A BALATA BLEEDERS’ CAMP.Page 47From a photograph in the British Guiana Section of the Imperial Institute, by permission
A BALATA BLEEDERS’ CAMP.Page 47From a photograph in the British Guiana Section of the Imperial Institute, by permission
A BALATA BLEEDERS’ CAMP.Page 47
From a photograph in the British Guiana Section of the Imperial Institute, by permission
In tapping a rubber-tree, the cut must only go deep enough to open the cells which harbour the sap—which, by the way, in simple English is called “milk,” and in technical language “latex.” These cells are in the bark, extending from just beneath its surface to the cambium, or true outer skin of the wood. If the tapping tool pierces the wood, the tree gets maimed for life. Henceforth its supply of milk will be more difficult to get at, for when the wounds are sufficiently healed for the tree again to be tapped in the same region, the trunk will be knotted and furrowed in the way you have already seen. Consequently the milk-cells will be situated at different levels, instead of beingevenly distributed beneath a covering of smooth-faced bark, and ceasing on the same level. Moreover, bad tapping makes the milk-supply poorer in both quantity and quality. And when a tree is very badly wounded in the wood it will very probably cease to give any milk at all.
While we have been talking about tapping in general, we have been following our Brazilian friend along his estrada, watching him deal with one tree after another in the same way as he treated the first one on his round. After a long walk, we get back to that first tree. The seringueiro now makes for his hut, puts away his axe, and picks up an old tin can. Once more he starts off on the same round, and now, as he goes from tree to tree, he unhooks the cups and pours their contents into the larger collecting vessel. The milk has stopped running, but the trees have yielded well this morning, and by the time the “milkman” is nearing home again he has to carry the can very steadily so as not to spill any of the morning’s supply.
It is nearly ten o’clock when we follow our leader into his hut once more, and as we have had nothing to eat since we started out at five, no wonder we do full justice to the meal he invites us to share with him, and tell ourselves that dried beef and beans make very good fare. We might think differently if we had breakfasted on this, or very similar fare, every day for months past, and were not likely to get anything very different at any meal for months to come.
After breakfast, the seringueiro sets about transforming the morning’s “milk” into solid rubber—in technical language, he submits the liquid to a treatment whereby it is coagulated.
He makes up a big fire with palm-nuts, which burn splendidly, as they are very rich in oil, and which give off a thick smoke. It is with this smoke that he is going to dry and cure his rubber, and as he wants it to be very dense and heavily laden with the essence of the fuel, over the fire he puts a funnel, which acts as a chimney, and draws up the smoke in a compressed cloud.
He now takes a paddle-shaped piece of wood, and dips the blade into the rubber milk. Then he holds the paddle over the funnel, revolving the blade in the smoke until the covering of rubber is thoroughly dry. Again he dips the blade into the new “milk,” and again holds it in the smoke until the sticky liquid solidifies as a coating round the foundation layer of rubber. Again and again he plunges the paddle into the “milk” and holds it in the smoke, until he has a large ball of rubber made up of layer upon layer of the material. This is cut through and the paddle removed; the rubber is then ready to go to market, and will perform the first stage of its journey thither on Saturday, when it is taken by the seringueiro to the manager’s store.
Extra large balls of rubber, or “pelles,” are made ina very similar way on poles. But instead of the poles being held by hand over the smoke, they are balanced on a roughly-made rest. A couple of pronged sticks are driven into the ground to serve as props for a horizontal bar. In the middle of this bar, which is just another bit of timber, is a noose of bush-rope. The pelle is made on the middle part of a separate pole. One end of this pole is slipped through the noose until the coating of rubber in the centre is well over the smoke; the other end is supported by hand, with or without the assistance of another noose of bush-rope hanging from the roof. The seringueiro turns the pole round and round, always keeping it in such a position that the growing ball of rubber, which he frequently feeds with milk, is twirled about in the smoke.
You are wondering, I expect, how the seringueiros get paid. They are all run by men of capital, called “aviadores.” The aviador lives at one of the commercial centres of the Amazon rubber industry, such as Para or Manaos in Brazil. His business is to arrange for labourers to go up into the rubber districts, to supply them with anything and everything they want in the way of stores and outfit, and, if necessary, to advance them the money for their journey. His busiest time is in the early part of the year, because all new hands start off for the forests about March or April. They can then reach the scene of their labours towards the middle of May, when the rubber-gathering season begins.
All the labourers start off in debt to some aviador. When they reach the seringal which is their particular destination, the manager there instals them in one ofthe huts, and tells them which estrada or estradas they are to work. Often one man is given two estradas, which are to be worked on alternate days, so that the trees can have a little longer rest between milking-times.
The first job everyone has to do is to lend a hand in clearing the estradas—and very hard work this is. Although the paths are old cuttings, they are blocked with a tangle of undergrowth. They have not been used since last December, when the Amazon, as usual, began its big annual rise, and overflowed its banks with a far-reaching volume of water. Since then the forests have been impassable, therefore work has been impossible until this month of May, when the lands are once more uncovered; meanwhile, tropical vegetation has sprung up and run riot along the paths.
When the estradas have been re-cleared—also some new ones may be cut, if sufficient labourers have come up to make further development possible—tapping begins. You have seen how the seringueiro gets the rubber and prepares it for market. When he delivers his week’s collection to the manager, the weight thereof is put to his credit, and his pelles are forwarded to the aviador who has sent him up to the seringal. The aviador sells them, and remits to the seringueiro the amount they fetch, less commission and something on account of his debt. All the rubber-gatherers take part of their dues in stores, as the aviador is general provider to the seringal.
