We went only a dozen miles in the
train, and then were turned out into what is called a coach, but is
really a very small rough wagonnette, capable of holding six people
with tolerable comfort, but into which seven, eight, and even nine
were crammed. By the time the vehicle was fully laden, we found there
was positively no room for even the one box into which Tom's things
and my own had all been packed; so we had to take out indispensable
necessaries, and tie them up in a bundle like true sailors out for a
holiday, leaving our box behind, in charge of the station-master,
until our return. The first part of the drive was not very
interesting, the road passing only through paddy-fields and endless
tea and coffee plantations. We reached Pusillawa about two o'clock,
where we found a rough and ready sort of breakfast awaiting us. Thence
we had a steep climb through some of the finest coffee estates in
Ceylon, belonging to the Rothschilds, until we reached Rangbodde. Here
there was another delay of half an hour; but although we were anxious
to get on, to arrive in time for dinner, it was impossible to regret
stopping amidst this lovely scenery. The house which serves as a
resting-place is a wretched affair, but the view from the verandah in
front is superb. A large river falls headlong over the steep wall of
rock, forming three splendid waterfalls, which, uniting and rushing
under a fine one-arched bridge, complete this scene of beauty and
grandeur.
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