These are some of the drawbacks to coffee-planting, to say
nothing of bad seasons and fluctuating prices, which, if properly
calculated, considerably lessen the average profits of an estate,
as it must be remembered that while a crop is reduced in
quantity, the expenses continue at the usual rate, and are
severely felt when consecutive years bring no produce to meet
them.
Were it not for the poverty of the soil, the stock of cattle
required on a coffee estate for the purpose of manure might be
made extremely profitable, and the gain upon fatted stock would
pay for the expense of manuring the estate. This would be the
first and most reasonable idea to occur to an agriculturist -
"buy poor cattle at a low price, fatten them for the butcher, and
they give both profit and manure."
Unfortunately, the natural pasturage is not sufficiently good to
fatten beasts indiscriminately. There are some few out of a herd
of a hundred who will grow fat upon anything, but the generality
will not improve to any great degree. This accounts for the
scarcity of fine meat throughout Ceylon. Were the soil only
tolerably good, so that oats, vetches, turnips and mangel wurtzel
could be could be grown on virgin land without manure, beasts
might be stall-fed, the manure doubled by that method, and a
profit made on the animals. Pigs are now kept extensively on
coffee estates for the sake of their manure, and being fed on
Mauritius grass (a coarse description of gigantic " couch") and a
liberal allowance of cocoa-nut oil cake ("poonac"), are found to
succeed, although the manure is somewhat costly.
English or Australian sheep have hitherto been untried - for what
reason I cannot imagine, unless from the expense of their prime
cost, which is about two pounds per head. These thrive to such
perfection at Newera Ellia, and also in Kandy, that they should
succeed in a high degree in the medium altitudes of the coffee
estates. There are immense tracts of country peculiarly adapted
for sheep-farming throughout the highlands of Ceylon, especially
in the neighborhood of the coffee estates. There are two
enemies, however, against which they would have to contend -
viz., "leopards" and "leeches." The former are so destructive
that the shepherd could never lose sight of his flock without
great risk; but the latter, although troublesome, are not to be
so much dreaded as people suppose. They are very small, and the
quantity of blood drawn by their bite is so trifling that no
injury could possibly follow, unless from the flies, which would
be apt to attack the sheep on the smell of blood. These are
drawbacks which might be easily avoided by common precaution,
and I feel thoroughly convinced that sheep-farming upon the
highland pasturage would be a valuable adjunct to a coffee
estate, both as productive of manure and profit. I have heard the
same opinion expressed by an experienced Australian
sheep-farmer.
This might be experimented upon in the "down" country of Ouva
with great hopes of success, and by a commencement upon a small
scale the risk would be trifling. Here there is an immense tract
of country with a peculiar short grass in every way adapted for
sheep-pasturage, and with the additional advantage of being
nearly free from leopards. Should sheep succeed on an extensive
scale the advantage to the farmer and to the colony would be
mutual.
The depredations of leopards among cattle are no inconsiderable
causes of loss. At Newera Ellia hardly a week passes without
some casualty among the stock of different proprietors. Here the
leopards are particularly daring, and cases have frequently
occurred where they have effected their entrance to a cattle-shed
by scratching a hole through the thatched roof. They then commit
a wholesale slaughter among sheep and cattle. Sometimes,
however, they catch a "Tartar." The native cattle are small, but
very active, and the cows are particularly savage when the calf
is with them.
About three years ago a leopard took it into his head to try the
beefsteaks of a very savage and sharp-horned cow, who with her
calf was the property of the blacksmith. It was a dark, rainy
night, the blacksmith and his wife were in bed, and the cow and
her calf were nestled in the warm straw in the cattle-shed. The
door was locked, and all was apparently secure, where the hungry
leopard prowled stealthily round the cowhouse, sniffing the prey
within. The scent of the leopard at once aroused the keen senses
of the cow, made doubly acute by her anxiety for her little
charge, and she stood ready for the danger as the leopard, having
mounted on the roof, commenced scratching his way through the
thatch.
Down he sprang!- but at the same instant, with a splendid charge,
the cow pinned him against the wall, and a battle ensued which
can easily be imagined. A coolie slept in the corner of the
cattle-shed, whose wandering senses were completely scattered
when he found himself the unwilling umpire of the fight. He
rushed out and shut the door. In a few minutes he succeeded in
awakening the blacksmith, who struck a light and proceeded to
load a pistol, the only weapon that he possessed. During the
whole of this time the bellowing of the cow, the roars of the
leopard and the thumping, trampling and shuffling which
proceeded from the cattle-shed, explained the savage nature of
the fight.
The blacksmith, who was no sportsman, shortly found himself with
a lanthorn in one hand, a pistol in the other, and no idea of
what he meant to do. He waited, therefore, at the cattle-shed
door, and holding the light so as to shine through the numerous
small apertures in the shed, he looked in.
