Forty Thousand Miles Over Land and Water / The Journal of a Tour Through the British Empire and America

by Ethel Gwendoline Vincent

We drew up at a signal-box at Toon. The descent to earth was too cruelly sudden, and all that remained to us of our glorious ride on a trolly were the tingling sensations in every limb,—the quickened flow of blood in our veins.

The sudden check came in the form of an announcement from the signalman that a luggage-train had just left the lower station, and we were an instant too late to stop it. We were asked if we were afraid to risk meeting it on the single line. Wound up to a "dare devil" mood, we scorned the idea, and taking on board a man to wave the red flag of danger we started off again. But now we were cautiously creeping round the fog-hidden corners. In the twistings of the line we might any moment find ourselves face to face with the engine; besides, the mist deadened the sound of the approaching train, and obscured any distant view. We listened with all our might, strained every nerve to keep a sharp look-out, only indulging in a feeble "run" on the straight.

Just as we were once doing this, a man breaking stones on the road sprang forward to stop us, and, pulling up sharply, for the trolly is fitted with a break that brings it to a dead stop within six yards, we heard the labouring puff, puff of the engine quite close upon us, and the black monster loomed through the fog. It was the work of a minute to lift the trolly off the line. The train passed, and we reached Kursiong a few minutes afterwards. We had done twenty miles under the hour, and gained fifty minutes on the mail-train.

This gave us just the time we wanted for a visit to one of the tea-gardens in the valley.

It was too early for operations to be going on, but the whole process was kindly explained to us by the manager in the Kursiong Tea Company's plantation.

After the seed is planted it requires three years before attaining to full growth and production, and altogether six years must elapse without profit to the planter. At the end of this period the stem is from three to four feet in height. It is then pruned during the months of November to February, when the sap is down, to two feet in height, and this is an operation requiring great care. "Flushes," viz. new shoots, will continue to appear at intervals varying from fifteen to twenty days during these months. Each "flush" is plucked as it comes on, the principle in plucking being to leave the bud at the axis of each leaf intact, and ready for the next shoot to start from. According to the leaves plucked are the different classifications of tea. For instance, in a flush of four leaves, the first would be called Orange or Flowery Pekoe, the second Souchong, the third Congou, and the fourth Bohea or broken tea. The classification varies with the different districts.

At five o'clock in the evening the factory gong sounds, and the pluckers bring their baskets to the withering-loft, where the leaves are laid in thin layers on the floor till the following morning. Then the test of its being dry, by seeing whether the leaf is still green enough to crackle is applied, after which it is put into the rolling machine. This machine is a heavy weight, which moves alternately to one corner of the square slab, and then returns to the opposite one; thus giving the leaf a double twist. It is hand-rolled afterwards if necessary. Then it is left to ferment, the process of fermentation being the most delicate and crucial operation for the tea. Great experience is necessary to know the exact moment when fermentation should be stopped. The leaf is spread in thin layers over a charcoal fire, and finally sifted by means of a machine, which has trays of different degrees of coarseness, allowing the finest tea, or Pekoe, to pass to the lowest division. The remaining, or broken tea, is then put through a breaking machine, and sold as coarse tea. Lastly the tea is packed in lead, and in boxes containing eighty maunds exported to England. There is great depression in the Indian tea-trade, owing to its being found impossible to compete with the cheaper production of China. Darjeeling is one of the great centres for Indian tea, Assam being the other.

We got places in the mail at Kursiong, and all through the afternoon were gently descending, thoroughly enjoying the splendour of the views we had missed in the fog coming up. Every 1000 feet of descent brought an atmosphere twenty degrees warmer: very pleasant to us after our sufferings from the cold. The wheels being heavily dragged made a strangely melodious music (impossible as it may seem), like that produced by running the finger round the edge of a glass.

At Teendaria, where the railway workshops are situated, the engine-driver asked us to come on to the engine, and we had a charming ride perched up one on each side of the brakesman. The engine was turned back foremost, that the driver might the better be enabled to see the steep gradients, and we had a magnificent view from our post of observation. Every time that we passed under a bridge, lest any passenger should protrude his head, I blew the whistle thrice; and I was only sorry when we reached Siliguri, and the journey was at an end. Here we had dinner, and were fortunate enough to get a saloon to ourselves, where we slept soundly till we reached Sara at 6.30 the next morning. Embarking once more on the steam-ferry, crossing the Ganges, and seeing the sun rise over its waters, we reached Calcutta at twelve the same morning.