I.

"The fine points of an elephant, sahib," said our guide Hassan, "are a

colour approaching to white, the nails perfectly black, and an intact

tail."

"I am glad to hear that an elephant has some qualities which recommend

it," said Denviers, good-humouredly. "I should think that the one upon

which we are riding is about as lazy as it is possible to be. I suppose

slowness is an unusually good point, isn't it, Hassan?" The Arab, who

was sitting before us on the elephant, gave it a stir with the

sharply-pointed spear which he held in his hand to urge it on, and then

glancing back at us, as we reclined lazily in the cushioned howdah, he

said inquiringly: "Are the sahibs tired already of travelling thus? Yet

we have fully two hours' journey before us."

"Hassan," I interposed, "this is a good opportunity for you to tell us

exactly what you heard about that Maw-Sayah when we were at Bhamo. It is

in consequence of that, indeed, that we are going to try to get among

these strange Kachyens; but as we are not quite sure of the details, you

may as well repeat them."

"The sahib shall be obeyed," responded our guide, and although careful

to keep a good watch in front, he turned his body slightly towards us as

he prepared to begin the narrative.

[Illustration: "THE SAHIB SHALL BE OBEYED."]

On reaching Burmah we stayed for several days in Rangoon, the Queen of

the East as it is called nowadays, although only remarkable formerly for

its famous monasteries of Talapoins and as a halting-place for the bands

of pilgrims on their way to the mighty Shway Dagohn pagoda. Thence we

journeyed up the Irawaddy, and having duly paid reverence to some of the

nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine pagodas of Pagan--the outcast

slaves of which city seemed a strange contrast to its otherwise absolute

desertion--we continued our journey by steamer as far as Mandalay.

Having endured the doubtful pleasure of a jaunt in a seatless, jolting

bullock-carriage--the bruises from which were not easily forgotten--we

eventually reached Bhamo, where Hassan entered into conversation with a

hill-man. From the latter he learnt a strange story, which was later on

told to us and the truth of which we hoped before long to fully test,

for soon afterwards we set out on an elephant, our faithful guide in

this new adventure again proving himself of the greatest service.

"Now, Hassan," said Denviers, "we are quite ready to hear this story

fully, but don't add any imaginary details of your own."

"By the Koran, sahib," began the Arab, "these are the words which were

those of him to whom I spoke under the shade of the log stockade."

"Which are, of course, unimpeachable," responded Denviers. "Anyone could

tell that from his shifty eyes, which failed to rest upon us fixed even

for a minute when we spoke to him afterwards." The Arab seemed a little

disconcerted at this, but soon continued:--

"The great Spirits or Nats, who guard the prosperity of Burmah, have

become greatly incensed with the Kachyens, not because they failed to

resist stoutly when the monarch was deposed a few years ago----"

"Then we are to have a modern story, this time, Hassan?" interrupted

Denviers. "I quite expected that you would commence with some long

worn-out tradition."

"The sahibs shall hear," the Arab went on. "No one who offends the Nats

of Burmah need expect anything but evil to follow. There are the Nats of

the sky, the Nats of the earth, the Nats of the Irawaddy, the Nats of

the five hundred little rivers, and the thousand Nats which guarded the

sacred person of the monarch----"

"Yes, Hassan," said Denviers, impatiently, "you mentioned them all

before. We haven't time to hear the list enumerated now; go on about

this one particular Nat which you say is causing such havoc among the

hill-tribes."

"Patience, sahib. The Nats were justly roused to anger because the

deposed monarch was not afterwards taken to the water's edge riding upon

an elephant instead of in a bullock-carriage."

"Well, Hassan," said Denviers, "judging from our own experience the Nats

seem to be pretty sensible, I must say--but how do they affect the peace

of mind of the Kachyens?"

"Listen, sahib. High among the hills which may be seen stretching before

us lies a village in which many of the Kachyens dwell, their occupation

being sometimes that of tillers of the land, but more often consisting

in planning and carrying out raids upon other hill-men, or of descending

at times to the plains, and there looting the towns wherein dwell more

peaceable tribes. In all their forays they had been successful, for

whenever their trusty dahs or swords were drawn, those who opposed them

invariably obtained the worst of the encounter. So powerful did they

become that at last those dwelling in the plains--Shans, Karenns, and

Talaings, too--made no resistance against their attacks; and when they

saw the produce of their fields carried away, thought themselves happy

not to have been slain. The reason why the Kachyens became so successful

in all they undertook was that a powerful forest Nat placed them under

its protection, and hence they could not be harmed by their foes.

