446 
THE  TROPICAL  AGRICULTUKISl . 
[Jan.  I,  1896. 
A quarter  of  au  hour  or  so  I spend  with  the  holers, 
then  after  checkin},'  their  numbers  I pass  on  to  the 
fillers,  whose  task  I set,  and  whose  work  I proceed 
to  inspect.  They  must  refill  the  holes  with  soil 
scraped  from  the  top  of  the  ground,  which 
soil  has  to  be  carefully  freed  from  roots 
before  being  put  in.  It  is  then  stamjied  down,  and 
more  is  added  until  the  soil  of  the  hole  is  raised 
three  or  four  inches  above  the  surrounding  level,  thus 
allowing  any  subsequent  subsidence  caused  by  rain. 
The  planters  next  claim  my  attention.  They  have 
just  started  work  on  the  field,  the  small  plants  being 
brought  form  the  nursery,  which  is  handy,  and  given 
to  a certain  chosen  few  who  understand  the  work. 
They,  making  a hole  with  a wooden  peg  in  the 
earth  of  the  hole  itself  place  in  this  the  tap-root  of  the 
plant,  taking  great  care  not  to  bend  it,  and  complet- 
ing the  operation  by  pressing  do\sn  the  soil  round 
the  root  with  their  fingers.  After  each  of  these 
planter  coolies  there  comes  another  coolie,  whose 
duty  it  is  to  shade  the  young  plants  with  palm-leaves, 
which  he  places  east  and  west  of  them,  thus  shield- 
ing them  from  the  sun,  but  allowing  a current  of  air 
to  pass  through  from  north  to  south.  I watch  the 
planters  for  some  time.  Coolies  are  very  ajA  to  bend 
the  tap-roots;  for  this  reason  we  never  take  the  plant- 
ing coolie,  so  he  can  never  give  the  excuse  of  having 
been  in  a hurry.  I glance  at  a young  nursery,  where 
two  or  three  men  are  employed  in  watering  the  seed 
put  in  a few  days  before  ; then,  on  looking  at  my 
watch,  find  it  is  time  to  be  off.  So  I turn  home- 
wards, only  halting  on  my  way  for  a few  minutes’ 
inspection  of  the  primer’s  work  in  an  old  clearing,  and 
arrive  at  the  bungalow  again  about  eleven,  veiy 
hungry  and  thirsty. 
My  boss,  who  is  lying  in  a long  chair,  is  apparently 
in  the  same  plight,  as  he  calls  out  to  me  to  hurry 
up  and  change.  This  accordingly  I prepare  to  do. 
But  first  I must  have  my  bath.  The  bathe,  one 
cannot  call  it  bath,  is  a much  more  frequent  and 
important  occurrence  in  the  East  than  in  the  old 
country,  so  it  seems  worthy  of  description.  In  one 
corner  of  the  bath-room,  which  I enter  by  means 
of  steps  from  my  room  above,  stands  a big  earthen- 
ware ,iar  full  of  water.  This  jar  is,  in  my  case,  about 
three  feet  high,  and  rather  more  than  afoot  in  diameter 
at  the  mouth  broader  below.  Near  it  is  placed  a tin 
bailer,  and  with  the  help  of  this  one  is  expected  to 
throw  water  from  the  jar  over  oneself  until  refreshed. 
This,  in  such  a hot  climate,  is  a somewhat  lengthy 
operation,  but,  oh ! the  relief  of  it.  The  pleasant 
feeling  of  that  cool  steam  trickling  from  one’s  buzzing 
head,  down  one’s  hot  spine  ! It  is  much  more  re- 
freshing than  the  ordinary  bath,  but  I well  remem- 
ber that  when  I first  came  out  to  this  country  I 
was  much  preplexed  by  this  mysterious  jar.  I stepped 
boldly  into  it.  But,  alas  ! when  my  legs  were  in,  there 
was  no  room  to  get  at  the  water. 
Eventually  I was  forced  to  appeal  to  my  boss  for 
advice.  lie  roared  with  laughter  at  the  idea  of  my 
getting  into  the  jar,  but  after  putting  me  right,  he 
was  obliged  to  admit  that  he  himself  had  done  the 
very  same  thing,  when  he  first  came  out! 
Dressing  after  my  bath  was  not  a work  of 
much  time,  as  in  a bachelor  establishment  one  does 
not  trouble  onesself  with  too  many  clothes.  A vest, 
the  sort  of  skirt  called  a “ sarong  ” that  is  worn  by 
all  IMalays,  and  a pair  of  grass  slippers  complete  my 
toilet.  Wo  shout  to  tlio  hoys  for  food,  whicli  soon  ar- 
rives, and  consists  of  tour  c ourses — fish,  mince,  stewed 
chicken  (chickens  appear  constantly  under  various 
disguises),  and  curry.  I do  not  touch  the  last  dish,  as 
I find  it  makes  me  so  sleepy  that  turning  out  again 
into  the  heat  is  distinctly  objectionable.  Our  drink 
is  whisky,  beer  being  too  bilious  for  ordinary  oc- 
casions, though  we  sometimes  do  indulge  in  it  by  way 
of  a treat  on  Sundays.  When  our  food  is  over  we 
enjoy  a little  interval  of  idleness,  lying  in  our  long 
cliairs  on  the  verandah  and  smoking.  But  at  half- 
past  one  the  work  of  the  day  begins  again  ; we  resume 
our  outdoor  clothes  ; the  manager  goes  off  to  see  af- 
ter the  pruners,  remarking  that  he  has  not  much  con- 
fidence in  my  skill  in  that  line,  and  wants  to  see  for 
himself  what  they  are  doing  ; while  I start  on  my 
jjj9rning's  round  over  again. 
