BHAMÔ.
Arrival at Bhamô--Our quarters--The town--The Woon’s house--The
Shan-Burmese--Kakhyen man-stealing--The environs--Old
Tsampenago--Legendary history--The Shuaykeenah pagodas--The Molay
river--The first defile--Delays and intrigues--Sala--The new Woon--Our
departure--Tsitkaw--Mountain muleteers--The Manloung lake--The
phoongyee’s farewell.
We found some difficulty in steering the long steamer through the
channels, but anchored about 5 P.M. on the 22nd of January off the
river front of Bhamô, in a very deep and broad channel. Our arrival
attracted crowds, but the whistle and rush of steam drove many into a
precipitate retreat. We had now reached our true point of departure.
Whatever had been the uncertainties of the untried navigation of the
river, the real dangers and difficulties of the attempt to penetrate
Western China were now to begin. We bore the proclamation of the king
commanding all Burmese subjects to aid us. But there was no governor
of Bhamô to execute the royal orders, and the secret intentions or
inclinations of the Burmese were yet to be tested. The difficulties
of the unknown road over the Kakhyen mountains, the hostility or
friendship of the mountaineers, and of the Shan population between them
and Yunnan, were equally untried. Moreover, though it had scarcely
been realised in all its bearings by our own British officials,
Yunnan was no longer a well ordered province of the Chinese empire;
it was disorganised by the successful rebellion of the Mahommedan
Chinese, called Panthays by the Burmese, who had established a partial
sovereignty, extending from Momien to Tali-fu. The frontier trade had
been materially interrupted, partly by the desolation caused by the
internecine warfare, and partly by the depredations of imperial Chinese
partisans. Of these, the most dreaded leader was a Burman Chinese,
known as Li-sieh-tai, a faithful officer of the old _régime_, who had
established himself on the borders of Yunnan, and waged a guerilla
war against the Panthays and their friends. His name is Li, and his
so-called small name is Chun-kwo, while from his mother having been a
Burmese, he is also known as Li-haon-mien, or Li the Burman. As having
been raised to the rank of a Sieh-tai in the Chinese army, he was
called Li-sieh-tai or Brigadier Li.[15]
In Bhamô itself there were a number of Chinese merchants, who were
unlikely to favour any project which threatened to admit the hated
barbarians to a share of their monopoly and profits. This may give
some idea of the state of things which we found on our arrival. Our
illusions as to a speedy or easy progress were soon dissipated, and
after a formal visit from the two tsitkays, or magistrates, ruling
the northern and southern divisions of the town, it became evident
that we must prepare for a long stay at Bhamô. The royal order to
provide transport had only been received by the Woon on the eve of
his departure on his fatal expedition to Momeit. Nothing, therefore,
had been done; nor could they venture to act until the new governor
arrived. The next best thing was to insist on their carrying into
effect the royal order to build a house for us, which had not been
done. This they reluctantly performed, and in a few days a bamboo
edifice was run up close to the Woon’s house, consisting of a central
hall, with three bedrooms on either side, and a verandah at each end of
the house. A small outhouse accommodated the servants and baggage, and
the guard was quartered in an adjacent zayat; a tent pitched in front
of the house served as a refectory. Till these quarters were prepared,
we remained on board the steamer, receiving crowds of visitors. In
the press a heavy log of timber fell on a little girl and fractured
her thigh; she was at once carried on board, and the broken limb duly
set. This incident speedily established the reputation of the foreign
doctor, and for the rest of our stay patients flocked in every day,
some coming from long distances, and blind and lame eagerly expecting
to be made young and whole. A great deal of blindness had resulted
from small-pox. Ophthalmia was also prevalent. A common affection was
a form of ulcerous inflammation, chiefly on the legs, amongst those
whose occupation led them into the jungles. This was so intractable
as to incline one to attribute it to poisonous thorns; but subsequent
personal experience proved that slight bruises and abrasions are most
apt in this country to become painful and tedious. During the whole
time no case of fever was treated, nor did any occur among our party
of one hundred men. This speaks volumes for the salubrity of the place
during the dry season. The highest temperature experienced was 80°
Fahrenheit, the average maximum being not more than 66° Fahrenheit,
while the nights were very pleasant, cooling down, if we may put it
so, to fifty or forty-five degrees. Fever is rather more prevalent
during the rains, when the Irawady rolls down a huge volume of water, a
mile and half broad, and the low lands are submerged twelve to fifteen
feet.[16]
But this is a digression somewhat professional, and it is needful to
revert to the narrative and try to give the reader some notion of our
surroundings and proceedings until we got away fairly on the march.
