CAERYING EICE TO DIMBULA. 
and we could get along at a good trot, or even canter. 
About this time some of the earlier Dimbula estates 
began to be opened out, the road to which, or rather 
path, was from Pussellawa, through Rothschild estate, 
or below Monaragala, rounding the patana hill, and 
descending to the Koi male-ganga through a native 
village. Crossing the river by means of a native ferry- 
boat, it ascended on the other side below Ti?pana, 
and upwards and onwards along the grass lands, 
then passing under the Bogawatta estate, it descended to 
Fairholm’s ford, where I believe a good bridge is now 
erected. This path was eventually cut into a bridle 
trace, and I believe still exists. 
The Dimbula pioneers had great difidculty in pro- 
curing coolies, and, when they did, the bulk of the 
coolies’ time w s occupied in carrying rice to the estate 
from Pussellawa a’ong this path. Many estates were 
for months without coolies ; I knew one proprietor, 
long since dead, who used to walk down to Pussellawa, 
along this path, one day, and return the next, 
carrying on his shoulders a load of rice for his own 
consumption, and some condiments or curry stuffs 
in his pocket ; pumpkins or brinjals could be procured 
from some of the village gardens, and this was 
the usual fare. It used to be rather a ticklish job, 
crossing at the Dimbula ford. Having first taken off 
your horse his saddle and bridle, they were taken 
over with you in the small canoe. Then a rope was 
fastened round the horse’s neck, and the end of it 
taken across by the boatman. The horse was then 
pulled |into the river, or, if he would not go, as 
was frequently the case, the horsekeeper was left 
behind to whip him in, then a plunge, a good many 
snorts and struggles, and the animal was landed, 
dripping wet, on the other side, shaking and trembl- 
ing with fear and cold. A good wisp down with a 
handful of grass, however, and then saddled and bridled 
and off at a canter soon put him all to rights. Then a 
bridle path was opened from Upper Dimbula to Nuwara 
Eliya, and some of the earlier Dimbula planters had horses 
there, and made that their head-quarters. The bridle 
path came out near the Nuwara Eliya toll, on the road to 
Ramboda, where old Sergeant Daly lived, and had a small 
potato garden. The sergeant had served in some of 
the old Peninsular wars. How he came to Ceylon 
I never knew, nor how he ^ came to settle down in 
this desolate spot. But the passers-by would always 
see the old sergeant in his shirt sleeves, digging and 
working in his potato garden, and his wife sitting 
in front of the cottage. She was quite blind, and 
the sergeant had all the house work and cooking to 
do himself, no great hardship, he used to say, to an 
