UNDER ORDERS.
“He is a soldier, fit to stand by Cæsar,
And give direction.”
SHAKESPEARE.
_Facile est descensus!_ It was one thing to be pulled against a strong
stream; quite another to have it in our favour. It was one thing to
ascend the river, a solitary European in the company of many natives,
but very different to be one of a fleet going down with some two
hundred Europeans fully armed, men of training and renown, who had won
many a hard-contested fight in the face of fearful odds.
I do not suppose that any regiment had seen more active service
than the old 1st Bengal Fusiliers, or had been more instrumental in
conquering and defending our vast Asiatic possessions.
In physique they could not on the whole compare with their brother
regiment on the Madras side. The reason was obvious; the constant gaps
occurring in their well-tried ranks had to be filled by an annual
supply of young recruits, while the Madras contingent were, from
their position, deprived of the opportunities of seeing such service
till the Mutiny broke out, when they demonstrated unmistakably that
their fighting qualities were only lying dormant, and waiting for an
opportunity to come to the fore.
With either regiment you might go anywhere and accomplish anything that
lay within the power of man; and, though several decades now lie buried
with the past, I doubt not but they are still the same, only called by
different names.
We had approached Pegu under difficulties, creeping along in a nervous,
spasmodic manner, and on the look-out for unknown dangers at every
turn; we left it at such a pace, that even the monkeys looked askance
at us, all their former anger now changed to sheer amazement.
If my memory serves me right, we reached Rangoon the same evening,
and were transferred to a river-steamer and flat, the latter being a
cargo-boat. I beheld the old stockade, and some of the familiar faces,
for the last time.
When I next landed there, eighteen months afterwards, not a vestige
remained; the whole place having been transformed to suit the European
style of living. The only episode that remains to recall this landing
to my mind was, strangely enough, my being introduced to a European
lady. I had long concluded that all Europeans were of my own sex,
so that on the occasion of this _rencontre_ I was as bashful and
tongue-tied as a youth in love. Since then, when I have been more
constantly thrown into their society, my tongue has gradually loosened
and my blushes have—alas!—grown imperceptible; but all this has not
been accomplished in a day, nor without a considerable amount of inward
perturbation.
This reintroduction to a specimen of the fairer portion of creation,
though of an ephemeral nature, doubtless had a salutary effect on
me; but, however much I may have desired to improve our acquaintance,
inclination had to succumb to duty, and on the morrow the paddle-wheels
were in motion, and the steamer forged ahead, while the flat, attached
by a stout hawser, followed merrily in its wake.
Rangoon gradually faded from view; we were ploughing the main artery
of the Irrawaddy, and our worthy navigator took a short cut, which may
have saved time, but was in the end far from conducive to the comfort
of the men.
Sunset came upon us in a creek notorious for its elephantine and
ravenous mosquitoes, for when that fiery orb sank in the western sky,
the captain had no choice but to anchor.
Navigation of a river required the utmost caution even by day; by night
any attempt in that direction would have been foolhardy.
I have already given a faint idea of the sufferings endured by the
men the whole of that livelong night. I have already apologized for
the tropical temperature of their language, and I shall not dwell any
longer on so painful an experience.
Leaving this place of evil reputation the following morning, we once
more entered the main stream and pursued the even tenor of our way.
Some unusually large alligators were basking in the sun along the
muddy banks of the river’s many outlets; and so nearly did their own
colour correspond with that of their surroundings, that it was often
impossible to distinguish them, until, on being awakened by the thud
of the paddle-wheels, they would look up and then crawl or tumble into
the water. Now and again, a rifle was brought to bear on them; but
the bullets would simply glide off their impenetrable hides, and they
crawled leisurely down to the water as soon as they had had enough of
such amusement.
Years afterwards, when floating down a river, I shot one that was lying
asleep on a sandbank. Beyond once opening its mouth, it never moved;
but on landing and approaching cautiously, we discovered that it was
quite dead. That shot was, in the mysterious phraseology of sportsmen,
a “fluke”!
We soon passed the scene of the disaster that had, only a few months
before, caused such a sensation in Burmah and Calcutta, bringing on
the devoted heads of certain parties one of Lord Dalhousie’s stinging
rebukes.
Curiously enough, this check to our otherwise triumphant progress
occurred in the same place (and under very similar circumstances) as
that of 1825. Mismanagement, divided authority and imperfect knowledge
of the place and its resources, one and all combined, led to the
failure.