Bhamô, known by the Chinese as Tsing-gai, and in Pali called Tsin-ting,
is a narrow town about one mile long, occupying a high prominence on
the left bank of the Irawady. Instead of walls, there is a stockade
about nine feet high, consisting of split trees driven side by side
into the ground and strengthened with crossbeams above and below.
This paling is further defended on the outside by a forest of bamboo
stakes fixed in the ground and projecting at an acute angle. However
formidable to barefooted natives, the stockade does not always exclude
tigers, which pay occasional visits, and during our stay killed a woman
as she sat with her companions. There are four gates, one at either end
and two on the eastern side, which are closed immediately after sunset;
a guard is stationed at the northern and southern gates, while several
look-out huts perched at intervals on the stockade are manned when
an attack of the Kakhyens is expected. The population numbers about
two thousand five hundred souls, occupying about five hundred houses,
which form three principal streets. There are many thickly wooded
by-paths, and bridges over a swamp in the centre of the town, leading
to scattered houses, dilapidated pagodas, zayats, and monasteries.
The street following the course of the bank, with high flights of steps
ascending from the river, has a row of houses on either side, with a
row of teak planks laid in the middle to afford dry footing during the
rains. The houses of the central portion are all small one-storied
cottages, built of sun-dried bricks, with tiled concave roofs with
deep projecting eaves. Through an open window the proprietor can be
seen calmly smoking behind a little counter, for this is the Chinese
quarter, and the colony of perhaps two hundred Celestials here offer
for sale Manchester goods, Chinese yarns, ball tea, opium, Yunnan
potatoes, lead, and vermilion, &c. They also regulate the cotton
market, and the traffic in this product, which is brought both from
the south and the north, is carried on even during the rains. The head
Chinaman, who is responsible for order amongst his compatriots, is a
man of great influence. He and his fellow merchants, professing great
friendship, invited us to a grand feast and theatrical entertainment
given in the Chinese temple, or rather in the theatre which formed a
portion thereof. We entered through what was to us a novelty in this
country, a circular doorway, into a paved court. The theatrical portion
of the building was over the entrance to a second court, facing the
sanctuary, which is on a higher level. A covered terrace surrounded
the holy place on three sides, with recesses containing seated figures
nearly life size, with rubicund faces and formidable black beards and
moustaches. Each of these was carefully protected from dust by being
enshrined in a square box closed in front with gauze netting. Besides
the theatrical entertainment, which was interminable, we were regaled
with preserved fruits and confectionery, with tea and _samshu_, or rice
spirit, followed by numerous courses of pork, fowls, &c. The staple
of conversation was the dangers and impossibilities of getting through
to Yunnan; every argument they could think of to induce us to abandon
the idea of progress was then and afterwards employed. It can readily
be imagined that the Bhamô Chinese traders viewed with utter dismay
the prospect of Europeans sharing their trade; to their schemes of
hindrance we shall again recur.
The rest of the townspeople are exclusively Shan-Burmese, living in
small houses built of teak and bamboo, all detached and raised on
piles. The Woon’s house, on a low promontory running out into the swamp
behind the Chinese quarter, was a large tumbledown timber and bamboo
structure; but its double roof and high palisade covered with bamboo
mats marked the dignity of its occupier. A small garden overrun with
weeds contained the remains of a rockery and fish-pond, and a neglected
brass cannon, under a low thatched shed, guarded either side of the
gate; in a large adjacent space stood the court-house. All the public
buildings were then in a state of dilapidation and decay; this the
inhabitants attributed to Kakhyen raids, destructive fires, decay of
trade since the Panthay wars, and misrule. Evidence was not wanting in
the numerous neglected pagodas and timber bridges, and in the ruinous
and charred remains of what must have been handsome zayats, that Bhamô,
in palmier days, deserved the eulogiums passed on it by Hannay and
other travellers.
The Shan-Burmese seemed a peaceful, industrious class. In each house a
loom is found in the verandah, and the girls are taught to weave from
an early age. The women are always busy weaving silk or cotton putzos
and tameins, preparing yarns, husking rice, or feeding and tending
the buffaloes, besides doing their household duties. The men till
the fields, but are not so industrious as the softer sex. A few are
employed in smelting lead, and others work in gold, or smelt the silver
used as currency. To six tickals[17] of pure silver purchased from the
Kakhyens, one tickal eight annas of copper wire are added, and melted
with alloy of as much lead as brings the whole to ten tickals’ weight.