You want to know what the seringueiros do when the flood season sets in? Some of them go away to look for work in more civilized parts of the country. But many of them are several weeks’ journey away fromany town, or from any part of the country where farming is possible. It would not be worth their while to go so far away and spend a lot of money on looking for work of a different kind, when the chances are so much on the side of their being compelled to return to rubber-gathering as the only means of earning a living. So they stop up in the flooded forests, living in the shanties which are perched on the highest stilts. They get through the long time from December to May as best they can, doing a great deal of smoking, sleeping, and idle gossiping. Sometimes they drink too much, and sometimes they fight—you expected as much? Well, although you have only had a peep at the kind of life these men lead, I am sure you have seen enough to make you slow to judge them harshly.
Many varieties of the same species of tree belong to the family which is known as “the Heveas,” and several of them are rubber-givers. All rubber obtained from trees of this family has the distinctive name of “Para” in the commercial world. Three qualities of wild Para are sent to market—fine, entrefine or medium, and coarse or negro-head.
Fine Para is best quality rubber made from the richest kinds of Hevea milk. It is cured through and through, whilst the latex is being coagulated, with the smoke of palm-nuts. The nuts most commonly used in the Amazon region are the fruit of the urucuri palm,which flourishes in the forests where the Heveas are found. Various products are turned to account as fuel for curing rubber in other parts of the world, but the results, taken as a whole, have led to a general opinion that the smoke of the palm-nuts used in the Amazon country plays an important part in keeping the rubber of this region first of all rubbers as regards quality; but the secret of this smoke’s special power has not yet been discovered.
Entrefine or medium Para is made from Hevea milk other than the very richest; or it may be the result of best quality milk which has only been indifferently well cured.
Coarse Para, or negro-heads, is uncured or partly cured refuse. When a tree has been tapped, some of the milk in the collecting-cups cakes into a thin crust on the inside of the bowls, and drops fall and congeal on the rim and outer surface. The scraps have to be cleaned off the cups every morning, for new milk loses much of its value if it is allowed to come into contact with dirt or refuse; sometimes they are thrown away, but frequently they are hoarded in a bag which the seringueiro takes with him on his tapping round for this particular purpose. The refuse is well worth saving, for it will fetch quite a good price as negro-heads. But such coarse rubber is not always an extra source of income to the seringueiro. Sometimes he loses considerably by it, for he finds himself, through no fault of his own, with nothing but this poor quality material as the reward for his day’s toil. If it rains hard whilst the trees are being tapped, the latex curdles in the collecting-cups, and the seringueiro has to collect a supply of negro-heads instead of freshmilk. Again, the milk sometimes coagulates much too quickly when it is being cured; the material produced is then negro-heads instead of fine or even medium Para.
In the commercial world Para rubber has many secondary names, which tell from which particular district such or such a supply has been obtained. The chief rubber-producing regions in the Amazon country are:
1. The Brazilian State of Para, in the Lower Amazon Valley, including the islands in the mouth of the river. One very good quality rubber from this region is called “Caviana,” after the island of that name, where it is obtained.
2. The Brazilian State of Amazonas, in the Upper Amazon Valley. Rubber produced in this State is known generally as “up-river” rubber; it is also called “Manaos,” after the great commercial centre of the industry in this region, or “Madeira,” after a tributary of that name which gives access to some of the richest rubber lands in the State.
3. Acre. This is a far interior territory, bordering on Peru and Bolivia. Acre, which is now federated with Brazil, is very famous for its rubber, which, like that of Amazonas, is generally known as “up-river” rubber.
4. The Brazilian State of Matto Grosso, in the Upper Amazon Valley. At present very little of this vast forest-land between Amazonas and Paraguay has been opened up, but, judging by what has already been seen of its dense jungle, the whole State is a treasure-ground of rubber-trees. Most of the rubber now exported from this district is coarse, and sun-curedinstead of smoke-cured. It, too, is called “up-river” rubber.
5 and 6. Bolivia and Peru. Both countries export large quantities of rubber, much of which is of excellent quality. The various grades of Bolivian and Peruvian Para are classed collectively as “up-river” rubber; but the different qualities have native names as well, and these are quite popular as trade terms.
The Amazon country furnishes a rubber that is quite distinct from the Para material. It is called “Caucho,” and is obtained from a tree known as theCastilloa Ulei. The biggest exporters are Peru and Bolivia.
There is no system of estradas to simplify the work of the caucho-gatherers. A search-party, largely composed of Indians, sets out to hunt for castilloa trees in parts of the forest that have never before been explored. There is not so much as a track to help them on their journey, nor a clue of any kind to tell them in which direction to cut their way. In order to collect enough caucho to make a success of their trip they will probably have to travel several hundred miles; quite likely they will lose themselves, and have to wander about for months before they happen to strike the right direction towards some isolated village. All their baggage has to be carried by hand or on the back, so only the barest necessities are taken. A large share of each man’s burden consists of provisions; even so, the stores are scanty enough, seeing that no one knows for how long they will have to be eked out, with the help of any game that may be shot.
