CEYLON COCOA ESTATE 103 



into it, and to have it at the ferry at three p.m. 

 I arrived there at the given time, found our 

 cooly waiting for me — he pointed out the 

 carriage, one of two, on the opposite side of the 

 river, I and my luggage were duly taken across, 

 and the conveyance I came in and the cooly 

 returned home. To my horror, on asking which 

 was my carriage I found no one could speak 

 English, excepting a native gentleman who 

 said they were both engaged by him to go to 

 his Estate. I have since found this was a lie. 

 Imagine my predicament, landed alone with my 

 luggage five and a half miles from Kandy. I 

 sat for about an hour by the river bank hoping 

 something might turn up. At the end of that 

 time I walked to a neighbouring toll where the 

 tollkeeper knew a little English ; he got me a 

 porter, and we started off to walk to the town. 

 I shall never forget that walk on a dusty road 

 with a blazing afternoon sun pouring down on 

 my devoted head, the dreadful feeling of isolation 

 and helplessness, and the astonished looks of the 

 men working in the paddy fields at the sight of 

 a " Dora Sani " walking alone along the road. 

 At length after about two miles, I saw a 

 Sinhalese gentleman in his bungalow garden. 

 He wore European dress, so I went up, and 

 asked him if he spoke English, which he did 

 perfectly. I told him my difficulties and who I 

 was. " Very awkward, very awkward, I will 