The operation is conducted in saucers of sun-dried clay bedded in paddy
husk, and covered over with charcoal. The bellows are vigorously plied,
and as soon as the mass is at a red heat, the charcoal is removed, and
a round flat brick button previously covered with a layer of moist clay
is placed on the amalgam, which forms a thick ring round the edge, to
which lead is freely added to make up the weight. As it cools, there
results a white disc of silver encircled by a brownish ring. The silver
is cleaned and dotted with cutch, and is then weighed and ready to be
cut up. Another industry is confined to the women, who make capital
chatties from a tenacious yellow clay, which overlies this portion of
the river valley, in some places forty feet thick; the earthenware is
coloured red with a ferruginous substance found in nodules embedded in
the clay.
From the same clay, a number of Shan-Chinese from Hotha and Latha make
sun-dried bricks outside the town, and a colony of the same people
sojourn every winter at Bhamô, making _dahs_, or long knives, which
are in great demand. A number of Kakhyens are often to be seen near
the town, bringing rice, opium, silver, and pigs for sale. Their chief
object is to procure salt, for which necessary they are dependent
on Burma. They are not allowed to encamp within the town, but are
compelled to shelter themselves outside the gates, in miserable
wigwams. The Burmese assigned as a reason for their exclusion their
dread of the Kakhyen propensity for kidnapping children and even men,
and also because a small party might be the precursors of a raid.[18]
A few days after our arrival, four children who had been stolen were
recovered. One of them was brought by her mother, to show the large
round holes bored in the back of the ears as a sign of servitude. The
other three were little fat Chinese children, and adopted by the head
tsitkay. A curious illustration of their habits of man-stealing was
also afforded us.
The Burmese interpreter found among the Kakhyens outside the town a
man who privately told him that he was a _kala_, or foreigner, who
had been ten years in slavery; having heard of the arrival of the
kalas, he anxiously desired an interview. His features showed that he
was a native of India, and his history, given in a jumble of Burmese,
Kakhyen, and Hindostani, was as follows. Deen Mahomed, a petty trader
from Midnapore, had come to Burma with nine others ten years before.
They stayed a year at Tongoo, thence making their way up as far as
Bhamô. In this neighbourhood, during a halt for cooking, all had gone
to seek firewood save Deen Mahomed and another, who were in charge
of the goods. A party of Kakhyens suddenly rushed out of the bush,
and seized both men and goods. His comrade was taken away he knew not
where, and he was carried off as a slave. A log of wood was fastened to
one of his legs, and he was further secured by ropes fastened to this,
and braced over his shoulders. This he wore for two months, during
which time he was not made to work, but was guarded by a Kakhyen. He
was then released on his promise to remain. A few days after, the
village was plundered by a hostile tribe, but he and his master escaped
to another village, where he was bartered for a buffalo to another
man. His new master treated him well, but did not allow him to leave
the hills, and after two or three years gave him a Kakhyen wife. He
had almost forgotten his native language, but not his native country.
As soon as he heard of our arrival, he resolved to ask our aid in his
deliverance. We sent him among his fellow-countrymen of the guard, who
clothed him, and he was installed as a groom, and taken with us as
an interpreter. That his story was true, we had confirmation, as his
quondam master preferred a claim for compensation for his loss.
The country behind Bhamô runs up to the base of the mountain wall in
undulations so long as to present the general aspect of a level slope,
covered with eng trees and tall grass. For about a mile outside the
stockade, the surface is cut up by numerous deep jheels, evidently old
backwaters of the Irawady, which once flowed in a long curve, marked
by an old river bank, south-east of the town. The soil, especially in
the hollows, is very rich, giving two crops of rice annually. Numerous
legumes, yams, and melons, and a little cotton are grown, and the sandy
river islands yield capital tobacco.
The edible fruits procurable are jacks, tamarinds, lemons, citrons,
peaches, &c., and plantains are plentiful.
About a mile north of the town, the Tapeng river debouches into the
Irawady, after flowing twenty miles through the plain as a quiet
navigable stream, hardly recognisable as the furious torrent which
rushes through the neighbouring gorge. During the dry season, it is
one hundred and fifty to two hundred yards wide, and navigable only by
boats, which convey a constant traffic between the Irawady and Tsitkaw,
where the merchandise is transferred to and from mules. During the
rains, the Tapeng is at least five hundred yards wide, and navigable
for small river steamers up to this place.