"Now it chanced that the King was in great danger through following the

advice of his impetuous ministers, whereupon he summoned the Kachyens to

his assistance--for their fame as warriors had reached his ears long

before. But they, confident of securing their own safety whatever

happened to the monarch, refused to obey his command to march against

the Burman foes. The consequence was that when the indignity which I

have mentioned was offered to the deposed monarch, the Nats throughout

Burmah were furious with that one who ruled the village in which the

Kachyens dwelt, and they sent some of their number to destroy it. The

latter, however, appeased them by making a grim promise, which has been

only too faithfully kept.

"A few days afterwards a hill-man, who was clearing a part of the land

on the woody slope of the height, _saw the Nat_, which had never before

been visible, and, terrified at the strange form which it had assumed,

he ran hastily to the rest of the tribe, and, gathering them together,

held a consultation as to what should be done to appease it. Some

suggested that upon every tree trunk should be scratched appealing

messages, which the Nat might read; others were in favour of placing a

huge heap of spears and swords near the spot where the embodied Nat had

been seen in order that it might be tempted to destroy all those who

urged it to injure them. The messages and weapons, however, when placed

for the Nat to observe did no good, for one dreadful night a rattling

was heard of the bamboos, which lay before one of the Kachyen's huts,

and the man, going hastily to see what caused it, was swiftly carried

away in the darkness without apparently uttering a single cry! For many

nights in succession a similar scene was enacted, for he at whose door

the dire summons came dared not refuse to answer it lest the whole

household might perish.

"Nothing more was ever seen of those thus strangely carried off, and the

Kachyens, each of whom feared that his own end might come next,

determined to consult some famous Buddhist priests who dwelt not far

from them, and who held charge over the famous marble slabs which the

great War Prince of Burmah had caused to be engraved concerning their

illustrious traditions. The man whom ye saw me conversing with by the

stockade was the one whom the tribe intrusted with the task; but the

priests, after much consideration among themselves of the object of his

visit, refused to have anything to do with such a tragic affair, and

thereupon dismissed their suppliant.

[Illustration: "THE BUDDHIST PRIESTS."]

"This Kachyen, when sorrowfully returning towards the hills, fearing

that the tribe would destroy him because of his non-success, chanced to

meet on his way a Mogul, to whom he repeated the story. The latter,

laying his hand on his red-dyed and fierce-looking beard, advised the

Kachyen to enter a hole in the mountain side and to consult a famous

Maw-Sayah, or juggler, who dwelt there. This juggler promised assistance

if the tribe would pay him a great reward in the event of his success,

and when they agreed to this he entered the village and waited for dusk

to arrive. Again the dreadful rattling was heard, and another Kachyen

stepped out to meet his fate. None of the tribe dared to look at what

transpired, except the juggler, and he too disappeared! The next

morning, however, he came into the village and called its inhabitants

together. When they had solemnly agreed to his conditions, he stated

that the Nat was bent upon destroying them all, and that to attempt to

escape by means of flight would only lead to quicker death. Then he told

them what the result of his intercession for them had been.

"The Nat had been persuaded to destroy only one victim on each seventh

evening at dusk, and had appointed him to see that certain conditions

were not broken. He was to have a hut at his disposal, and into this the

men were to go by lot, and thus the Nat would obtain a victim when the

time came round. They were forbidden to wander about after sunset, and

whatever noises were made not to hearken to them, since the Maw-Sayah

would see that the others were unharmed. So long had this dreadful

destruction lasted that more than one-half of the men in the Kachyen

village, or town, as it might well be called from the large number who

inhabited it, had perished, and yet the Nat still demanded a victim, and

the Maw-Sayah is there to see that the compact is fulfilled. The man who

told this story, sahibs, declares that the keeper of the Nat has by this

means obtained sway over the Kachyens to such an extent that they have

become his abject slaves, for the custom of drawing lots has been

abolished, and he selects whom he will to sacrifice to the Nat. By some

means this Kachyen offended the Maw-Sayah, who thereupon condemned him,

but he, in terror of the sudden and silent death in store for him, fled

to Bhamo, where he lives in momentary fear of destruction. Such then,

sahibs, is the story, and it is to see this Maw-Sayah and the Nat at

their fell work to-night that even now our faces are turned to the high

land before us, up which we must climb, for there is but one narrow

pathway leading to the village."