossed into the bullock-cart. The
expertness of the boys in climbing these smooth, lofty, and branchless
trees, by the aid of a small band formed by twisting a portion of a
cocoa-nut leaf, was truly astonishing. In a moment their small feet
grasped the trunk, aided by the twisted leaf, whilst their hands were
employed above; they glided upwards, and with a quick eye detected
the riper fruit, which, rapidly twisted from their stalks, were flung
to the ground. Their companions below were busy in removing the
nuts, which for young children is no easy task—the nuts frequently
weighing fifteen or twenty pounds each, with the husk or outer skins
on them. The natives have a simple but ingenious method of tying them
together in pairs, by which means the boys can carry two of them with
ease, when otherwise one would be a task of difficulty. The nuts
have little, if any, stalk; the practice, therefore, is to slit up a
portion of the husk (which is the coir fibre in its natural state),
pull out a sufficient length without breaking it, and thus tie two
together. In this way the little urchins scamper along with the nuts
slung across their shoulders, scarcely feeling the weight.
I followed the loaded carts. They were halted at a large enclosure,
inside of which were huge pens formed of jungle sticks, about ten
feet in height; into these the nuts were stored and re-counted, a
certain number only being kept in each, as the pens are all of the
same dimensions. Adjoining was another and still larger space, lying
lower, with some deep ditches and pits in the midst. Here the outer
husk is stripped off, preparatory to breaking the nut itself in order
to obtain the kernel, which has to be dried before the oil can be
expressed. Into the pits or ditches the husk is flung, and left in ten
feet of water ten or fourteen days, when it is removed and beaten out
on stones, to free the elastic fibre from dirt and useless vegetable
matter. This is a most disagreeable operation, for the stench from the
half-putrid husks is very strong. The fibre, after being well dried on
the sandy ground, undergoes a rude assortment into three qualities,
in reference chiefly to colour, and is then delivered over to the
rope-maker, who works it up into yarn, rope, or junk, as required.
Freed from their outer covering, the nuts are either sold for making
curries, in which they form a prominent feature, or they are kept for
drying ready for the oil-mill.
Having learned this much, I strolled through the small green
field and along a patch of guinea-grass, to see what was going on
in that direction. The neat-looking building adjoining was the
superintendent’s bungalow, and the long sheds and open spaces in
their front and rear were for drying the nuts into what is termed
_copperah_, in which state they are ground up for pressure. It was a
busy scene indeed, and the operations require constant vigilance on
the part of the manager; yet all the work is carried on in the rudest
way, and with the most simple instruments. Half-a-dozen stout lads
were seated cross-legged on the ground, each with a heap of nuts by
his side. The rapidity with which they seized these, and, with one
sharp blow of a heavy knife, split them precisely in half, and flung
them away into other heaps, was remarkable. It seemed to be done with
scarcely an effort, yet, on handling the broken nut, one could not
help being struck with its thickness and strength. Smaller boys were
busily employed in removing these heaps of split fruit to the large
open spaces, when others, assisted by a few women, were occupied in
placing them in rows close together, with the open part outwards, so
that the kernels may be fully exposed to the direct rays of the sun.
In this way they remain for two days, when the fruit, partly dried,
shrinks from the shell and is removed. Two more days’ exposure to the
sun in fine weather will generally complete the drying process. The
kernels are then called _copperah_, and are brittle and unctuous in
the hand.
To convert this material into oil, the natives employ a very primitive
mill, worked by bullocks, and called a _checkoo_; this process is very
slow, and the oil never clean. Europeans have, however, obviated these
objections, and manufacture the cocoa-nut oil by means of granite
crushers and hydraulic presses worked by steam power. This is chiefly
done in Colombo, to which place, of course, the _copperah_ has to be
conveyed. The refuse of the oil-presses, the dry cake (or _poonac_),
is very useful as food for cattle or poultry, and not less so as a
manure for the palm-trees when moistened and applied in a partially
decomposed state.
Not a particle of this valuable tree is lost. The fresh juice of the
blossom, which is broken off to allow it to flow freely, is termed,
as I have said, toddy, and is drunk, when quite new, as a cool and
pleasantly-refreshing beverage; when fermented, it is distilled, and
yields the less harmless liquor known as arrack.
All these operations are not carried on with ease and regularity.
The Singalese are an idle race; like many better men, their chief
pleasure is to perform as little work as possible. This necessitates a
never-ending round of inspection by the European manager, who, mounted
on a small pony, paper umbrella in hand, visits every corner of the
property at least once a day, often twice. Neither is it unusual for
him to make a round during the night. On the whole, therefore, he
enjoys no sinecure.
VII.
_A WATER PARTY IN THE GARDEN OF EDEN._
One more word on Ceylon, and I will leave it for the present; but in
concluding I cannot well omit reference to our trip to the sapphire
mines, up the Kaluganga river.
