694 
THE  TROPICAL  AGRICULTURIST. 
[May  i,  1893. 
eary  porterage  for  your  baggage  on  the  way.  You 
are  scon  far  from  the  haunts  of  men,  of  road  and 
coaches,  and  are  wandering  over  the  bills  and  far 
away,  where  elephants  trumpet  in  the  jungle,  and 
monkeys  chatter  in  the  trees,  and  great  blaok 
snakes  gl  de  across  the  path  into  the  bushes,  aDd 
gorgeous  birds  scream  over  your  head,  and  the  way- 
side  is  as  brilliant  with  rhododendron  and  wild 
sunflower  and  mountain  lily  as  it  is  fruitful  with 
lime  and  banana.  They  sent  down  from  the  Dam- 
bafcent  e estate  to  meet  us  at  the  cross  roads, near  the 
supremely  lovely  Habga'lla  botanical  gardens,  our 
convoy.  It  consisted  of  a couple  of  horses,  with  three 
horse  attendants,  and  a dozen  active  coolies  to  carry 
our  luggage  on  their  heads,  and  es  our  exploring  party 
consisted  of  three,  we  thought  it  advisable  to  supple- 
ment the  expedition  with  the  “rickshaw,”  so  that  we 
might  take  it  in  turn  to  ride,  walk,  or  be  wheeled  over 
tl  e ruts  and  culverts  and  stony  places  by  this 
perambulator,  dragged  and  pushed  by  perspiring 
natives.  But  I am  bound  to  own  that  the  “jin- 
iicksha”  proved  a failure.  It  was  irritating  in  the 
highest  degree  to  get  in  and  out  of  this  “ go-cart  ” 
every  dozen  yards  or  so  in  order  to  ford  streams 
or  mouDt  stony  places,  so  that  as  my  compsoionn  were 
not,  ou  the  whole,  favourable  to  walking,  I elected  to 
start  ahead,  with  a coolie  for  a guide,  and  to  truBt  my 
motmtaiu  welfare  to  my  old  Swiss  friend  Shanks’s  pony. 
So  on  and  on  we  plodded,  amidst  soenery  of  indescrib- 
able beauty,  until  at  sunset  we  arrived  at  one  of  the  moun- 
tain “rest-houses”  provided  for  the  planters  and  their 
families  going  back  and  fro  to  their  distant  estates. 
These  “ rest-houses  ” in  Ceylon  vary  in  size  and 
comfortable  order.  Id  some  I have  eaten  and  slept  as 
well  as  in  the  best-conducted  Eastern  hotels.  In 
others  I have  gone  quite  eupperless  to  bed,  there  to 
have  my  bones  broken  on  sparsely  covered  iron  frames, 
and  my  head  jarred  with  pillows  hard  as  stone,  and 
such  slumber  as  weariness  might  insist  on,  disturbed 
by  coolies  chattering  all  night  on  the  verandah 
and  rats  gambolling  over  the  dirty  counterpane. 
But  it  is  a long  load  that  has  no  turning.  If  we  are 
parched  with  thirst  on  the  way,  the  coolies  hunt  for 
limes  or  passion-flower  fruit  and  make  a goodly  drink 
out  of  them  from  the  pure  mountain  torrents.  If  we 
are  footsore  and  duBt-stained,  the  exhilaration  of  the 
mountain  atmosphere  bears  us  along,  with  the  ad- 
ditional charm  of  convivial  companionship.  At  last 
the  coolies  quicken  their  pace,  for  they  see  perched  on 
a high  crest  of  the  neighbouring  hill  the  bungalow  of 
the  Dambatenne  estate.  The  lawn  in  front  of  this 
mountain  gorge  slopes  to  the  edge  of  a perilous  ravine, 
down  which  the  tea  bags  are  sent  careering  into  space. 