Occupying the angle between the two rivers, the remains of an ancient
city are still discernible, though completely overgrown by magnificent
trees and thickets of bamboo and elephant grass. The broad wall,
composed of bricks and pebbles, can be traced from the river banks
at its northern and southern extremities, which are a mile apart. We
followed one section for three quarters of a mile, and found it in some
places thirty feet high from the bottom of the moat, which is still
traceable. The ruins, which, to judge from appearances, are coeval
with those of Tagoung, mark the site of the oldest Tsampenago. This
city, according to tradition, quoted by the old phoongyee at Bhamô,
flourished in the days of Gaudama. There is yet another ruined city of
the same name on the other side of the Tapeng, which does not present
the same appearance of great antiquity. Twelve miles to the east of
Bhamô are the ruins of another city named Kuttha, while Bhamô itself
has a predecessor in the village called Old Bhamô, near the foot of
the Kakhyen hills, the former importance of which is witnessed by its
ruined pagodas. Here too is that old brick building mentioned by Dr.
Bayfield as probably the remains of the old English factory erected in
the beginning of the seventeenth century. We have little but conjecture
to guide us as to the vicissitudes of these ancient cities of the
Shan kingdom of Pong. As elsewhere in Burma, each new founder of a
dynasty seems to have transferred the seat of power to a new site. But
the legend of the origin of Tsampenago, of which the history of Bhamô
is a continuation, may be more interesting than dryasdust details of
antiquity.[19]
Tsampenago is the Burmese form of a Pali name, Champa-nagara, from
_nagam_, town, and Champa, the seat of a powerful kingdom, flourishing
in the era of Gaudama, the ruins of which are still visible near
Bhaugulpore, on the Ganges. Tsampenago, then, means the city of Champa.
The founder and first king of Tsampenago was Tsitta, and his queen’s
name was Wattee. They were childless, which was a cause of great
grief, and the queen prayed earnestly for an heir. A son was promised
to her by a dream, in which the king of the Devas presented her with
a valuable gem. Soon after this, the king’s brother Kuttha rebelled,
and attacked the city with a great army. The king and queen fled for
their lives to Wela, a mountain three thousand feet high, a day’s
journey north of Tsampenago. They were pursued, but the queen escaped
and was preserved by the nats, on the mountain, where her son was
born and named Welatha. The king was taken prisoner and confined in
chains. When Welatha was six years old, he saw his mother in tears,
and by questioning her learned that he was a prince, and his father
a captive. When he was seven, his mother yielded to his importunity,
and sent him, with her royal ornaments, to visit his father. On
approaching Tsampenago, he met his father being led out to execution.
The brave boy stopped the procession, and revealed himself, offering
to die instead of his father. Kuttha ordered him to be thrown into
the Irawady. But the river rose in tremendous waves, the earth shook,
and the executioners could not, for terror, obey the royal order.
This being reported to Kuttha, he ordered that the prince should be
trodden to death by wild elephants, but the beasts could not be goaded
to attack him. A deep pit was dug and filled with burning fuel, into
which the prince was cast, but the flames came on him like cool water,
and the burning fagots became lilies. When Kuttha heard this, in his
fury he had the young prince taken down to the Deva-faced mountain
(second defile), and cast from the great precipice into the river, but
he was caught up by a naga, and carried away to the naga country. The
earth quaked, many thunderbolts fell, the Irawady rolled up its waves,
and broke down its banks. Kuttha was seized with terror, and as he
fled forth of the city gate, the earth opened and swallowed him up.
