ON THE MOVE ONCE MORE.
“Mark! where his carnage and his conquests cease!
He makes a solitude, and calls it peace!”
BYRON.
Just as I was getting more reconciled to the new order of things it was
ordained that I should move farther south; move, too, in light marching
order, for the dogs of war were already astir in a land flowing with
milk and honey, the inhabitants of which professed that wonderful faith
that takes its name from Buddha, about which I shall have more to say
anon.
A week’s steaming brought us to Rangoon, the then head-quarters of the
conquering army, which was located within a stockade several miles in
circumference, protected by a deep, broad ditch, then upright massive
timbers backed by earthwork eight feet broad. The story of its capture
is too well known to bear repetition.
I now found myself confronted with a new phase of Eastern life, and on
the whole infinitely preferred it to what I had just quitted: the one
was civilization grafted, so to speak, on an alien stock; the other was
to all appearance still the abode of “primeval primitiveness.”
There were, of course, many—those especially with wives and children
far away—who thought otherwise; and while some regretted the
comforts of civilization, which they never appreciated until they
had experienced the want of them, there were others who pined for the
soothing influence of female society.
The space enclosed by the stockade was sufficiently large to
accommodate all the barracks, besides affording room for short walks
and rides. It was also possible to venture a short distance beyond,
though the unsettled state of the country rendered it the height of
imprudence to travel far; indeed, a friend and myself, who had ridden
on one occasion to a native village beyond the vast plantation of
Jack-fruit and pine-apples, gathered from the unmistakably hostile
proceedings of the inhabitants that discretion was the better part of
valour, and urged our ponies somewhat precipitously homeward.
I have called Burmah a land “flowing with milk and honey,” in
allusion to Nature’s prodigality in the animal, vegetable, and, in all
probability, mineral kingdoms, though the resources of the underground
wealth had at that time but little prospect of speedy development.
In comparison with its area, the country was very sparsely populated,
the majority of its inhabitants living on the immediate banks of
its many rivers, and leaving hundreds of square miles in undisputed
possession of the most luxuriant forests and the creatures that lived
therein.
There was only as much in the way of cultivation as just ministered to
their immediate wants, which were the most modest, the more so, as they
were for the most part vegetarians, and the soil and climate brought
forth abundantly with a minimum of trouble.
Then, too, the ubiquitous _bamboo_ furnished material for their
dwellings, for holding water, and a host of other purposes. The bamboo
stands, indeed, in much the same relation to the Burmese as coal to
us, and any cessation in the supply would be attended with consequences
scarcely less calamitous.
The pine and custard-apples, plantain or banana, and Jack-fruit grow to
perfection.
A well-grown and thoroughly ripe custard-apple, eaten when just ready
to fall to pieces on the slightest provocation, is certainly a pleasant
and enticing fruit, which may be eaten with impunity, but which, like
the rose, is not without its thorn, in the shape of a very unpleasant
after-taste. The hills on the right bank of the Irrawaddy, opposite
Prome, were celebrated for them, and the plantations, tastefully laid
out, formed quite a feature in the landscape.
The plantain of the East, or banana of the West, grows to perfection in
Burmah; those of Bengal are vastly inferior, while those grown under
glass in this country are sickly exotics, forming but a very poor
substitute for that which they pretend to be.
The Jack-fruit did not commend itself to the palate of Europeans: in
smell and taste it closely resembles the _durian_, which abounds in the
Malay Archipelago. The taste of both resembles that of the Jargonelle
pear; and both, strange to say, smell like rotten eggs.
There was a perfect forest of Jack-fruit trees extending many miles to
the west of the stockade. This was a favourite resort, both on account
of its numerous shady groves, in which the pine-apple grew in wild
luxuriance, and by reason of the number and variety of birds, reptiles,
insects, etc., which it afforded to the observant naturalist.
To ride or walk there required, however, some degree of caution. Below
lurked scorpions and snakes; above, running along the branches, were
numbers of very large and fierce black ants, furnished with formidable
nippers, which they did not hesitate to use most effectually whenever
they chanced to alight on the nape of one’s neck.
The fruit of these trees sometimes attains to an enormous size; one
suspended at either extremity of a bamboo being as much as a strong man
could carry.
Another creature that abounded in these forests was the kalong, or
flying fox, a large bat, which sleeps the whole day, hanging head
downwards from the branches, to which it clings with hooked claws.
Nothing could, perhaps, be more marked than the differences, both
physical and mental, that exist between the Burmese and the Hindoos and
Mohammedans of India. They have not a single feature in common—customs,
religion, ways of thinking are equally different. Burmah, as it was—for
I know not how far the conquering hand may have altered the spirit
of its dream since I knew it—was infinitely preferable. The pages of
history furnish us with proofs as abundant as they are sad, that no
nation can advance as long as the hand of the conqueror weighs it down;
there may be a spasmodic and artificial progress, but in reality the
conquered races recede, since there is in the East no possibility of
their absorbing and assimilating their conquerors, as did the Greeks
and Saxons of old, which is the only chance of their deriving lasting
benefit from the victors.