Every castilloa-tree that is found is felled to the ground, and is then ringed with cuts, which extend the whole length of the trunk, at intervals of about 2 feet.The milk which runs out from these cuts is caught in little bowls. These are either fashioned from leaves, which are folded and sewn together, or they are made from seed-pods—in which case they are called “calabashes”—in the very simple way that you can easily make a cocoanut-shell do duty for a basin or a cup.
The contents of the bowls are poured into a hole in the ground or a scooped-out hollow in the trunk of a fallen tree, and the milk is coagulated with the help of soap, lime, or potash. After a few days the lumps of caucho are pressed together into square blocks, the market name for which is “Peruvian Slab.”
Some of the milk sticks in the cuts and becomes coagulated through exposure to the air. About a fortnight after a tree has been felled the congealed caucho is picked out of the wounds. It comes away in stringlike strips, which are wound into balls. Some of these caucho balls are very roughly made; others are put together in a most pleasing way—the narrow golden strips are prettily interlaced the while they are being wound into a compact, round bundle; in its finished state the ball looks as if it had been fashioned from strips of bamboo by the patient, skilful hands of a Japanese toymaker.
Malaysian Rubber Co.NATIVE COAGULATING JELUTONG.Page 41
Malaysian Rubber Co.NATIVE COAGULATING JELUTONG.Page 41
Malaysian Rubber Co.
NATIVE COAGULATING JELUTONG.Page 41
Beyond the Amazon Valley, the chief wild-rubber producing countries in the New World are Central America and Mexico. Both are homelands of theCastilloa, and Mexico has large areas of a rubber-giving shrub called “Guayule.”
Now that you have seen how caucho is collected in South America, you will, I feel sure, be all the more interested to get a peep at some caucho-gatherers in Central America, who work in a different way. So let us go to Nicaragua.
Once more we are standing in the maze of a tropical forest. Just in front of us is a tree, which has big leaves hanging independently of each other from either side of the branches. By the shape and arrangement of its foliage we recognize it as a Castilloa. Under this tree stands a semi-clad, brown figure. What a dwarf he looks! No wonder; the tree with whose height you are unconsciously comparing his stature is a giant, whose top-to-root measure is well over 100 feet.
The native is going to collect caucho-milk. He does not cut down the tree, but taps it as it stands. With a big knife he makesV-shaped cuts in the trunk, operating on the lower part from the ground, and on the upper part from a hanging ladder. This rough-looking climbing apparatus he has made for himself out of bush-rope. You can see for yourself that it is easy enough for him to find bush-rope in this forest; from the branches of numbers of the trees around hang lengths of naturally-corded fibre, some of it stringlike, much of it thicker than any rope that is ever made in a factory.
The caucho-milk runs out from the cuts and trickles down the trunk into a calabash. When the collector has tapped several trees, he puts all the milk into an old pan, and adds to it some watery juice which he has obtained from a particular variety of creeper. Hethen stirs the mixture, and in a little time the rubber coagulates into lumps, which float on the surface. He takes these pieces of rubber out of the pan, and kneads them into flat, round “biscuits.”
Our next visit is to Mexico. Here we will not go into the forests, among the caucho-gatherers; for time is pressing, and rather than look at similar sights to those with which we are already acquainted, we choose to make for a part of this country where we can watch, amidst quite new surroundings, a novel process of obtaining rubber from a plant which is quite different from any we can see elsewhere.
We are on the stony soil of a Mexican plain, standing knee-deep in scrub. As far as the eye can reach in every direction the ground is covered with dwarfish vegetation, which consists of a shrub called “guayule.”
Guayule covers acres upon acres of the Mexican plains. It contains a large amount of rubber, which is secreted by all the plant-cells. Unlike most rubber-giving vegetation, this shrub does not yield its riches in the form of milk; the milk naturally coagulates within the cells and forms tiny particles of rubber. Presently you will see how these particles are routed out of their hiding-place.
In the district we have come to visit, several Mexicans are busy gathering in a harvest of guayule. As you watch them at work, you notice that they pull up some of the shrubs by the roots, but others they pass by. No, the plants they leave in the ground are not by any means poor specimens; they are young guayules, as yet under 18 inches high, which are being left to grow and furnish another crop.
Presently we espy quite a number of donkeys coming leisurely along towards us over the plain. They have been down to a packing-shed close by with a load of guayule, and are now returning for another load. When they reach the harvest-field, great bundles of the shrub are piled up on their backs, until we can hardly see anything of the useful little beasts but a row of heads and an array of paws. However, their burden is not so heavy as its bulk would have us imagine. We follow the caravan of donkeys to the packing-shed and see them unloaded. Then we watch the guayule being pitched by hand into crates and tightly jammed therein by being jumped on by the packers. When the bales are taken out of the crates they remind us of trusses of hay. The bales are weighed, stacked in carts, and taken to the factory.
Seated on a bale in one of these carts, we, too, go to the factory. Here we see the crop of guayule being crushed between rollers, and for the moment we are reminded of a sugar-mill. The crushed plant, a mixture of bits of wood and atoms of rubber, is conducted to a pebble-mill, which is a drum half filled with stones and water. The mill is rotated, and the rubbing action which is thus set up rolls the rubber into larger pieces and grinds the wood to pulp.
The mixture is now pumped into large tanks. The rubber, being lighter than water, floats; the wood, being heavier, sinks. The rubber is skimmed off and purified, after which it is washed and put into bags ready to go to market.
Guayule rubber is of sufficiently good quality to be used for all but the highest class rubber goods, such as surgical appliances.
The chief wild-rubber producing countries in the Old World are Africa, Northern India, and the East Indies.