But  how,  will  you  ask,  was  wire  ever  connected  with 
the  factory  miles  away  as  the  crow  flies,  high  over 
forest  lauds  never  trodden  yet  by  man  and  across  in- 
accessible rocks  and  ravines  ? Simply  by  rooket-firing. 
In  the  old  days  the  tea  bags  were  taken  down  to  the 
factory  by  armies  of  coolies  down  rough  and  rugged 
mountain  paths,  heart-breekiDg  work  at  the  best. 
Now  the  "shoot,”  as  it  is  oalled,  tabes  the  leaf  to 
the  manufacturer  in  a few  seconds.  We  sit  out  on 
the  verandah  after  dinner  in  the  cool  evening,  end 
I almost  envy  the  peace  of  a planter’s  life.  He  has 
bard  work  to  be  sure  daily  and  incessant  toil.  He  has 
to  he  up  and  about  at  daybreak  to  command  and 
discipline  the  little  army  on  the  estate,  for  whose 
duties  and  lives  he  is  responsible.  He  has  to  be  guide, 
counsellor,  doctor,  and  friend.  At  one  minute  a 
master,  next  a magistrate,  now  a doctor,  now  a soldier, 
he  knows  that  his  own  life  and  that  of  his  compan- 
ions depends  on  his  fairness  and  determination.  If 
there  is  fever  on  the  estate  he  has  to  cure  it ; if  there 
is  insubordination  he  has  to  put  it  down  ; if  there  is  a 
spirit  of  revolt  be  has  to  smell  it  out.  There  aie  no 
police  or  any  power  to  depend  on.  Yet  here  the  planter 
lives,  sometime; , but  not  often,  married, with  a small  staff 
of  servants  and  a “ chum  ” to  direct  the  household, 
the  responsib  e manager  of  an  estate  that  may  mean  a 
little  fortune  to  the  lucky  owner  of  it.  The  best  colo- 
nists all  the  world  over  are  Scotchmen,  and  it  is  need- 
less to  say  that  half  the  suooess  of  Ceylon  tea  planting  is 
due  to  the  thrift,  energy,  and  resistless  determination  of 
! the  Scotch  character.  You  cannot  go  a mile  in  Ceylon 
without  finding  what  a Buchanan,  or  a MoriisoD,  or  a 
Stuart  has  done  for  this  magnifioently-prosperons  in- 
| dustry.  But  though  the  night  is  lovely,  and  the  stars  and 
moon  are  out,  and  the  Dambatanne  ravine  exqui- 
site in  its  majesty  and  its  silence,  we  must  turn  in 
soon,  for  the  morrow  is  crowded  with  hard  work. 
This  is  one  of  the  few  estates  that  grows  the  best 
of  coffees  and  teas.  It  is  the  envy  of  Upper  Ceylon. 
At  five  o’olock  we  are  among  the  pickers  ; but  the 
deputy-manager  has  been  ahead  of  us  before  day. 
light  to  assemble  the  coolies  and  dismiss  them  to  their 
work.  Prettier,  even,  than  the  gathering  of  the 
grapes  on  either  side  of  the  dividing  river  at  Bordeaux  ; 
; gayer  than  the  coloured  army  that  goes  out  in  the 
i morning  from  Rheims  and  its  adjacent  villages  to 
collect  the  fruit  to  be  pressed  into  sparkling  cham- 
pagne, is  the  system  of  tea-gathering  in  Ceylon. 
These  dark-skinned  coolies  are  cheerful  in  heart  and 
facile  in  hand.  Every  man,  womaD,  aDd  child  knows 
how  to  pick,  and  woe-betide  the  clumsy  wretch  who 
misses  the  flush  and  the  young  green  shoot.  By 
breakfast-time  the  gathered  begs  are  weighed  and  sent 
whizzing  into  space,  and  as  we  cannot  perform  a 
Blondin  feat  on  the  taut  tigbt-rope  to  follow  them, 
we  must  put  out  best  foot  forward  and  descend  the  in- 
terminable zig-zag  path  down  to  the  tea  factory  miles 
away  in  the  val'ey.  Now  atea  factory  is,  asother  factories 
are  in  this  business-like  world,  eminently  useful  but  un- 
picturesque.  There  it  stands,  all  windows,  doors,  and 
chimneys,  a mass  of  black  and  white  against  a back- 
ground of  verdure.  The  process  is  simple  enough. 
