Chapter 25

ON A COFFEE PLANTATION.

The Tji Wangi bungalow--Coffee plantations-- Cinchona--Native labour--A wayang--Country-bred ponies--Bob and the ducks--Loneliness of a planter's life.

Horace's remark,[18] "Those that cross the sea change temperature, not temperament," is especially true of the Englishman out of England. The room in which I was now seated differed in scarcely anything from the regulation "den" of every Englishman, whether in Scotland or Timbuctoo. From the French windows I could see smooth lawns and bright flower-beds, while beyond appeared the dark green plantations surmounted with grey mountain heights. Photographic groups and etchings shared the task of decorating the walls with riding-gear and Indian knives. The writing-table was strewn with photograph-frames of all sorts and sizes. The black "boy" who brought tea and whisky and Apollinaris, alone gave a hint of "foreign parts." The house itself stood 3500 feet above sea-level; but some of the estate (which covered 800 acres) rose nearly 1000 feet higher still. At this altitude the temperature was never excessively hot: at midday it averaged 70 deg.; certainly it never approached the heat of Batavia; and that night I did what I had not done before in Java--slept with a blanket over me.

[Footnote 18: "Coelum non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt."]

The next morning, two handsome Sandalwood ponies were brought round, and H---- took me over the estate. We rode between coffee and cinchona plantations on roads of various widths cut in zigzags or curves up the mountain sides, sometimes with the sun blazing full above us, sometimes shaded by the light foliage of the albizzias, until we reached a rough stone monument which marked the highest point. In the higher ranges we sometimes came upon a piece of bush with the tall rosamala trees still standing; or caught a glimpse of wide plains, bounded in the far-off distance by lofty mountains.

On more than one occasion H---- stopped to talk to the natives. They were engaged in weeding--the heaviest work on the plantation, since, in the hothouse atmosphere of Java, continual labour is required to keep down the rapidly growing plants of all kinds, which would otherwise impoverish the soil and choke the coffee trees. He usually addressed the _mandors_, or native foremen, but once or twice he spoke sharply to an idle or careless worker. His method, he explained, was to treat them with strict justice, but merciless severity: both were necessary to secure their respect, adding that it was useless for a man who was not respected to have anything to do with native labour.

It was during many such rides, supplemented by visits to the factory and long after-dinner talks with many different persons, that I learnt something of the ins and outs of a planter's life.

Although the Dutch Government are gradually abandoning the "culture" or "Government-plantation" system, the change is too recent to permit as yet of the full development of private enterprise in the island. Even now there are Government plantations in every village, in which the natives are compelled to work without wages. Of course, it is easy to undersell the planters by produce raised on these conditions. In addition to the direct Government competition, they complained of export duties on their coffee and cinchona, and of _ad valorem_ property taxes upon their plantations and buildings. Altogether, I gathered, the planters considered themselves very badly treated; but they had just formed an association in order to maintain their interests, and to take concerted action against the assistant-residents and the officials generally, who sometimes failed to appreciate the benefit conferred upon the country by the making of roads and other similar improvements.

The average size of the Javan coffee plantations is from 400 to 500 acres. At Tji Wangi there were 500 acres laid down in coffee, and 300 in cinchona. Part of the plantation was new, and H---- had done some clearing since he had taken over the estate. He described the process. The first thing to be done was to clear the forest. The trees were felled; the light timber--underwood and branches--was removed or burnt, but the huge trunks, bare and blackened, were left upon the ground. Indeed, I saw many such trunks, affording a curious contrast to the young plants growing around them. After this, he had formed plantations of albizzias (a slight, tall tree, with a foliage resembling that of the accacia), and planted the young trees, when they were sufficiently grown, at intervals upon the ground he had just cleared. Finally, the coffee trees, which had been grown from seedlings, and had remained in the nurseries for a year, were planted in rows, six or seven feet apart, under the shelter thus provided for them by the albizzias. The coffee trees do not bear until their third year. At the fifth year they reach maturity, and then continue in their prime for as long as ten or fifteen years. Those grown upon the higher, and therefore cooler, ranges will sometimes remain in first-rate condition for even a longer time.

H---- gathered a branch to show me the berry. It was like an acorn with the cup taken off in shape, and of a reddish-brown colour. These berries are harvested ordinarily at the beginning of the dry monsoon, _i.e._ in April or May. As the coolies are paid in proportion to the amount they gather, the whole crop is first of all measured. It is then put into a pulping-machine, and the husk or outer covering removed. The coffee is now said to be in the parchment, _i.e._ the two lobes of the bean are still covered by a parchment-like skin, and in this condition the bean is washed down into the fermenting-tanks, where it remains for thirty-six hours. After a final washing, it is dried in the sun in large wooden trays running on wheels, or else on concrete platforms. Most of the Javan coffee is sent off to Europe while it is still in the husk, in order that it may present a better appearance in the European markets. At Tji Wangi, however, the whole work of preparation was done on the estate.

As is well known, the civilized world is indebted for its increased supply of quinine to Mr. Charles Ledger, the naturalist. In a subsequent