It has an extremely fetid and disagreeable smell, which will
effectually prevent the contact of flies or any other insect. On
this account it is a valuable preventive to the attacks of flies
upon open wounds, in addition to which it possesses powerful
healing properties.
Mee oil is obtained from the fruit of the mee tree. This fruit
is about the size of an apricot, and is extremely rich in its
produce; but the oil is of a coarse description, and is simply
used by the natives for their rude lamps. Kenar oil and
meeheeria oil are equally coarse, and are quite unfit for any but
native purposes.
Lemon-grass oil, which is known in commerce as citronella oil, is
a delightful extract from the rank lemon grass, which covers most
of' the hillsides in the more open districts of Ceylon. An
infusion of the grass is subsequently distilled; the oil is then
discovered on the surface. This is remarkably pure, with a most
pungent aroma. If rubbed upon the skin, it will prevent the
attacks of insects while its perfume remains; but the oil is so
volatile that the scent quickly evaporates and the spell is
broken.
Clove oil is extracted from the leaves of the cinnamon tree, and
not from cloves, as its name would imply. The process is very
similar to that employed in the manufacture of citronella oil.
Cinnamon is indigenous throughout the jungles of Ceylon. Even at
the high elevation of Newera Ellia, it is one of the most common
woods, and it grows to the dimensions of a forest tree, the trunk
being usually about three feet in circumference. At Newera Ellia
it loses much of its fine flavor, although it is still highly
aromatic.
This tree flourishes in a white quartz sandy soil, and in its
cultivated state is never allowed to exceed the dimensions of a
bush, being pruned down close to the ground every year. This
system of close cutting induces the growth of a large number of
shoots, in the same manner that withes are produced in England.
Every twelve months these shoots attain the length of six or
seven feet, and the thickness of a man's finger. In the interim,
the only cultivation required is repeated cleaning. The whole
plantation is cut down at the proper period, and the sticks are
then stripped of their bark by the peelers. These men are called
"chalias," and their labor is confined to this particular branch.
The season being over, they pass the remaining portion of the
year in idleness, their earnings during one crop being sufficient
to supply their trifling wants until the ensuing harvest.
Their practice in this employment naturally renders them
particularly expert, and in far less time than is occupied in the
description they run a sharp knife longitudinally along a stick,
and at once divest it of the bark. On the following day the
strips of bark are scraped so as entirely to remove the outer
cuticle. One strip is then laid within the other, which, upon
becoming dry, contract, and form a series of enclosed pipes. It
is subsequently packed in bales, and carefully sewed up in double
sacks for exportation.
The essential oil of cinnamon is usually made from the refuse of
the crop; but the quantity produced, in proportion to the weight
of cinnamon, is exceedingly small, being about five ounces of oil
to half a hundred-weight of the spice.
Although the cinnamon appears to require no more than a common
quartz sand for its production, it is always cultivated with the
greatest success where the subsoil is light, dry and of a loamy
quality.
The appearance of the surface soil is frequently very deceitful.
It is not uncommon to see a forest of magnificent trees growing
in soil of apparently pure sand, which will not even produce the
underwood with which Ceylon forests are generally choked. In such
an instance the appearance of the trees is unusually grand as
their whole length and dimensions are exposed to view, and their
uniting crowns throw a sombre shade over the barren ground
beneath. It is not to be supposed that these mighty specimens of
vegetation are supported by the poor sandy soil upon the surface;
their tap-roots strike down into some richer stratum, from which
their nourishment is derived.
These forests are not common in Ceylon; their rarity accordingly
enhances their beauty. The largest English oak would be a mere
pigmy among the giants of these wilds, whose stature is so
wonderful that the eye never becomes tired of admiration. Often
have I halted on my journey to ride around and admire the
prodigious height and girth of these trees. Their beautiful
proportions render them the more striking; there are no gnarled
and knotty stems, such as we are accustomed to admire in the
ancient oaks and beeches of England, but every trunk rises like a
mast from the earth, perfectly free from branches for ninety or a
hundred feet, straight as an arrow, each tree forming a dark
pillar to support its share of the rich canopy above, which
constitutes a roof perfectly impervious to the sun. It is
difficult to guess the actual height of these forest trees; but I
have frequently noticed that it is impossible to shoot a bird on
the higher branches with No. 5 shot.
It is much to be regretted that the want of the means of
transport renders the timber of these forests perfectly
valueless. From age to age these magnificent trees remain in
their undisturbed solitudes, gradually increasing in their
apparently endless growth, and towering above the dark vistas of
everlasting silence. No on can imagine the utter stillness which
pervades these gloomy shades. There is a mysterious effect
produced by the total absence of animal life.