The  tea  leaves,  or,  rather,  sprouts,  are  laid  upon  wire 
shelves,  and  are  thus  artificially  dried,  curled,  and 
oared.  The  three  classes  of  tea  or  pekoes  are  easily 
assorted,  and  in  a very  few  hours  that  whioh  was 
youug  sprouting  leaf  is  dry  tea  fit  for  the  chest  and 
the  market.  And  you  may  be  quite  sure  that  it  is 
not  very  long  in  getting  there,  or  arriving,  through 
countless  hands,  and  at  every  conceivable  price,  into 
the  British  teapot.  As  you  well  know,  at  home,  yon 
can  have  “ golden  tips  ” at  fancy  and  sensation  prices 
or  an  ounce  of  “ blend  ” that  will  not  be  discarded 
by  the  proverbial  washerwoman,  to  whom  a dish  of  tea 
is  Dot  so  much  a luxury  as  a necessity. 
I candidly  own  that  I was  vastly  sorry  when  the 
news  went  round  that  the  good  ship  “Rohilla”  was 
in  sight,  and  that  once  more  traps  had  to  be  packed 
up  in  order  to  make  a fresh  start  with  new  com- 
panions for  distant  Penang  and  Singapore,  and  the 
long  looked-for  countries  of  China  and  Japan.  How- 
ever, as  good  luck  would  have  it,  there  was  no  chance 
of  sailing  until  midnight,  so  there  was  ample  time 
for  one  more  dinner  at  Mount  Lavinia  and  a last 
farewell  to  one  of  the  most  romantic  spots  on  earth. 
So  we  bring  onr  glasses  out  to  the  seaside  pardeD, 
and  toa6t  our  new-found  friends  in  CeyloD,  not  for- 
getting absent  friends  at  home.  Once  more,  and  for 
the  last  time,  we  drive  back  along  the  dark  coconut 
avenue,  illumined  by  the  moon,  and  find  at  mid- 
night Colombo  as  cheery  as  ever,  as  busy  and  bright 
by  night  as  it  was  by  day.  All  the  shops  and 
hotels  are  open,  for  the  Australian-bound 
“Himalaya”  and  the  China-bound  “RohiJla”  are  to 
sail  at  the  witching  hour  of  night.  The  sapphires 
that  were  not  to  be  purchased  for  sovereigns  are 
now  forced  upon  us  for  a few  rupees.  Prices  go 
down  200  per  cent  just  before  the  steamer  sails,  and 
the  wary  passeDper  lays  in  a cheap  stock  of  laces 
and  cat’s-eyes.  Farewells  are  given  and  re-given  on 
every  side.  Scarcely  a week  in  CeyloD,  and  yet 
courteey  and  good  fellowship  suggest  a “ send  off  ” 
ere  the  “ Rohilla  ” steams  out  of  harbour.  The  little 
smoking  room  on  deck  is  the  scene  of  the  parting 
symposium,  and  bumpers  of  champagne  “spfecd  the 
parting  gnest.”  When  the  cabin  steward  comes  in 
with  “cbota  bezree,”  or  early  breakfast,  next  morn- 
ing we  are  well  on  our  way  to  the  typhoon -haunted 
China  Sea,  and  to  the  land  of  the  chrysanthemum. 
Farewell,  Ceylon  ! It  does  not  seem  like  an  ever- 
lasting parting.  Perhaps  some  day  I may  be  in  peace- 
ful retirement  in  one  of  the  mountain  bungalows  of 
those  evergreen  and  distant  hi\\B\—paily  Telegraph, 