It would be about as easy “to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear”
as to bring aborigines round to our way of thinking and acting; they
acquire the vices of the dominant power, but unhesitatingly eschew its
virtues.
In the days that I am recalling, the Burmese were by no means
faultless, yet they acted up to their own idea of the eternal fitness
of things; and were, I doubt not, happier in their way, under their own
form of government, bad as we profess to consider it, than under ours.
Men and women were alike characterized by an independence of spirit,
the like of which I have never yet encountered in any other race;
they absolutely scorned any form of menial employment, so that Burmese
domestics were then unknown. This was sheer love of freedom, and not
merely the pride attaching to caste, which has no existence in Burmah;
their independence was visible in every action, so the yoke must bow
these haughty necks very low.
In average intelligence, too, they are infinitely above most of the
inhabitants of Hindostan: while the latter would merely pass one
by with a “salaam,” the Burmese used frequently to stop and speak,
perchance asking for a light, and always evincing the most undisguised
gratification if you but let them have a peep at the mechanism of your
watch.
The physical advantages are scarcely less striking; the men are not
handsome, and the women may be far from pretty, but the former were
sturdy, muscular specimens of humanity, and the latter possessed a good
figure and a striking head of raven hair, and were besides extremely
graceful.
Both were seen to the best advantage when trooping _en masse_ to the
pagoda with offerings to “Gautama,” the most imposing sight of its kind
that I ever witnessed in the East.
All were scrupulously clean, and dressed in their best, while the women
set off the blackness of their hair by interlacing with it the blossoms
of a white, waxy flower.
A little in advance of each group marched a _Pongyee_, a priest or
monk, sounding a loud gong; otherwise the silence was unbroken. One
remarked a total absence of the drumming, shouting, dancing, and
general turmoil that characterize most religious rites in India,
rendering them an unmitigated nuisance, for they necessitate police
supervision and sanitary precautions on an extensive scale. On these
occasions the sexes were separated, the men and women marching on
different sides of the road, both going and returning.
Their code of morality was said to be of a not very exalted order; but,
I blush to own it, this has become much a matter of opinion—
“And two in fifty scarce agree
On what is pure morality.”
Anyhow, they can in all probability compare very favourably in this
respect with any other Oriental nation, and, for the matter of that,
with many a European one.
Their detractors, or rather the preachers of the disinterested process
of civilization, have made capital out of their practice of parting
with their daughters for a pecuniary consideration; but this came into
vogue only when the European arrived on the scene and offered prices
for the girls that to their simple fathers appeared fabulous.
Nor, in their opinion, did the transaction cast the slightest slur on
the young lady’s character, since she was always at liberty to return
home and resume her old place in the family, if such were the desire
of the principal parties concerned. Moreover, Anglo-Indians are—I
apologize, _were_—unfortunately among those who, in some encounters
at all events, could not afford to throw stones; it used to be
emphatically impressed upon young ladies that a civilian was worth so
much, “dead or alive;” while the market-value of a military man was
fixed at considerably less.
Marriage was represented to them as a mere matter of £ s. d.,
a form of social barter; they were to pass by the “red coat” on
principle, concentrating all their blandishments on the “black” one.
In our insufferable egotism, which drivelling patriots dignify with the
name of insular pride, we are very apt to lay down a code of ethics for
others, without thinking it at all necessary to practise the morality
we preach.
As is customary in the East, most of the work fell to the lot of the
women, their lords and masters only condescending to lend a helping
hand whenever resources threatened to fail. The besetting vice of the
Burmese was gambling and betting, as much, in fact, a part and parcel
of their nature as with “Mr. John Chinaman;” on the whole, indeed, I
am of opinion that they cast the Celestial into the shade. At a certain
popular boat-race I remember sitting beside a Burmese of some position,
whose proceedings were veritably those of a lunatic; he danced and
cried, he undid his long black hair and tried to pull it out.
I too, so he deigned to inform me, should have behaved likewise, if
I had had such a bet on the race as he. In reply to my interrogation
as to the extent of this wonderful bet that appeared so to affect
him—“What have I betted? Oh! only my wife, children, house, clothes and
furniture!” He positively lost all, and disappeared.
Cock-fighting was another amusement at which large parties would
gladly assemble. The birds came of a good stock, were large, heavy,
well-spurred, and carefully bred, with, as I suspected, a strain of
the “jungle-fowl,” a shapely bird, which abounds in the jungle, though
difficult to get at on foot, and which, if hung for the proper time,
eats as well as pheasant.
The fanciers, each with his bird under his arm, would resort of an
evening to any convenient shady spot, clear a ring, and set to work
amid prodigious excitement. One never, perhaps, thoroughly grasped the
utter brutality of this sport until he had seen it practised by those
poor “savages;” in this case, however, it would have been too glaring
a case of “glass houses,” etc., etc., to have even criticized it!
The one physical exercise of which the Burmese had but a very imperfect
idea was the art of horse-riding. As they used very short stirrups,
and consequently kept their knees right above the saddle, their seat
was extremely insecure, only practicable indeed at the “amble,” a pace
peculiar to their ponies, horses being unknown.
