The nocturnal attacks of elephants are checked by means of lighted fires, and an occasional shot or two during the night. Wild hogs and porcupines are caught in traps and hunted by dogs. The monkeys are shot down like the squirrels, and the white ants are poisoned. In spite of all these measures, however, an estate often suffers very severely, and its productiveness is much interfered with by these depredators.
The soil over which I had as yet passed had been of one uniform description—a light sandy earth, containing a little vegetable matter, and but a little. Afterwards I arrived at a tract of planted land, quite different from its nature and mode of cultivation. It was of a far stiffer character, deeper in colour, and more weedy. This portion of the estate was in former days a swamp, in which the porcupine, the wild hog, and the jackal delighted to dwell, sheltered from the encroachment of man by a dense mass of low jungle, thorns, and reeds. To drive away these destructive creatures from the vicinity of the young palms the jungle was fired during dry weather. It was then perceived that the soil of this morass, although wet and rank from its position, was of a most luxuriant character. A few deep drains were opened through the centre, cross drains were cut, and after one season’s exposure to the purifying action of the atmosphere and rain, the whole of it was planted, and it now gives fair promise of being one day the finest field in the plantation.
From this low ground I strolled through some long avenues of trees on the right; their long leaves protected me from the heat of the afternoon sun, which was still considerable. The trees on this side were evidently older; they had a greater number of ripe fruit; and further away in the distance might be seen a multitude of men and boys busily engaged in bearing away the huge nuts in pairs to a path or rude cart-track, where a cangany, or native overseer, was occupied in counting them as they were tossed into the bullock-cart. The expertness of the boys in climbing these smooth, lofty, and branchless trees, by the aid of a small band formed by twisting a portion of a cocoa-nut leaf, was truly astonishing. In a moment their small feet grasped the trunk, aided by the twisted leaf, whilst their hands were employed above; they glided upwards, and with a quick eye detected the riper fruit, which, rapidly twisted from their stalks, were flung to the ground. Their companions below were busy in removing the nuts, which for young children is no easy task—the nuts frequently weighing fifteen or twenty pounds each, with the husk or outer skins on them. The natives have a simple but ingenious method of tying them together in pairs, by which means the boys can carry two of them with ease, when otherwise one would be a task of difficulty. The nuts have little, if any, stalk; the practice, therefore, is to slit up a portion of the husk (which is the coir fibre in its natural state), pull out a sufficient length without breaking it, and thus tie two together. In this way the little urchins scamper along with the nuts slung across their shoulders, scarcely feeling the weight.
I followed the loaded carts. They were halted at a large enclosure, inside of which were huge pens formed of jungle sticks, about ten feet in height; into these the nuts were stored and re-counted, a certain number only being kept in each, as the pens are all of the same dimensions. Adjoining was another and still larger space, lying lower, with some deep ditches and pits in the midst. Here the outer husk is stripped off, preparatory to breaking the nut itself in order to obtain the kernel, which has to be dried before the oil can be expressed. Into the pits or ditches the husk is flung, and left in ten feet of water ten or fourteen days, when it is removed and beaten out on stones, to free the elastic fibre from dirt and useless vegetable matter. This is a most disagreeable operation, for the stench from the half-putrid husks is very strong. The fibre, after being well dried on the sandy ground, undergoes a rude assortment into three qualities, in reference chiefly to colour, and is then delivered over to the rope-maker, who works it up into yarn, rope, or junk, as required. Freed from their outer covering, the nuts are either sold for making curries, in which they form a prominent feature, or they are kept for drying ready for the oil-mill.
Having learned this much, I strolled through the small green field and along a patch of guinea-grass, to see what was going on in that direction. The neat-looking building adjoining was the superintendent’s bungalow, and the long sheds and open spaces in their front and rear were for drying the nuts into what is termed copperah, in which state they are ground up for pressure. It was a busy scene indeed, and the operations require constant vigilance on the part of the manager; yet all the work is carried on in the rudest way, and with the most simple instruments. Half-a-dozen stout lads were seated cross-legged on the ground, each with a heap of nuts by his side. The rapidity with which they seized these, and, with one sharp blow of a heavy knife, split them precisely in half, and flung them away into other heaps, was remarkable. It seemed to be done with scarcely an effort, yet, on handling the broken nut, one could not help being struck with its thickness and strength. Smaller boys were busily employed in removing these heaps of split fruit to the large open spaces, when others, assisted by a few women, were occupied in placing them in rows close together, with the open part outwards, so that the kernels may be fully exposed to the direct rays of the sun. In this way they remain for two days, when the fruit, partly dried, shrinks from the shell and is removed. Two more days’ exposure to the sun in fine weather will generally complete the drying process. The kernels are then called copperah, and are brittle and unctuous in the hand.
To convert this material into oil, the natives employ a very primitive mill, worked by bullocks, and called a checkoo; this process is very slow, and the oil never clean. Europeans have, however, obviated these objections, and manufacture the cocoa-nut oil by means of granite crushers and hydraulic presses worked by steam power. This is chiefly done in Colombo, to which place, of course, the copperah has to be conveyed. The refuse of the oil-presses, the dry cake (or poonac), is very useful as food for cattle or poultry, and not less so as a manure for the palm-trees when moistened and applied in a partially decomposed state.
Not a particle of this valuable tree is lost. The fresh juice of the blossom, which is broken off to allow it to flow freely, is termed, as I have said, toddy, and is drunk, when quite new, as a cool and pleasantly-refreshing beverage; when fermented, it is distilled, and yields the less harmless liquor known as arrack.
All these operations are not carried on with ease and regularity. The Singalese are an idle race; like many better men, their chief pleasure is to perform as little work as possible. This necessitates a never-ending round of inspection by the European manager, who, mounted on a small pony, paper umbrella in hand, visits every corner of the property at least once a day, often twice. Neither is it unusual for him to make a round during the night. On the whole, therefore, he enjoys no sinecure.