Dr Murphy, now civil surgeon at Maubin, in the delta of Burma, where
this is written, is a unique phenomenon. That is a clumsy phrase to
apply to any fellow-creature, but accurate. He is a perfectly popular
European official--popular in spite of being an official, because he
is a good doctor, spontaneously sympathetic, kind and helpful, and
does not bully or grab.
Two little facts may be told on the authority of the present Deputy
Commissioner of Maubin district and his predecessor, to give Dr Murphy
the pleasure of seeing himself as others see him, and to give
strangers a glimpse of him. In 1908, when he was about to go away on
sorely-needed sick leave, the good people of Maubin town, who did not
realise how ill he was, got up a petition to the effect that
Dr Murphy's leave should be refused, as Maubin town could not possibly
dispense with him. When he was expected to return in 1909, the Deputy
Commissioner hastened to Rangoon to solicit that Dr Murphy might be
posted again to Maubin. That was how he came to be in Maubin this year
(1909), when he told me three pretty anecdotes, which, knowing him
well, I retell now with as much confidence as if I had seen and heard
with my own eyes and ears everything he told me he saw and heard.
In 1883 he and his brother were schoolboys at Mussoorie in the
Himalayas; and were in the habit of frequenting a glen where lived a
tribe of Indian baboons, "langurs" the people name them. These are
"black-faced, white-whiskered, long-tailed, big, grey monkeys, not by
any means as tall as a man, but as thick in the arm." They are a
different species from the African baboons, but quite as clannish.
They live on terms of neutrality with mankind, as the various tribes
of men may be said to live with each other; that is to say, open
hostilities are strictly avoided on both sides, and stealing is
restricted to what can be done in secret. In this instance, as the
stealing is all on one side, it might be said they levied tribute upon
men, but they do not attack people. School children at Simla have told
this writer that the "wild" baboons often sit and watch them, they and
the children eyeing each other with equal curiosity.
Of course, they are not Quakers, nor even Hindus. If people flung
stones at them, they would fling stones in return. The little brown
fisher monkey of Burma, too, will do that. But "in deference to Hindu
prejudices," the English leave them alone, so that they have probably
never noticed the English. They pay no taxes, these white-whiskered
gentlemen; and reciprocate human forbearance. "Live and let live," is
their rule with men, and so, in general, schoolboys hardly notice
them.
Great therefore was the surprise of the two little Irishmen one day to
notice the baboons in a state of excitement, jabbering loudly, and
plainly preparing for battle. Their women and children were all
huddled in one place, and the big males gathered in another, moving in
a body. The boys, as if by instinct, followed the crowd of males "to
see the fun," whatever it might be, just as in the Highlands of
Scotland, when they were inhabited, the boys used to follow the men at
funerals and weddings "to see the fights."
Their curiosity was richly rewarded. The baboons began to bait a
solitary, angry bear. The boys were dangerously close to the bear
before they saw him; but he did not heed them, which was lucky. A
bear, encountered at random, is often "worse than a tiger," it is
said; because the tiger can always get out of the way when he wants,
but the bear is so slow that he despairs of escaping, and turns and
rends the man who has met him. In this case, luckily for the two
little Murphys, the bear was preoccupied. The baboons swarmed noisily
in the trees around and above him. The elder of the two boys, who
alone saw much, said that he saw them incessantly, one hard upon
another, come close enough to slap the bear violently with the open
palm of the hand on back or belly, on head or side, on whatever point
seemed safest of access--Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! Their
objurgations were like the sound of a cataract. The bear was
distracted, snapping and striking here and there, but always missing.
The baboons relied on their agility to escape his teeth and paws, with
complete success, so far as the boys saw; but the boys did not linger.
They had not the feeling of security that the baboons had; and,
thankful to have escaped notice, "Run, run," cried the elder, and they
ran to a safe distance. There they stood and listened; and when the
thunder of the battle and the shouting indicated the bear's retreat,
the boys consulted the hillmen, and were told that these battles,
which were familiar to the hillmen, always ended in that way.
The glen of the baboons was open to the south and east, sheltered and
sunny, and convenient for the fields and gardens, in which the baboons
could seek for change of diet. The adjoining glen of the bears had a
wetter aspect. True, with all its wetness, it had many oaks whose
acorns were dear to the hearts of the bears, and they meant to keep
it; but why not have the other glen also? They esteemed the baboons no
more than the Belgians esteem the negroes. So, from time to time, an
Imperialist bear invaded the land of the baboons; but the hillmen said
that they did not think the same bear ever came twice. The reason was
that the bear, invading, always came alone. He was too inveterate an
individualist to form a Chartered Company. He did not even hunt in
couples. So the invader, irresistible as he seemed, was always
repulsed by the solid regiment of baboons.
Thus it is that men and baboons are taught the need of solidarity. As
Benjamin Franklin quietly and sublimely remarked on 4th July 1776--"We
must all hang together, else we shall all hang separately."