d the drooping boughs, the prevailing
green of the spacious woods relieved by the rosy purple of
Bougainvillea mantling a pillared verandah, or by great vases of
crimson and yellow flowers, bordering broad flights of stone steps.
Life on a great nutmeg plantation retains patriarchal character and
archaic charm; the multitude of dependents calls forth, in the present
day at any rate, much of kindly solicitude, and though the unvarying
sameness of existence sometimes proves the serpent which destroys the
peace of the idyllic Eden in young and eager hearts, the ramifications
of the large family party, gathered under one roof, mitigate the
monotony of daily tasks, and supply the necessary mental friction. Work
in the nutmeg-woods begin at 5 a.m., when a pealing bell summons the
labourers to each plantation for their different duties of gathering
the nuts, drying the mace, or sorting and liming the fruit. The
beautiful forest constitutes the world of the nutmeg-gatherer, both for
labour and recreation. In these dusky avenues youth and maiden tell
each other Love's eternal story, wandering away into the dreamland
shadows, vocal with sweeter melody than that of bird or breeze. The
musical call of the nutmeg-pigeon serves as a danger-signal, uttered
by sympathising friends, when love must yield to life's stern realities
in the person of the overseer. An ardent courtship often contributes to
the rapid filling of the nutmeg-basket in the hand of a rustic beauty,
whose admirers strive to secure for her the premium awarded for special
diligence, and a judicious official learns on occasion to be
conveniently deaf to the feigned voice of the _manoek faloer_. If the
chivalrous zeal of the brown lover is apt to overleap frontiers, and to
fill the baskets of one plantation with the produce of the other, the
ethics of Banda demonstrate the identity of human nature when swayed by
the passion which, according to circumstances, wrecks Troy or raids a
nutmeg orchard. A story is told of a planter who, in consequence of
engaging a bevy of attractive maidens for the year's work, was rewarded
by a phenomenal harvest of nutmegs, though the adjacent estates were
barren of fruit. Evening shadows darken apace in the woodland world,
and work ceases at three in the afternoon, when the store of gathered
fruit is brought to the _pagger_, where drying and liming sheds
surround the central warehouse. The nutmeg-pickers sort the ripe nuts
in an open gallery