The European eye measured the qualities of that indigenous animal, with
the result of soon placing it beyond the reach of ordinary mortals.
I bought one for 3_l._; in five years the price rose to 30_l._ In
fact, one of those crazes for which our society is famous, took that
direction; it suffered from “Pegu ponies” on the brain, talked of them,
dreamed of them.
The enthusiasm of Phaeton the ill-starred to emulate Jehu was scarcely
greater or more unfortunate than that of all sorts and conditions of
both sexes to drive a pair in a well-appointed, low carriage.
They were certainly well-bred animals, yet withal most docile; many a
night did mine carry me home with unerring instinct, when, owing to a
darkness that could be felt, I could not see his head.
The natives looked with undisguised amazement on our cavalry and
artillery horses: to begin with, the process of mounting sorely puzzled
them. Later on, when it was decided to weed them out, a few, sold by
auction, came into the possession of ambitious and adventurous Burmese,
one of whom I watched with great amusement in his fruitless endeavours
to mount. The climax was reached when, in despair, he tied the animal
to one of the posts of his verandah, and climbing over the railing from
inside, lowered himself into the saddle. Delighted beyond measure at
the success of his stratagem, he cautiously proceeded to “cast adrift,”
and doubtless enjoyed a famous ride, of which the element of excitement
was by no means the least attraction.
There was a peculiar kind of football in which these people excelled,
which in so far resembled our own “Association” that the use of the
hands was strictly forbidden. There, however, the resemblance ceased:
the ball, about the size of those used at croquet, was constructed of
strips of cane, and consequently very light; some thirty players would
form a large circle, and would keep the ball going from one to another,
with toes, heels, and knees, with wonderful skill and accuracy.
But the most striking of their national amusements was the theatrical
performance known as a “Pooay,” which was given in a kind of large
“Punch and Judy” show.
Seats were literally _taken_ early; that is to say, every one brought
a brick, deposited the same according to fancy, and forthwith squatted
upon it.
The _dramatis personæ_ were dolls dexterously manipulated by a
complicated arrangement of wires, while the men behind proved no
mean ventriloquists; the performance, too, was as lengthy as it was
excellent, for I have seen the audience assemble of an evening, and
break up when I have passed that way again _next morning_!
Any clever joke would be received with uproarious mirth, and—let the
reader be lenient in his judgment of these poor, untaught savages!—the
broader the allusion, the more they relished it.
Comparisons are, as a rule, odious, but the pharisaical suppression
of many native Burmese modes of recreation gives rise to reflections
that will find expression ere long in the outcry of an injured people.
We lay the flattering unction to our souls that we are not as others;
_we_, forsooth, forbid the natives to bet and gamble. Why can we
not at least have the honesty to admit that we hold India and Burmah
solely and entirely for the sake of the “loaves and fishes,” without
descending to cant about our duty as the pioneers of a religion with
which such races can have but little real sympathy, and a civilization
that—if, indeed, it be nothing worse—is at least no improvement on
their present state?
The new arrival is at once struck by the large number of places of
worship scattered broadcast over the country. They generally culminate
in a pagoda, a wonderful tapering structure, very solidly built,
and covered from the base upwards with gold-leaf, while the apex
is generally surmounted by an umbrella, the insignia of royalty, or
some other fantastic device. They were built in honour of Buddha, the
labour and material being voluntary gifts of the people. If offerings
of produce could be relied on as a measure of their devotion, then
were the Burmese an essentially religious people. Plantains, boiled
rice, curiously concocted native dishes, flowers, umbrellas—all were
presented in profusion, and all—not excepting the more perishable
portion of even the umbrellas—were disposed of by swarms of crows,
the more adventurous of which pounced upon the good things while the
worshippers were still busy with their devotions.
Of the many wondrous natural phenomena that so puzzle us Europeans
in the far East, the extraordinary instinct possessed by vultures and
other birds of prey is by no means the most inconsiderable. But a few
moments need elapse after a bullock falls dead on the march, and one
already sees black spots not far above the horizon, which soon prove to
be vultures making straight for the carcase with unerring precision.
Naturalists are divided in opinion as to whether this extraordinary
power of perception owes its origin to some unusual development of the
sense of vision, or to an equally unintelligible transcendency of the
olfactory organs: one fact, I believe, speaks strongly in favour of the
former hypothesis, and that is, that the birds as often as not approach
from windward.
The numerous roadside temples offered unlimited opportunities for
“looting,” the panacea for all military hardships; though the occasions
were indeed better than the prizes, which consisted for the most part
of images of Gautama covered with gold and silver foil.
All is, I imagine, fair in war; though in how far that rule admits
of modification in the case of a war declared by a dominant power
against a race of half-naked Orientals, I do not care to inquire. The
Burmese certainly bore the pillage of their temples in a philosophic
spirit, not to be met with even in a Christian country; they bowed to
the inevitable, they made a virtue of necessity, they trusted to the
teachings of their faith, rendering good for evil, so as to ultimately
reach Nirvana, the goal of all their earthly and spiritual ambition, in
the hope of which life was alone worth living.