The trip was an exceedingly pleasant and interesting one; and as it
is easily accomplished, I would strongly urge on any one having a few
days to spare at Colombo not to fail to go there. It is time and money
well spent.
In chatting under the verandah of the Grand Oriental Hotel with
the dealers in precious stones, I was informed that the sapphires,
moon-stones, cat’s eyes, and other gems of value sold in Ceylon, are
found in drifts and sunk mines laying at the foot of Adam’s Peak, a
mountain 7353 feet high, which is visible from the deck of the steamer
when one approaches Ceylon from almost any point of the compass. I was
further told that a noble stream—the Kaluganga—taking its source from
the great mountain ranges, runs through and fertilises a portion of
the island, until it empties its surplus waters into the ocean at a
small village called Kalatura, on the Galle road.
I was quite aware that the bulk of the sapphires, moon-stones, cat’s
eyes, and other gems sold under the verandah and hawked on board the
mail-boats came in “bulk” from the various glass-works in Birmingham;
but it is nevertheless a fact that the mines exist, and are most
profitably worked by both Singalese and other miners. My old digging
recollections being limited to gold, silver, tin, or copper, and being
told that the trip to the precious stone mines was a pleasant one, I
decided on completing my mining education, and accordingly set myself
to beat up recruits for an excursion. We had at the time a few nice
people boarding at the British India Hotel, where I usually put up,
owing to the fact that it belongs to my friend, Mr. Ephraim, who kept
the first hotel I put up at when in Point de Galle in 1878. I broached
the idea, called in Ephraim for advice, and before we retired for
the night had arranged matters. Ephraim undertook to get traps for
the next morning, a guide, and a letter of introduction to a brother
boniface who keeps the Kalatura Rest-house or hotel.
Accordingly, after a hasty but hearty breakfast, and armed with a
small portable bundle of “necessaries,” we started to catch the early
train. Even in Ceylon the electric wire has crushed all romance,
but in exchange has brought with its levelling, crushing effects,
a certain amount of practical results. In this instance, when the
train stopped at the Kalatura station we found a vehicle and an
attendant awaiting our pleasure, and the welcome news that breakfast
was ready at the Bungalow. This meal, considering the hour, we could
not possibly accept as a breakfast, inasmuch as it would have been an
insult to the one which we had done ample justice to before leaving
Colombo, barely three hours before. We therefore made a compromise
with our conscience, and made straight for this Kalatura “tiffin,”
which, to our great delight, was preluded by a glorious feast of the
most delicious, fresh rock oysters—the regular “claw” shell—which,
in the good old days, before the waters of Port Jackson had been
disturbed by so many steamers, were known all over Australia as
“Sydney rock.” For “auld lang syne” we did ample justice to these.
They acted as an aperative, and gave us a keen appetite for the really
excellent repast our worthy host had, on Mr. Ephraim’s recommendation
and telegram, prepared for us. The “prawn curry” I shall never
forget. It was a triumph of Eastern culinary art. We were evidently
favoured guests. Mine host had himself cooked the luncheon, and even
condescended to wait at table!—to enjoy, no doubt, the well-deserved
praise we unanimously gave him: first, for his display of artistic,
gastronomic talent; and also for the great honour he conferred on us
by waiting _in propria persona_ on such humble travellers.
It seems that all our wishes had been already anticipated, and that
between Ephraim and our guide, Kalatura was aware of our intention
to sail or pull up the great river as far as Adam’s Peak. Having lit
a cigar after a passable cup of coffee—(Bye-the-bye, it is a strange
anomaly that in Ceylon, where the very best coffee is grown, it is
quite as difficult to get a decent cup of that beverage as it is to
buy, even at an enormous price, a sapphire without a flaw)—we strolled
down to the banks of the river, and at the foot of an old Dutch fort
met our Singalese guide. Wading through a motley group of boatmen
and a crowd of coolies busy loading and unloading boats and drays, we
were led to a large padé boat which had been chartered for our trip
by the hotel-keeper. The padé boat, as I have already mentioned, is a
large barge, upon the centre of which a wooden—or rather straw—hut has
been built as a sort of deck-house. This having been thoroughly swept
and cleaned, the floor covered with clean white matting, had been
supplied from the hotel with a table, some reclining and other chairs,
cooking utensils, and even the necessary napery, towels, &c.; a couple
of cooks, and a well-filled larder, in which we found also a hamper
containing beer, claret, and whisky in sufficient quantity to carry us
over many days.