Thereupon, the nagas brought back the young prince and his father, and
they reigned jointly. Their first care was to seek for the queen, but
on approaching the mountain of Wela, the flowers were few, and their
fragrance gone, and the queen was found dead. History says nothing of
their after reign, but records that in the 218th year of the Buddhist
sacred era, in obedience to the command of the universal monarch, four
pagodas were built in the kingdom of Tsampenago--the Shuaykeenah,
the Bhamô Shuay-za-tee; Koung-ting, and two others. The next item of
history states that in the year 400 of the era (probably the vulgar
era of 638 A.D.) the succession of kings being destroyed, and the
glory of the former rulers having departed, the tsawbwa Tholyen did
not dare to live in the city; so he founded a new one at the village
of Manmau, and made it his capital. Now _man_ is Shan for village, and
_mau_ for a pot; thus Bhamô, or Manmau, signifies Potters’ Village, a
name still justified by the pottery there manufactured. How Tsampenago
was destroyed, is not historically certain, but a tradition exists
among the Shans, that it was overthrown by an army of Singphos from
the north-west. After Tholyen, twenty-three tsawbwas are said to have
ruled in succession at Bhamô over a district comprising one hundred and
thirty-six villages. The succession was then broken, and the country
was ruled by Shan deputies. After this, tsawbwas were obtained from
Momeit, who ruled over Bhamô till Oo-Myat-bung and his family were
made slaves by the great Alompra about 1760. Ever since, the district
has been governed by myo-woons appointed by the king of Burma. The
first, Thoonain, settled the boundaries of the district, including only
eighty-eight villages, the eastern and north-eastern boundaries being
given as China.
The legend of Tsampenago records the erection of the Shuaykeenah
pagoda, the name of which at least is preserved to the present day
by the group of pagodas situated on an eminence north of Tsampenago.
These are still the holy places of the neighbourhood, and are thronged
with pilgrims at the March festival. The great gilded pagoda has been
re-edified by royal bounty and popular offerings, but others are from
time to time added by private votaries. Thus it was our good fortune to
witness the laying the foundation of a votive pagoda at Shuaykeenah.
A small square of ground, the exact size of the base of the intended
pagoda, was railed off by a fantastic bamboo fence, two feet high,
decorated with flowers and paper flags. A wooden pin, covered with
silver tinsel, and bearing a lighted yellow taper, was fixed in the
centre, and another about two feet from the south-eastern corner of the
level plot; round the first a quadrangular trench, and a deep hole by
the side of the other were dug and sprinkled with water. Eight bricks,
each the exact size of one side of the trench, were prepared. On four
the name of Gaudama was inscribed in black paint; on the others, a
leaf of gold was placed on the centre of one, silver on the second, a
square of green paint on the third, and red on the fourth, each having
a border of green. A round earthen vase containing gold, silver, and
precious stones, besides rice and sweetmeats, was closed with wax in
which a lighted taper was stuck, and deposited in the south-east hole,
by the builder of the pagoda, who repeated a long prayer, while the
earth was filled in and sprinkled with water. This was an offering to
the great earth serpent, in the direction of whose abode the south-east
corner pointed. It is an interesting relic of the snake worship once so
prevalent among the Shan race to the south, which, like nat worship,
has been incorporated in Buddhism. Another instance is afforded in
some of the Yunnan shrines, where the canopy over Buddha is supported
by many-headed snakes, as occurs in some Indian temples. In the next
part of the ceremony, the depositing of the bricks in the trench, the
Shan was assisted by his grandmother, wife, and daughter; he knelt
at the north, faced by his wife, his daughter on his right hand, and
the grandmother on the left. The silvered brick, with a lighted taper
on it, was handed to the old woman, who raised it over her head,
and, devoutly murmuring a long prayer, placed it in the trench; the
wife did the same with the red brick and its taper, and the daughter
followed with the green, while her father took the gold one. The
girl, in raising her brick, burst out laughing, amused, as we were
told, at having forgotten her prayers. The four bricks having been
properly deposited, the others were next laid in order, the sacred name
downwards, and a layer of cloth spread over all. Earth was then thrown
in and sprinkled with water, and the hole having been filled up, the
ceremony was over.
Four miles above Shuaykeenah and the mouth of the Tapeng, the Irawady
receives the waters of the Molay. It is a narrow stream, rising in the
Kakhyen hills, with a course of ninety-six miles, for thirty of which
it is navigable during the rains, and a small boat traffic exists,
chiefly for the conveyance of salt.
While our leader was engaged planning for our departure with the
officials, three of us made a hurried excursion to the first
_khyoukdwen_, or defile. This portion of the river commences a few
miles above Bhamô, and extends for twenty-five miles, nearly to Tsenbo.
Between these two points the river flows under high wooded banks.