In Africa, the rubber-giving plants are theFuntumia elastica, a medium-sized tree, and several varieties of vine whose family name is Landolphia. Both plants flourish in the tropical forests of West Africa, extending from Soudan to the Congo, and embracing large areas in Liberia, Gold Coast, Southern Nigeria, and the Cameroons. Landolphias grow profusely in these same forests, and in the more northerly West African districts of Senegal, Gambia, and Sierra Leone; they also abound in British East Africa and neighbouring territory.
Funtumias are tapped on the “herring-bone” system. A native climbs one of the trees, and as he ascends he makes a wide cut vertically up the trunk with a somewhat clumsy chisel or gouge; on his downward journey he makes numerous branch cuts, which run into the central one alternately on the right and left sides at an angle of about 45 degrees. The milk which comes out of the side cuts trickles down into the central channel, where it mixes with the milk which is oozing out therefrom. The whole supply thus finds its way down to a calabash or pot, which is placed on the ground at the terminus of the “herring-bone” or “featherstitch” system.
The more destructive method of felling the trees is also adopted by the collectors of Funtumia milk.
The rubber is prepared from the milk in severalways. The most common methods are the addition of the juice of another plant, and the burying of the milk in holes scooped out of the ground. In the latter case, an oblong hole, 2 to 3 feet deep, is made, and the inside of it is coated with clay. When the clay is dry, the milk is poured into the hole, over which is placed a lid of leaves or boughs. Under this treatment, about six weeks have to elapse before the change called “coagulation” is brought about, and then the results are far from satisfactory. When, at last, the hole is uncovered, there is a lump of rubber in place of the milk, but it usually contains a great deal of uncoagulated and partially coagulated latex. The lumps are put in the sun to dry, after which they are taken home to a forest hut. Here they are stored until such time as some of the natives set forth for the nearest centre of civilization, to dispose of a stock of rubber to the merchants. The lumps are carried to town in native-made baskets, which in shape are rather like the baskets commonly used by us for soiled linen.
The product prepared from Funtumia milk is generally known as “Lagos silk rubber.”
Landolphias are large vines, which often creep up to the tops of the highest trees in the forest. They have stout stems which twist and turn, interlace and knot themselves together into a tangled mass. They are among the most picturesque of forest plants, for not only have they the habit of climbing up the trees and intermingling with the branches in a very decorative manner, but many of them bear beautiful flowers and brightly coloured fruit.
To tap Landolphias, the natives make cuts in the stems. The milk is collected and coagulated innumerous ways. Sometimes it is allowed to flow to the ground, sometimes it is caught in pots or calabashes, which are hung by a handle on to the stem of the vine, at the spots where the cuts are made. It may be left to coagulate by itself, or the change may be brought about by the assistance of heat, or of some plant-juice, which is known to produce the desired effect. Sometimes a native smears the milk over his body, and peels off the skin of rubber into which it is changed by his own warmth.
Some of the Landolphias have underground stems, or “rhizomes,” which, when pounded, yield “root rubber.”
Landolphia rubber is sent to market in many forms, of various shapes and sizes. Balls, lumps, biscuits, morsels called “thimbles,” strips, and twists are some of the commonest forms in which it is exported.
Africa is an important centre of wild rubber supplies from the point of view of the quantity of the material available in the forests. But the quality of African rubber is much inferior to that of Para, the rubber that sets the standard by which all other varieties must expect to be judged. The inferiority of African rubber is partly due to the milk from which it is made, but is largely the result of the way in which the milk is collected and coagulated. The work is all done by natives, men and women, whose one idea is to get as much rubber as possible in the easiest way. They are not at all careful to keep the milk free from dirt and impurities, and there is no science in their method of coagulating it. However, England, France and Belgium, who between them own the rubber-producing colonies of Africa, are hoping to improve the qualityof African rubber. You will understand why they are so anxious to bring about changes for the better in this respect when I tell you more about the growing popularity of plantation rubber, the rival of all wild rubber.
There is one kind of rubber plant which all of you must have seen. It is grown here in pots, and is much used for indoor decoration. Its botanical name isFicus elastica.
When you seeFicus elasticain its native element, you can hardly believe that it is exactly the same species of vegetation as the small “rubber plants” whose acquaintance you have made in many a hall and drawing-room. At home, on the lower slopes of the mountains of Northern India—in Darjeeling, Sikkim, Bhotan, Assam, and Burma—and in Java and Sumatra, it is a big tree, which has very peculiar habits. In the early years of its life the tree has a single trunk, with numerous branches. The branches soon begin to let down bush-ropes, which in growing reach to the ground. Here they enter the soil and take root, and as these new roots spread, the bush-ropes develop into big trunks. A well-established Ficus is a most curious sight. It has claimed for its own an extensive ground space, the whole surface of which is occupied by exposed roots. Rising from their midst is a crowd of large trunks; and high and low among the branches are the aerial roots, from which all but one of the crowd came into existence as bush-ropes.
TAPPING A RUBBER-VINE, BELGIAN CONGO.Page 39
TAPPING A RUBBER-VINE, BELGIAN CONGO.Page 39
To get at the Ficus milk, the natives hack great pieces out of the trunks of the trees. Like the Africans, they sacrifice quality to quantity in their general methods of collecting and preparing their rubber.
The material made from Ficus milk is commonly known as Assam rubber.