The “butcher’s bill” was a heavy one, and our hospitals at Rangoon were
crowded with wounded men. As I was probing the wound of a soldier who
had been struck in the thigh, there rolled into my hand a gingal ball
the size of a small orange. It was of iron, beaten into circular form
and covered with facets; an ugly missile, capable of causing a very
dangerous, jagged wound.
Fortunately for my patient, it had well nigh spent itself, otherwise it
must have shattered the whole thigh. In another case, a bullet entering
the elbow of the right arm, came out at the left. He was in the act of
loading when hit, and the bullet had travelled the whole way under the
skin, which subsequently mortified, leaving an extensive surface that
was only healed with the greatest difficulty.
Instead, therefore, of viewing the scene from a cargo boat, and
surviving to delight the reader with these interesting reflections,
my bones might have been bleaching in that very jungle, for it was
actually for this expedition that my services were declined in an
abrupt manner that has already received recognition in a previous
chapter.
Not far above the place with such a chequered military history, we
encountered a boat proceeding down river with unusual speed, and could
only just gather a bare outline of the news it was conveying—viz. the
assassination of a person holding a high position—when it continued its
course with the same energy as before.
Circumstances of a peculiar nature must have attended a tragedy of
this kind, for, as I have already pointed out, crimes of such turpitude
rarely disfigured the Burmese character in the days of yore.
They were singularly free from the foul breath of that “green-eyed
monster,” jealousy, the mainspring of two-thirds of the long and
appalling list of crimes with which the natives of India are branded,
and furnished with abundant food for litigation.
Climate is no doubt a powerful factor; but this does not account for
such wide differences in the character of two neighbouring nations, the
reason for which must be sought rather in the degree in which they act
up to the moral code laid down for them by Buddha.
On a par with the rest of this teaching, the distance between the sexes
was strained to its utmost extent, an exaggeration that amounted to
absurdity, if not crime, for to attain “complete Nirvana” a man must
not even look at the opposite sex, not even, in theory, at his own
mother if she were drowning. He might throw her a log, if at hand,
but no more. The ties of matrimony cannot, one would imagine, be very
strong among a nation, of which the men think nothing of staking their
wives and children on a wager, while the wives acquiesce in it as a
perfectly reputable proceeding!
The appearance presented by the banks between which we were now
advancing, was by no means as wild and undisturbed by the hand of man
as the Pegu branch; villages and cultivated patches met the eye rather
frequently, though of so inconsiderable an extent as to imply that the
country was but sparsely populated. It was up the smaller tributary
streams that their dwellings nestled, beyond the immediate influence
of a river subject to sudden floods. They were built on piles as an
additional security, and even then, communication could at times only
be kept up by means of boats.
Not an agreeable mode of living, according to our notions, but then the
Burmese had never known any other, and besides, being to all intents
and purposes amphibious, they were endowed by nature with temperaments
of the Mark Tapley order, and consequently happy under almost any
circumstances. Very weird was the sound of their strange voices, as
they passed us dexterously paddling their canoes, and chanting one of
their barbaric songs.
They would stop and look at us as we steamed past, as would also the
women and children peeping from behind the trees, wondering whether
we were really children of this earth, and doubtless frightened by the
noise of the paddles. Many of them probably recalled the incidents of
the first Burmese war; the manner in which we fought and the weapons we
made use of accounting for the rapidity with which they yielded all the
important places to an organization well fitted, as they could see, to
carry all before it. Now and then by carefully planned ambushes in the
depths of their jungles they might score an occasional advantage, but
any open encounter invariably ended in their confusion.
Temples, poles bearing all manner of flags, and images of Gautama,
cross-legged and contemplative as usual, and certainly the reverse
of prepossessing, met the eye wherever villages existed, and in many
places where they did not.
Some of the temples and Pon-gyee houses were exceedingly elegant in
their design.
Without any remarkable adventure, we arrived one evening at Prome,
where we anchored, without, however, landing. It was unquestionably
situated in the prettiest part of the river, which here narrowed
between a range of low hills clad in verdure.
The Pagoda, some little way inland, stood out in bold relief on rising
ground, while the numerous Pon-gyee houses, scattered here and there,
lent an additional charm to the scene. As the sun blazed against the
Pagoda next morning, we were off again, having but a short distance
to traverse before forging the last link in the chain by reporting
ourselves at that important frontier station, Theyetmyo.