At the lower entrance, the channel is one thousand yards broad, but
gradually narrows to five hundred, two hundred, and even seventy yards,
as the parallel ranges approach each other. As we ascended, the hills
rose higher and closed in, rising abruptly from the stream and throwing
out a succession of grand rocky headlands. We moored for the night off
a Phwon village standing on a cliff eighty feet high, just above the
first so-called rapids. The next day, after we had proceeded about
seven miles, we came to a reach in which the river flowed sluggishly
between two high conical hills, which seemed to present no outlet. The
quiet motion and deep olive black hue of the water suggested great
depth.[20]
[Illustration: ROCKY BARRIER ON THE FIRST OR UPPER DEFILE OF THE
IRAWADY.]
This reach extended about one mile and a half, with a breadth of two
hundred and fifty yards, closing in at the upper end, where the channel
is broken up by rocks jutting out boldly, and approaching each other
within eighty yards. A pagoda, apparently of great age, perched on a
small isolated rock, rising about forty-five feet from the stream,
seemed to indicate the limit of the rising of the waters, as it could
not have withstood the flood. This rocky reach stretches a mile in a
north-north-westerly direction, and terminates abruptly in an elbow,
from which another clear reach, overhung by precipitous but grassy
hills, extends east-north-east.
This bend of the river is one of the most dangerous parts, owing to
numerous insulated greenstone rocks which stretch across it, exposed
twenty feet and more in February. Owing to the sudden bend, the current
rushes between them with great violence, but we found no difficulty in
effecting a passage for our boats. Telling evidences were not wanting
in the high-water mark, twenty-five feet above the then level, and in
the shivered trunks of large trees and debris of branches heaped in
wild confusion among the rocks, that the body of water pouring through
the narrow gorge must in the rains be enormous and of terrific power.
The navigation, with the present obstructions unremoved, would be
impossible for river steamers, but engineering skill could speedily
render the water way practicable if desired for traffic. We had not
time to ascend to the northern entrance of the defile, where the river,
unconfined by the hills, is again a majestic stream half a mile in
width. We could only look, and long for an opportunity of exploring its
course upwards to the unknown regions whence it rolls down its mighty
flood. The problem of the Irawady’s source and course has yet to be
solved; but we had to return to Bhamô, expecting the solution of our
perplexities, as to how and when we should reach Yunnan.
Four weeks had now been spent by our leader in a fruitless attempt
to get the tsitkays to assist in making the necessary arrangements.
What between the novelty of their first introduction to enterprising
Englishmen, their dread of acting till the Woon arrived, and last,
though not least, their fear of offending the influential Chinese,
they could do nothing, nor give any information. As the arrival of
large Shan caravans and companies of trading Kakhyens proved, all
routes were not closed. The magistrates admitted a small trade existed
by the Tapeng and Ponline route; by this route it was decided that
we should go. It soon became known to our leader that the Chinese
merchants, failing to deter us from proceeding, had taken more active
measures. They had written to the Kakhyen tsawbwas, desiring them to
withhold assistance, and they further intrigued with the imperialist
officer Li-sieh-tai, who at this time threatened the road to Momien
and Tali-fu, entreating him to cut off the expedition _en route_. The
turning-point of our fortunes had now arrived. We could gain no exact
information as to the political relations of the Shans, and only knew
that the Panthay government extended to Momien, which was believed to
be the residence of Mahommedan chiefs of importance.
Major Sladen, with promptness and decision, resolved, unknown to all,
to outwit the Chinese. He despatched letters to the chiefs of Momien,
explaining the peaceful objects of the mission, and the approbation
given to it by the Burmese government under our treaty, and pointing
out the advantages of opening the direct trade. These letters, with
copies of the treaty and proclamation, were secretly sent off by three
Kakhyens from the southern hills, who had attached themselves to our
interest.
The next character claiming our attention was Sala, the Kakhyen chief
of Ponline, who came to Bhamô at the request of Sladen, after refusing
to comply with the order of the tsitkays. He visited us attired as
a mandarin of the blue button, and attended by six or eight armed
followers. He carried a gold umbrella, which he had received from the
king of Burma, with the title of _papada raza_, or mountain king. There
was nothing regal in his aspect or bearing. He was a tall, thin man,
with a contracted chest, long neck, very small and retreating forehead,
while his oval and repulsive visage was adorned with high cheek-bones,
oblique eyes, and a depression instead of a nose. During the interview,
when all the Burmese officials were present, he sat ill at ease,
with his eyes bent on the floor. We received him as an independent
chief, with the escort drawn up under arms in his honour. But little
information was procured, as the interpreter, a village tamone, could
not be persuaded to give correct versions of the chief’s short and
almost monosyllabic answers. So Sladen brought the interview to a
pleasant close by offering a friendly cup of _eau de vie_. This seemed
to suit the chief, and he and his retinue finished a bottle of brandy,
and asked for more. His parting words were, “Remember the brandy, and
send it to me quickly.”