The  coolies  had  been  tasked,  so  that,  if  fairly 
industrious,  they  should  be  able  to  finish  work  be- 
tween the  hours  of  one  and  half-past  two,  at  which 
time  a horn  is  blown  as  a signal  for  all  un tasked, 
such  as  nurserymen  to  leave  the  field,  while  those  of 
the  tasked  who  have  not  then  done  their  alloted 
portions  have  to  remain  to  complete  it. 
As  I have  started  out  at  half-past  one,  I expect  to 
find  that  most  of  the  coolies  have  finished,  and  on 
my  way  to  the  weeders,  I do  meet  several  from  each 
of  the  works,  who  have  evidently  done  what  they 
had  to  do,  and  are  hurrying  back  to  the  lines  to  wash 
themselves.  When  1 reach  the  weeding  party,  ten 
men  have  finished  and  gone,  and  the  others  remaining 
have  only  a faw  yards  to  complete.  Their  work  seems 
clean,  so  I go  on  to  the  new  clearing.  No  holers  ! I 
ask  the  headman  who  has  been  looking  after  them 
where  they  are,  whereupon  he  answers  that  they 
have  all  finished,  except  one  who  has  gone  sick. 
It  never  does  to  trust  any  of  *^hese  men  too  im- 
plicitly, so  I proceed  to  count  every  fifth  row,  and 
find  that  though  the  correct  number  of  holes  has 
been  cut,  many  are  not  of  the  proper  size.  As  the 
headman  possesses  a gauge  with  which  to  measure 
the  holes,  ho  has  no  excuse  to  offer,  especially  as 
he  has  been  warned  only  yesterday.  So  I dock  two 
days’  pay,  firmness  being  the  only  method  that 
answers  with  coolies,  leniency  they  regard  as  weak- 
ness to  be  taken  as  much  advantage  of  as  possible. 
The  fillers’  work  is  satisfactory.  And  now  all  the 
coolies  have  finished,  as  the  nurserjmien  and  plan- 
ters went  off  some  ten  minutes  ago,  at  the  blowing 
of  the  horn. 
I have  nothing  more  to  do,  and  telling  the  head- 
man to  have  the  coolies  ready  for  muster  at  four, 
I go  back  to  the  house.  When  4 o’clock  arrives,  off 
I set  to  the  lines,  and  put  down  the  working  coolies’ 
names  in  the  small  muster-book.  Then  I have  to 
check  the  different  totals  given  me  by  the  headman, 
and  see  that  they,  when  totted  up,  agree  with  the 
grand  total  in  the  muster-book.  This  takes  some 
time  today,  as  the  man  who  looked  after  the  holer 
gives  me  one  too  many  in  his  total,  en- 
tirely’ forgetting  to  deduct  the  coolie  “ gone  sick,” 
After  puzzling  a bit,  I find  out  his  mistake,  and  am 
able  at  last  to  get  back  for  a much-needed  bath  and 
change,  while  the  coolies  begin  to  cook  the  rice  for 
their  evening  meal. 
After  tea  there  is  some  book-work  to  be  done:  I 
must  enter  the  coolie’s  names  from  the  small  muster 
book  into  a big  one ; then  the  manager  calls  to  me 
to  take  co])ies  in  the  letterpress  book  of  some  busi- 
ness letters  which  he  is  writing.  So  I am  well  em- 
ployed until  dinner-time,  half-past  seven.  Dinner 
does  not  differ  materially  from  tiffin,  except  that  soup 
always  begins  it,  and  curry  is  dispensed  with.  As 
our  rising  hour  is  an  early  one,  we  turn  in  about  half- 
past eight,  after  smolcing  one  pipe. 
My  day’s  experience  m.ay  be  taken  as  a pretty 
accurate  example  of  work  on  most  estates.  If  pick- 
ing had  been  going  on,  of  course  we  would  have  had 
also  to  measure  the  crop  picked  during  that  day’,  in 
the  afternoon.  To  a man  who  becomes  interested  in 
the  coffee,  its  growth,  and  cultivation,  such  w'orkas 
I have  described  is  not  irksome;  the  morning'a walk 
is  always  a pleasure  ; and  though  I must  say  that 
occasionally  going  out  after  tiffin  into  a burning  sun 
is  distinctly  against  the  grain,  still  that  is  often  the 
result  of  ovf.r-eating. 
As  to  the  amount  of  capital  required  to  open  a 
coffee  estate  in  the  Peninsula,  t'20  per  acre  is  generally 
considered  sufficient  to  bring  the  coffee  into  bearing. 
This  should  include  all  cost  of  buildings,  Ac.;  of  course, 
as  one  can  easily  see,  the  expenditure  on  a place  of 
100  acres  will  be  greater  in  proportion  than  that  on 
a place  of  two  hundred,  since  a good  manager  would 
have  to  be  paid  quite  as  large  a salary  on 
the  one  as  on  the  other,  the  store  and  bun- 
galow would  cost  nearly  the  same,  and  so  on 
with  a good  many  items.  For  this  reason  it  is  bettor 
that  no  estate  should  be  started  with  less  capital  than 
f 4,()0() : this  should  allow  for  the  opening  of  '200  acres. 
I do  not  mean,  by  my  account  of  a day’s  life  on 
a coffee  estate,  to  make  out  that  the  planter’s  lot 
is  all  work  and  no  play.  On  the  contrary,  on  Satur- 
day and  sQpietlmes  another  day  as  well,  we  dtive 