Rubber of various qualities is now made from the latex of the Jelutong tree. This tree, which is a giant among forest giants, flourishes in the jungles of Sarawak, Borneo, Sumatra, and Malaya. The tapping of Jelutong is roughly done by natives, and the milk is coagulated by the help of petroleum.
Distinct from rubber, but closely akin to it, are the two materials known as “gutta-percha” and “balata.”
The gutta-percha tree has its home in the Far East, in Malay, the East Indies, and the South Sea Islands. The trees are sometimes tapped as they stand, by a similar method ofV-shaped cuts as is practised by the Nicaraguans in tapping Castilloas. Sometimes they are felled, trunk and branches being then ringed with cuts.
Gutta milk, like rubber milk, is white. Sometimes it flows freely, in which case it is collected in cups or calabashes. It always coagulates very quickly, sometimes so rapidly that none runs out of the cuts; these get filled up with solid strips, which can be pulled off. Frequently it runs so gently that it can be collected on a bit of coagulated gutta. When a small pellet of solidified gutta is rolled along a cut, the fresh milk sticks to it, and quickly hardens. In some districts the free-flowing gutta milk is coagulated by boiling.In others it is left to itself to turn into a thick cream, and is then coated over a piece of completely coagulated gutta.
Most of the gutta-gathering is done by natives, who deal very roughly with the trees, and are not at all particular about the quality of the material they prepare. But Britain and Holland, who own territory in those parts of the world where the gutta-percha tree grows, are anxious to improve the conditions under which the raw gutta industry is carried on. Already some desirable changes have been brought about, and efforts are being made to introduce other reforms in connection with working methods and general organization. Under European supervision, gutta-percha is now extracted from the leaves of the tree. And there is an estate, belonging to the Netherland Indian Government, where the best varieties of gutta-trees are being cultivated, to make up for the scarcity of them that has been brought about by the destructive methods of the native workers in the forests.
Gutta-percha lacks some of the valuable qualities of rubber: it is not elastic, in ordinary temperatures it is quite hard, and when it gets very dry it is brittle. For manufacturing purposes it has to be heated, when it can be moulded into the desired form; but as it cools, it hardens again. It is used chiefly for insulating submarine cables.
Balata is the product of a tree which flourishes in the forests of British Guiana, a little-known but magnificent country in the north-eastern corner of South America. The forests of British Guiana are a continuation of the forests of the Amazon, which theyclosely resemble. At present, they are only known to a few explorers, the balata-bleeders, a few seekers after gold and diamonds, and odd travellers who like to get away from the beaten tracks. In all my wanderings East and West, I have had few such delightful experiences, none more interesting and novel, than my trip to these forests. Yet, although they occupy by far the greater part of a British Colony, which is about equal in size to England, not one Briton in a thousand knows anything about them. Indeed, so little does the Mother Country appreciate the importance of owning a part, although only a comparatively small part, of the rapidly developing Continent of South America, that very few Britons know British Guiana by name even, and the majority of these imagine it is the same country as British New Guinea.
(1) TAPPING RUBBER VINE (FICUS).Page 40(2) EXTRACTING GUTTA-PERCHA, NEW GUINEA.Page 42
(1) TAPPING RUBBER VINE (FICUS).Page 40(2) EXTRACTING GUTTA-PERCHA, NEW GUINEA.Page 42
(1) TAPPING RUBBER VINE (FICUS).Page 40
(2) EXTRACTING GUTTA-PERCHA, NEW GUINEA.Page 42
Most of the balata-bleeders are negroes, the present-day natives of the Colony. The life they lead is rough and solitary, very much like that of a seringueiro.
The balata-gathering season begins in the latter part of May, but weeks before this many of the labourers have to set out on the long journey to the particular part of the forest where their work lies. They are employed, under contract, by companies who hold licences to collect balata from such or such tracts of the forest, called “grants.” All employees are paid according to the results they can show in solid balata, so much for every pound of the material; but they must go where they are sent to find it, and getting there is such a difficult and trying business that work may well be considered to begin with the journey to the grants.
Balata trees grow wild throughout the Colony.Sometimes they are found in groups, sometimes scattered about amidst the many other varieties of trees which crowd the forest. Some of the grants that are being worked are in the lower valleys of the rivers. But in a country where “inland” is a dense barrier of virgin bush, with its face quite close to the coast, it is a long journey even to districts which are said to be “most accessible,” because they happen to be nearer than others to some place where there is a town or village. Many of the most accessible balata-grants are a two or three weeks’ journey away from the nearest centre of civilization. And it takes from four to six weeks to reach some of the remote ones in the far interior.
The rivers, with their tributaries and creeks, are the only means of communication with the grants. Owing to the enterprise of Sprostons, a local firm, and, in later years, to a Government service of river transport, there are steamer and launch facilities on nearly all the main rivers, but although the vessels can perform marvellous feats in the way of shooting rapids and manipulating falls, sooner or later the terminus of each civilized, up-country service is fixed by long stretches of disturbed waters, which cannot possibly be navigated by big craft.
To the majority of the balata-bleeders, the river steamers are a great boon. But even when these men are going to one of the grants not far removed in miles from a steamer terminus, they are pretty sure to have to rough it on the last part of their journey, for nearly all the grants are situated on the banks of a tributary or creek.