Orders were given to cast off. Favoured by a fresh sea breeze, sails
were hoisted, and in a very few moments, in spite of the strong
current, we had lost sight of the Kalatura Bridge, and, indeed, all
signs of civilisation. In order to avoid the full force of the stream
we had to steer close in shore. This gave us full opportunity to
admire the wonderful tropical vegetation of this favoured island, as
well as occasionally to have a “blaze” at birds, squirrels, monkeys,
or other quaint denizens of the thick jungle, which grows with
astounding vigour right down to the very water’s edge. This noble
river winds and turns like most mountain streams and narrows at places
so that its course often runs under a canopy of luxuriant foliage,
whilst at others it spreads over a wide area of flat land, giving it a
lake-like appearance. In such spots small clusters of huts and patches
of cultivated ground break the monotony and solitude of the voyage.
We stopped at some of these native hamlets to study Singalese life
and purchase fruit, milk, and eggs, all of which we found everywhere
to be good, abundant, and remarkably cheap. From the apparent
curiosity of the natives, it is evident that they are seldom visited
by excursionists. The women and children in particular evinced great
pleasure at seeing our party, more particularly if we distributed
sweets and nick-nacks amongst them, when they accompanied us on board.
This first day’s excursion was one of endless enjoyment, every turn
in the river opening up some fresh and charming scenery. The breeze,
as we advanced farther inland, gradually failed us; still, before
dusk, we had gone over many miles, which, considering the cumbersome
shape of our boat, the size of the sails, and the rapidity of the
stream, was very fair travelling. We anchored a short distance from
the shore with a stern-line made fast to a bamboo clump. During the
short twilight some of our party tried to penetrate through the jungle
for sport, but soon returned, having found it an impossibility to
make headway—the vegetation being simply prodigious, the trees and
under-scrub actually matted together by creepers of all sizes and
form, so as to render all progress an utter impossibility.
During the afternoon the native cook and his assistant had made good
use of their time. How, where, and when they managed it I never could
make out; but as soon as the boat was safely moored, and when we
returned from our vain attempt to invade the sanctity of the jungle,
we found the table laid, and really a capital dinner—soup, fish,
two _entrées_, a roast, the inevitable curry, some pastry, fruits in
profusion—the two last courses being the only things in which our
_chef_ had not had a finger in. His coffee, even, was passable; but
I determined in future to attend to that myself, having some conceit
as to my capabilities in that particular line. We had a long day,
therefore did not linger—a few cigars, some tough yarns, and one by
one dropped off. Beds had been extemporised on cane settees in an
adjoining compartment of our floating house.
At an early hour—indeed, at dawn, which is by far the pleasantest part
of the day all through India—we got out of bed and made for the bow of
the boat, bent on a plunge in the waters of the Kaluganga. Luckily, we
had our sleeping suits on, so that the stripping business gave us time
to look round. It is quite as well we did. At about six or eight yards
off, forming quite a semi-circle, were a number of black spots, which
on closer scrutiny proved to be the muzzles of so many alligators!
Needless to say that we changed our plans. A tub, if smaller, was
decidedly safer. There being only two on board, those who had to wait
their turn whiled away the time in “peppering” at the alligators—a
harmless sport on both sides, and a great waste of powder. These
brutes had a skin so hard and slippery that they only gave a snort and
a sneeze when hit, and disappeared.
After our tubbing, and whilst discussing a cup of coffee of MY making,
a screaming row overhead drew us out once more to the bow of the
floating dwelling, to witness one of the strangest sights imaginable.
The roof of our cabin was literally covered with bunches of bananas,
baskets of fruit, and other delicacies, which had evidently attracted
the attention of myriads of monkeys of all sizes and colour, which
swarm in the jungle of Ceylon. The cunning imps had formed a living
chain by hanging to one another from the nearest tree-top overhanging
the river. The last one was dexterously grabbing our fruit, which,
being passed from one to the other, would soon have found its way from
our larder to that of these infernal chimpanzees. A rush was made for
rifles and revolvers, but with our usual luck, when we were ready
to fire the monkeys were gone. We did fire a volley at the grinning
brutes, who seemed to enjoy the fun; but, like all preceding game,
left us with unstained hands. Indeed, from their grins, it strikes me
very forcibly that they turned the tables by making “game” of us.
Sailing was now out of the question. Our men put out their long
sweeps, the steersman, perched on the roof of the deck-house, keeping
the helm well down. We proceeded on our course at a fair pace, keeping
as close in-shore as the length of the oars would permit.
Towards tiffin-time we got well in amongst the mountainous part of the
river, where the scenery became grander—in some parts huge piles of
hills covered with vegetation, with here and there some capricious,
overhanging rocky projections. In the distance, wherever the stream
ran straight for the Peak, we had glimpses of that great mountain,
which takes its name from our first father—it being firmly believed
that Ceylon was THE Garden of Eden, where our first parents learned
horticulture, and bartered civilisation for a taste of a fruit which
we, their unworthy descendants, can purchase at four a penny; whilst,
strange to say, it does not grow on this most prolific island!
Ceylon is certainly an earthly paradise, where serpents are quite
abundant enough to scare an unprotected female, and the climate mild
enough to warrant the use of vine leaves in preference to heavier
clothing.