She also saw a coffee plantation.  The coffee-trees stand in rows upon tolerably steep hillocks.  Their height ranges from six feet to twelve; and they begin to bear sometimes as early as the second, but in no case later than the third year.  They are productive for at least ten years.  The leaf is long and slightly serrated, and the flower white; while the fruit hangs down like a cluster of grapes, and resembles a large cherry, which varies from green to red, then to brown, and almost black.  While red, the outer shell is soft; but eventually it becomes perfectly hard, until it may be compared to a wooden capsule.  Blossoms and ripe fruit are found on the same tree at the same time; so that a crop may be gathered at almost any season of the year.  After the berries are plucked, they are spread out in spacious areas enclosed by a wall about twelve feet high, with small drains to carry off the rain-water.  Here the coffee is allowed to dry in the heat of the sun, and it is then shaken into large stone mortars, where it is lightly pounded with wooden hammers, set in motion by water power.  The whole mass falls into wooden boxes attached to a long table, at which sit the negro workers, who separate the coffee from the husk, and put it into flat copper pans.  In these it is carefully and skilfully turned about over a slow fire, until desiccation is complete.  On the whole, says Madame Ida Pfeiffer, the preparation of the coffee is not laborious, and the harvest much more easily gathered than one of corn.  The negro, while plucking the coffee, stands erect, and the tree protects him from the heat of the sun.  His only danger is from poisonous snakes, and a sting from one of these is a very rare occurrence.

Another novelty which much impressed our traveller was the sight of the frequent burning forests.  These are set on fire in order to clear the ground for cultivation.  In most cases she viewed the tremendous spectacle from a distance; but one day she realized it in all its details, as her road lay between a wood in flames on the one hand, and the brushwood, crackling and seething, on the other.  The space between the double rows of fire did not exceed fifty paces in breadth, and was completely buried in smoke.  The spluttering and hissing of the fire was distinctly audible, and through the dense mass of vapour shot upward thick shafts and tongues of flame, while now and then the large trees crashed to the ground, with loud reports, like those of artillery.

[A Forest of Fire:  page45.jpg]

“On seeing my guide enter this fiery gulf,” says our traveller, “I was, I must confess, rather frightened;” and her dread was surely very excusable.  She plucked up courage, however, when she saw that her guide pushed forward.  On the threshold, so to speak, sat two negroes, to indicate the safe, and, in truth, the only path.  The guide, in obedience to their warning, spurred on his mule, and, followed by Madame Pfeiffer, galloped at full speed across the desert of fire.  Flames to the right of them, flames to the left of them, onward they dashed, and happily effected the passage in safety.