Here is a rough sketch of one journey in which use can be made of the civilized travelling facilities. Thebalata-bleeders leave Georgetown, the capital of British Guiana, in the early morning, and go by steamer up the Demerara River. By midday they have passed the bounds of cultivated country; the Demerara sugar-cane lands have given place to virgin forest. By about five in the afternoon they reach Wismar, where they leave the steamer. Here, thanks again to Sprostons’ determined efforts to open up the Colony, there is a train awaiting them. Right through the heart of the forest runs the only bit of railway-line in the whole interior of British Guiana, connecting Wismar on the Demerara River, with Rockstone on the Essequibo.
Why, as they want to get on the Essequibo, do they not go by boat direct through its mouth, and upstream to Rockstone by its course?
Time was when the balata-bleeders bound for Essequibo grants were obliged to follow this route; but many were the lives that were lost in the dangerous falls that block the lower part of the river. The railway was built to complete a safe passage round to Rockstone, above these falls, via the Demerara River and a cross-country cut.
The run from Wismar to Rockstone, which takes about a couple of hours, completes the first day’s stage of the journey. After a night’s rest in a wooden shanty, the travellers must follow one of two methods for proceeding on their way. They can at once take to small boats, or they can go on by launch for a couple of days before being actually compelled to adopt the slowest and most laborious means of river-transit.
The visitor to Rockstone is sure to see some open boats tied up to the landing-stage. On first making the acquaintance of these rough-looking little craft, heimagines they are merely for the use of men who want to go a-fishing for a few hours, or for anyone who has to make short river-trips. On going down to the landing-stage a few hours later—if he is in this part of the world during the early months of the year—he is surprised to find that some of those old tubs have been transformed into tent-boats, that the space beneath each awning is crowded with stacks of small cargo, such as packing-cases, hammocks, pots and pans, and that round and above the piled-up goods and chattels stretch long lengths of string laden with calabashes. He is still more surprised when he learns that a large party of balata-bleeders is about to set forth in these boats on a two, three, or four weeks’ journey. Not an inch of accommodation does there seem to be left for passengers; yet several men manage to squeeze into each boat. They pass long day after long day in their cramped quarters, smoking, gossiping, dozing, and taking their turn at the paddles. At night they go ashore, and camp in the forest; they light a fire, have a picnic, sling their hammocks, and turn into sleep until daylight makes it possible for them to get a little farther on their way to work. On days when they have to navigate one set of rapids after another, and drag the boat overland past fall after fall, it is but a very little farther they are able to push forward.
The labourers who leave Rockstone by launch find little boats waiting for them when they reach the camp that is situated at the terminus of civilized travelling facilities in the wilds. They then have to rough it for the rest of their journey.
BALATA BLEEDERS LEAVING SPROSTONS’ STELLING AT ROCKSTONE, BRITISH GUIANA.Page 46Note large number of calabashes for catching the gum
BALATA BLEEDERS LEAVING SPROSTONS’ STELLING AT ROCKSTONE, BRITISH GUIANA.Page 46Note large number of calabashes for catching the gum
BALATA BLEEDERS LEAVING SPROSTONS’ STELLING AT ROCKSTONE, BRITISH GUIANA.Page 46
Note large number of calabashes for catching the gum
On one of the riverways which leads to many grants, there is no steamer or launch to help the labourers ontheir way. The work of paddling the boats along this route is made specially hard by masses of grass, which drift down from the Savannahs. A way has to be hacked through the floating barriers with cutlasses. You can imagine what a difficult task this is when I tell you that the grass on the water is sometimes so firm that people can walk on it.
When a balata-bleeder reaches his destination he builds himself a hut—a wooden framework, thatched with leaves. Then he makes a dabree, a large tray about half a foot deep, in which balata latex is coagulated. The dabree is composed of closely-fitted strips of palm, the crevices between which are filled with damp clay or earth. The joins are dried in the sun, after which the tray is made water-tight with a lining of balata. When the dabree has been fitted to a frame, and a screen of palm-leaves has been put up on the windward side to keep off the rain, the whole construction looks very much like a bedstead.
Next comes the work of locating balata-trees within the appointed tract. This is a serious version of the game of hide-and-seek. The trees are concealed somewhere—anywhere among other trees and a tangle of undergrowth and overgrowth; the darkie who has come to find them has to clear the way for every step he takes in looking for them. After he has discovered a number of them, he makes his plans for going the round of these to collect a supply of latex.
Each tree is tapped by means of a cutlass, an implement which the British Guiana negro uses for cutting anything from a loaf of bread to a path through the bush. The cuts are made in featherstitch pattern, running from the base of the trunk to a great heightthereon. The operator stands on the ground to make the lower ones; when he has reached as far up as he can in this way, he climbs the tree by means of a bush-rope ladder, or hauls himself up in a rope cradle, or on stirrups made by twisting a rope spirally round the trunk. At the base of the trunk a calabash is put, and the latex trickles down into this by way of the zigzag cuts.
The latex is poured into the dabree, where it naturally coagulates into sheets. These sheets are hung up first on the framework of the dabree to drain, and then in a shed to dry ready for being sent down to town, to the owners of the grant.
Under peril of losing their licence, the owners are responsible for seeing that their labourers obey certain regulations, which have been made with a view to keeping the balata-trees in good condition. No tree may be tapped until its trunk measures 3 feet round at a distance of 4 feet from the ground. Only half the trunk surface may be bled in one season; the cuts must not exceed a given depth, must not be more than 1½ inches wide, and there must be a distance of at least 10 inches between any two of them. No part of a tree may be retapped until the old wounds have quite healed, a process which takes from four to five years.