The reunion of a regiment, that has been for some time scattered
in detachments over a large country, resembles that of a large
family under similar conditions; and human nature, bad as it may
be, undeniably scored on the credit side in such a meeting. There is
generally no lack of gaps, whereby such proceedings are duly leavened
with sadness, and there may be raw recruits, uninfluenced as yet by the
_esprit de corps_ which animates the older hands.
On this occasion the absentees returned intact, which was not only
a piece of good fortune, but reflected great credit on the officers
in command; in a bad climate and under every disadvantage, such a
satisfactory result could not have been attained without constant
supervision, attention to important details, and a thorough knowledge
of the conditions of a soldier’s life, and how to handle a body of
men discreetly. It is to be hoped that they obtained the praise due to
them. It is not always so in mundane affairs. Among notable instances
of neglect in this particular that occur to me, I may mention a couple
of cases in the Mutiny that appeared to me especially flagrant.
A clergyman, for instance, who bore the heat and burden of the day,
was present at all the operations in and around Cawnpore, scrupulously
read the burial service under a heavy fire, and nursed gallant Peel in
his own quarters at imminent risk to himself. All he obtained for this
heroic conduct was a scant notice in the Gazette, not even a decoration
or cross.
On another occasion, a handful of officers responded to the call and
charged some guns, when the Goorkhas had refused to advance; the thanks
which they received were hardly worth the paper they were written on.
The welcome was cordial on all sides; all hands vied in their eagerness
to carry the baggage from the boat to the barracks, and there was no
mistaking the expression of honest satisfaction which lighted up their
faces. The men celebrated the event after their own fashion, and the
scanty means at their disposal; the officers in theirs by a dinner
which, if not aldermanic, was at least creditable to caterer and cook
in such an out-of-the-way place.
I was honoured with an invitation, and went with the captain of the
steamer, in whose company I had to return to Prome the following
morning. There is no rest, they say, for some people. Having delivered
over my charge, I had no longer any immediate responsibility, and
should be a free man for about a day. The pleasure of the evening was
further enhanced by my unexpectedly meeting an old schoolfellow, one of
the officers of the regiment. Although we had not met for upwards of
a dozen years, recognition was mutual, indeed his face was not easily
to be forgotten. A mournful kind of beauty ran through his family in a
very marked degree; and on one occasion during the Mutiny, when riding
into a station, I recognized standing by a gun, a brother of his, with
whom I was also at school. The former I still encounter occasionally
where men most do congregate to watch our game of games; his brother is
at rest.
One of the saddest features of a “retrospect” consists in the thinning
of the ranks of old comrades. Year by year they fall away, leaving
one feeling very old and isolated, and new friends are but poor
compensation for those of one’s youth, around whom cling so many
pleasant memories. I well remember the day that my old friend went into
action by my side: the bullets came in showers; men were falling fast,
so indeed were the leaves, which gathered thick about us like those in
Vallambrosa. We were five hundred against ten thousand, but, as our men
refused to advance, a hasty retreat back into the entrenchment was our
only alternative....
The party was certainly kept in full swing until a late hour; and we
had much to relate of past and present, for there was no knowing when
we might meet again. The regiment would in time return to India, a
larger country than those at home are generally given to suppose; and
there again we did encounter one another, and, curiously enough, both
were once more on the war-path.
At last, we broke up; and, bidding our entertainers adieu, the captain
and myself made our way back to the steamer, where I slept the sleep of
the weary.
Had I been my own master, I should have elected to remain for a few
days at Theyetmyo, in order to look around; but I was under orders, and
literally, as well as metaphorically, the captain was in the same boat
as myself, more work having been cut out for both of us by those who
pulled the wires.
Landing late one afternoon and re-embarking soon after daybreak,
enabled one to form but a hazy idea of the place. I remember a very
brief walk, a mess-room and—the reader will forgive me any details of
what occurred after dinner! It was an important station, as it guarded
the line which separated our acquired territory from that of the King
of Ava, the legitimate owner of the whole.
I noticed, however, that the position was judiciously chosen; and was
doubtless impregnable while protected by the 1st Bengal Fusiliers who,
if attacked, would have given a good account of themselves. The men
were also more healthy on the whole than those of other stations, where
disease usually gave the doctor more work than either sword or bullet.