Balata is largely used for machinery-belting.
The earliest experiment in cultivating rubber was made only as far back as the seventies of last century. And it is only within the present century that cultivated rubber, or, as it is more generally called, “plantation rubber,” has become a power in the industrial world.
The hero of the romantic story of that earliest experiment is Mr. H. A. Wickham. After long and careful study of Wild Rubber-trees in the Brazilian forests, Mr. Wickham came to the conclusion that it would be possible to cultivate these valuable trees, and that the Eastern Tropics would prove particularly suitable as a home for their adoption. Experienced agriculturists and everyone connected with the rubber business looked upon these ideas as the wild dreams of a man who had more imagination than sense.
Nothing daunted, Mr. Wickham determined that at least he would put to the test his theory that rubber seeds sown by man would grow quite as well as seeds scattered by the trees themselves, provided they were reared in suitable soil and in a similar climate to that of their forest home. He began to plant seeds of the Hevea tree in Brazil, turning into a nursery for them a piece of ground near to where he was living at the time.
Little did he think then that the day was not far distant when he would be given an opportunity of putting his theory to the test on a very much bigger scale, and in the East, too.
In 1871 this energetic pioneer had published a book entitled “Rough Notes of a Journey through the Wilderness,” wherein were included drawings, made by himself, of the leaf, seed-pod, and seed of theHevea brasiliensis. These drawings came under the notice of Sir Joseph Hooker, who was then Director of Kew Gardens, and attracted his attention to the subject of rubber cultivation. Sir Joseph soon became keenly interested in Mr. Wickham’s ideas. Not only did he favour the theory that rubber-trees could be cultivated, but he fully agreed that the Eastern Tropics would make a capital experimental nursery for them, and thought that the East ought not to neglect so promising a possibility of agricultural development. He managed to win for the cause of rubber cultivation its third supporter, Sir Clements Markham of the India Office. Sir Clements, in his turn, did his best to interest his colleagues in the proposed new branch of agriculture, with the result that in 1876 the Indian Government agreed to find the money for the introduction into India of “the tree which produced the true 'Para’ rubber of commerce.”
Mr. Wickham, who was still living in the up-country region of Brazil, was deputed to carry out the commission. His instructions were to obtain a large number of Hevea seeds, and get them delivered to the Indian Government. Although he was not hampered by any restrictions as to ways or means, this was a difficult enough task. The seeds would have to be collected at the particular season when they ripen; they would have to be very carefully packed for their journey so that they should not get damp, and yet should obtain enough ventilation to keep them alive;they must not be very long out of the ground; and, if anyhow possible, they must be got out of the country without the Government of Brazil knowing what was happening, for the authorities might say they would not allow them to be taken away.
If Brazil had known what a certain ship which left the country in the early part of 1876 was carrying, and if she had guessed what a revolution in the rubber world its cargo was destined to bring about, there is little doubt but that she would have seen to it that no Hevea seeds ever went to foreign lands.
But I am anticipating a state of affairs which is present-day history. Here, in his own words, is the romantic story of how Mr. Wickham accomplished his task.
“Whilst I was still boxing about for, or to find, some practicable way, the few European planters in that remote locality were surprised and startled by news of the arrival on the great river of a fully-equipped ocean liner. This was not a little added to on receipt of an invitation to a dinner on board the ss.Amazonas, Captain Murray, as the first of the new line of 'Inman Line Steamships, Liverpool to the Alto-Amazon direct.’ The thing was well done. The ship’s boats took us off at Santarem, and we found the ship dressed out in blue lights. We were entertained by the two gentlemen, as in charge of 'inauguration of the new line.’ We had an altogether unlooked-for good evening on board, with a well-appointed supper in the saloon. The following day she went on her way for the Upper Amazon. I then thought no more about the episode in rumination on any conceivable means of effecting my purpose with regard to getting out a stock of thePara rubber-tree; and the more anxiously as I knew the season for the ripening of the seed on the trees in the forest to be drawing near.
“Then occurred one of those chances such as a man has to take at top-tide or lose for ever.
“The startling news came down the river that our fine ship, theAmazonas, had been abandoned, and left on the captain’s hands, after having been stripped by the two gentlemen supercargoes (our late hospitable entertainers!), and that without so much as a stick of cargo for return voyage to Liverpool. I determined to plunge for it. It seemed to present an occasion either 'to make my spoon or to spoil the horn.’ It was true I had no cash on hand out there, and to realize on an incipient plantation, in such a place and situation, was quite out of the question. The seed was even then beginning to ripen on the trees in theMonte alto—the high forest. I knew that Captain Murray must be in a fix, so I wrote to him, boldly chartering the ship on behalf of the Government of India; and I appointed to meet him at the junction of the Tapajos and Amazon Rivers by a certain date.
“There was no time to lose. Hurriedly getting an Indian canoe, posting up the right coast of the Tapajos, and traversing the broad river—rather ticklish work in a small canoe at that season—I struck back from the left shore for the deep woods, theMonte alto, wherein I knew were to be found the big, full-grown Hevea trees....
“Working with as many Tapüyo Indians as I could get together at short notice, I daily ranged the forest, and packed on our backs in Indian pannier baskets as heavy loads of seeds as we could march down under.I was working against time. Sometimes, however, during times of rest, I would sit down and look into the leafy arches above, and as I gazed, become lost in the wonderful beauty of the upper system overhead—a world of life complete within itself. This is the abode of strange forms of life, strangely plumaged birds, and elfish littleti-timonkeys, which never descend to the dark soil throughout their lives, but swing and gambol in the aërial gardens of dainty forms and sweet-smelling orchids, for every great tree supports an infinite variety of plant life. All overhead seemed the very exuberance of animal and vegetable existence, and below, its contrast—decay and darkness. Here and there a mass of orchid, carried from above by the fall of some withered branch, sickening into pallor, thrust out from the vitalizing air and life above.
“I got the Tapüyo village maids to make up open-work baskets or crates of splitCalamuscanes for receiving the seed, first, however, being careful to have them slowly but well dried on mats in the shade, before they were put away with layers of dried wild banana leaf betwixt each layer of seed, knowing how easily a seed so rich in a drying-oil becomes rancid or too dry, and so losing all power of germination. Also I had the crates slung up to the beams of the Indian lodges to insure ventilation.
“I was working against time. It was true that the seed would still continue to ripen, and to fall from the trees for another month or so, but it would be inexpedient to risk the vitality of some thousands I had succeeded in securing. The rendezvous with Captain Murray of theAmazonaswould soon fall due at the river mouth, and if I missed that, when and how anothersuch opportunity? I had got to look upon the heavy oily seeds in their dappled skins as become very precious, after having backed them down so many long days tramping across the forest plateaux, and so lost no time in getting them carefully stowed under thetoldaof the canoe, and starting away downstream, duly meeting the steamer, as appointed, at the mouth of the Tapajos.
“I found Murray crabbed and sore from the experiences with his two rascally supercargoes. It appeared they had given instructions to land the whole of the trade-goods with which his ship had been freighted ostensibly for purchase of incoming rubber-season crop at the town of Manaos. He was then to anchor his ship at thebocaof the Rio Negro and 'await orders,’ they meanwhile to dispose of the goods, and to advise when they had got together sufficient rubber in order to load ship for the return trip. The time becoming unaccountably long, he landed, and on making inquiry he could only learn that the goods had indeed been disposed of, but no one could give any information as to his two supercargoes, and so found himself left with an empty ship on his hands.
“For my part, as the fine ship sped on her way with my prospective Hevea so far safe aboard, slung up fore and aft in their crates in the roomy, empty forehold, I became more and more exercised and concerned with a new anxiety, so as not much to heed Murray’s grumpiness. We were bound to call in at the city of Para, as the port of entry, in order to obtain clearance for the ship before we could go to sea. I was perfectly certain in my mind that if the authorities guessed the purpose of what I had on board, we shouldbe detained under plea for instruction from the Central Government at Rio, if not interdicted altogether. I had heard of the difficulties encountered in the Clements Markham introduction of theChinchonasin getting them out from the Montaña of Peru. Any such delay would have rendered my precious freight quite valueless and useless. But again fortune favoured. I had 'a friend at court’ in the person of Consul Green. He, quite entering into the spirit of the thing, went himself with me on a special call on the Barão do S——, 'chief of the Alfandiga,’ and backed me up as I represented 'to his Excellency my difficulty and anxiety, being in charge of, and having on board a ship anchored out in the stream, exceedingly delicate botanical specimens specially designated for delivery to Her Britannic Majesty’s own Royal Gardens of Kew. Even while doing myself the honour of thus calling on his Excellency, I had given orders to the captain of the ship to keep up steam, having ventured to trust that his Excellency would see his way to furnish me with immediate dispatch.’ An interview most polite, full of mutual compliments in best Portuguese manner, enabled us to get under way as soon as Murray had got the dingey hauled aboard.
“Now fairly away, I could breathe freely, and soon had the hatches off with the open-work crates slung up on lines fore and aft in the air, and free of danger from ship’s rats. Again blessed with fine weather, I was able to keep the hatches off all the way over.
“I got Murray to put me ashore at Havre, and there posted over to Kew, saw Sir Joseph Hooker, so as to enable him to dispatch a night goods-train to meet the shipAmazonason arrival at the Liverpool docks.
“June, 1876, was a time of commotion at Kew, as they were compelled to turn out orchid and propagating houses for service, and to make room for the sudden and all-unexpected inroad of the Hevea; but Sir Joseph was not a little pleased. The Hevea did not fail to respond to the care I had bestowed on them. A fortnight afterwards the glass-houses at Kew afforded (to me) a pretty sight—tier upon tier—rows of young Hevea plants, 7,000 and odd of them.”*
* “On the Plantation, Cultivation, and Curing of Para Indian Rubber,” by H. A. Wickham (Kegan Paul, Trench, Trübner and Co.).
When the Para seedlings were ready to be transplanted into the open, India could not afford to adopt them. So the majority of them were sent to Ceylon, and small batches to Burma, Java, and Singapore. The West Indies, too, were given a few to experiment with, but the seeds had been obtained specially for the purpose of introducing Para rubber into the East, so naturally the seedlings were nearly all distributed throughout the Eastern Tropics.
Most of the seedlings that went to Ceylon were planted in the Botanic Gardens at Heneratgoda, near Colombo, which were specially opened in the low-country region as an experimental centre of rubber cultivation. A few of them, however, were given a home in the island’s world-famous Gardens at Peradeniya, in the up-country neighbourhood of Kandy. The plants at Heneratgoda flowered for the first timein 1881, at the age of five; those at Peradeniya did not flower until 1884.