Our operations had so far been confined to the banks of the rivers; of
the interior, its mighty jungles and mineral resources, we knew little
or nothing. We merely annexed the lower half of the country, rich
indeed, but from all accounts inferior to the upper part.
Most men, weatherwise in political meteorology, prophesied that the
course of events would compel us to steal the whole loaf; but the time
arrived considerably later than they had anticipated.
The Mutiny, disturbances on the Indian frontiers, European
complications and the stealthy encroachments of Russia kept us
otherwise well employed; an advantage, inasmuch as it enabled us
to consolidate the territory which we had already acquired, before
impetuously rushing further afield.
When the occasion did arrive, the succession of events clearly
demonstrated the difficulty of subduing the more warlike and energetic
races further north, at bay in the heart of a country immeasurably
more adapted to their peculiar mode of warfare; and the annals of
that campaign reveal many obstacles in the shape of trying marches and
loss, irrespective of disease, but they also teach how perseverance,
supported by ample resources, conquered in the long run.
With this last achievement in furtherance of our already colossal
mercantile development, it looks as if, as far as Asia is concerned, we
had at length arrived at the end of our tether; and well might we echo
Alexander’s complaint, that there are no more worlds left to conquer.
With the vast empire of China, which bounds our possessions on the
east, we are scarcely likely to meddle; looking at the northern
frontier, neither Nepaul nor Bhootan would be particularly desirable
acquisitions; and as for Thibet, we shall, if wise, leave that
inhospitable region alone, except under the utmost provocation. Our
western frontier has certainly caused sufficient anxiety, and in the
event of European complications is likely to cause more. Not very long
ago, we had a golden opportunity of rendering it unassailable; but just
then another party took up the reins of Government in this country, a
party pledged to reverse the policy of its predecessors. It fulfilled
its promise with a vengeance; so much so, indeed, that its advent was
by many considered synonymous with Russia’s opportunity.
Our eastern frontiers having at length received their geographical
limitation, insatiable John Bull is now gaining ground in the
neighbouring continent, and it is an unfortunate omen for the new
departure, that at the very outset its horizon was darkened by
accusations, which, whether true or false, must dim the halo that at
first surrounded that well-intentioned expedition to relieve a party
who, it appears, would much rather have been left alone....
In spite of the late hour at which I turned in, I was up on deck at an
early hour next morning. With the indispensable cup of tea and the most
enjoyable pipe of the day, the captain and myself paced the deck as the
vessel travelled down the river at a great pace, passing objects almost
as soon as they came in sight. I should have liked more of this river
life, which always appeared to me the most enjoyable way of travelling
in a hot climate. By day, the movement created a breeze; at night,
which was much cooler than on land, one was considerably less tormented
by mosquitoes.
Early hours, so impressed upon us in my younger days by the advice
contained in a well-known couplet, were also the rule to the advantage
of every one, and they were certainly conducive to health, if not in
every case to wealth and wisdom. A speciality of our river steamers
used to be the excellence of the food supplied on board; you might
sit down without an appetite, but the Malay cooks would provoke one:
in the serving up of fish they were particularly successful, though
unfortunately their own species lack flavour, while we spoil our own
delicious harvest of the sea by our lamentable ignorance of cookery. A
Malay would do more with the sole of one’s boot than an English cook
with one from the Dogger-bank; and would make it more palatable and
digestible.
When travelling by steamer on duty, the sum of Rs. 5 per diem was
deducted from one’s pay under the name of “table money;” and, as it
included everything, it could not be termed excessive. In the matter of
liquor, the system naturally admitted of great abuse, though in all my
river trips I never saw more than one instance of advantage being taken
of it.
Long ere this, Government has probably taken a leaf out of the book
of the P. & O., reducing passage-money, and charging wine, &c.,
separately.
* * * * *
And now, having arrived alongside the jetty at Prome, it only remained
for me to go ashore and report myself. No; another duty had first to
be performed, one seldom or never of an agreeable nature; and that was
taking leave of the captain, a very good fellow, who had studied our
comfort in every way and was a favourite all along the line.
It proved only a temporary farewell, for I often met him again in his
cruises, smoking with him the pipe of peace and enjoying a certain dish
which he knew how to prepare _secundum artem_.