The following day, at a private interview, the chief threw off his
former reserve, which he said had been forced on him, as he could not
afford to offend the Bhamô Chinese. It was his own wish to assist the
mission, but he stipulated for a small Burmese escort, to show that
we had the full support of the king. He engaged to assemble a hundred
mules at Tsitkaw, a village on the right bank of the Tapeng twenty-one
miles distant; thence he undertook to conduct us safely to Manwyne, the
first Chinese Shan town, and boasted himself as the greatest chief on
the route, and on good terms with all the tsawbwas.
The new Woon arrived on the 20th of February, but declined to land for
three days, as they were _dies nefasti_. In the meantime he sent word
that we might have boats to take the baggage to Tsitkaw, but advised
us to wait until he had fired his guns, and brought in the various
Kakhyen chiefs. The day after his landing, Sladen, with Sala, visited
him, and the Ponline chief asked for a Burmese guard, alleging as a
precedent that a guard had been sent up with the king’s cotton. The
Woon, however, declared it to be quite unnecessary and uncalled for,
and told the chief that the cases were quite different. The tsawbwa
then consented to take us on without the guard, but told the Woon that
he had received threatening letters from the Chinese. The Woon admitted
his knowledge of the Chinese opposition, and promised to admonish
the head Chinaman at Bhamô that he would be held responsible for our
safety. The morning after the Woon arrived, he proceeded in state to
the court-house, escorted by two hundred men. He wore the fantastic
dress of a Burmese prince, a short tight richly coloured coat covered
with gold tinsel, with two enormous wing-like epaulettes, and a tall
gilt hat like a fireman’s helmet, surmounted by a pagoda-like spire.
His appointment was read, and the guns fired, after an hour had been
spent in driving home the powder and cartridge of green plantain
leaf. Our baggage was despatched the next day, but two difficulties
remained. We had no Kakhyen interpreters, and the rupees, which were
said to be useless in the Shan country, had not been changed, for no
country silver was to be found in Bhamô, a mysterious and suggestive
fact. But these were not held sufficient to delay our departure,
which took place on the morning of the 26th of February. Our want
of a guide was removed by an accidental meeting in the street with
the head jailor, a good-natured Shan, whom Sladen induced to guide
us to Tsitkaw, promising to screen him from any displeasure of the
authorities. Although the distance is only twenty-one miles, the loss
of time caused by ferrying our party of one hundred men over the Tapeng
compelled us to halt at the village of Tahmeylon, where we put up in a
small monastery. Early the next morning we started, skirting the Tapeng
through tall grass, with occasional rice clearings. At the junction of
the Manloung river with the Tapeng, a number of ruined pagodas marked
the site of the second town of Tsampenago, built at a much later date
than that near Bhamô.
By noon we reached Tsitkaw, and were received inside the low stockade
by the Burmese officials and a miserable guard armed with rusty flint
muskets, who garrison this as a customs station. We were conducted
to a small barn-like zayat, which had been cleaned out for our use.
Inquisitive natives speedily sought to force their way in, and had
to be kept at bay by armed sentinels, though with caution. And we
were requested to have a guard under arms all night, to protect our
property against thieves, and perhaps ourselves against tigers, which
occasionally overleap the stockade. In the morning, the Kakhyen
_tsawbwas_, or chiefs, and _pawmines_, or headmen, of Ponline, Tahlone,
Ponsee, and Seray, through whose lands lay the route to Manwyne,
appeared to take charge of ourselves and baggage. As the Shan-Burmese
of Tsitkaw and other villages near the hills keep on good terms
with the highlanders, the chiefs showed no timidity of the Burmese
officials; they made themselves quite at home, and asked for brandy;
under its genial influence a formal assent was soon given to our
passage through their territories.
The first process was to collect all our baggage, that it might be
passed in review, and divided into small loads. Outside Tsitkaw, we had
passed an enclosure in which were about a hundred men, chiefly Shans,
with a few Kakhyens. These fellows had jeered at us in passing, and it
was by no means reassuring to learn that this unmannerly mob consisted
of the mule owners, as restive and untractable as their beasts. Each
man owned from one to a dozen mules, and looked after his own interests
without regard either to his employer’s or the rest of the caravan.
The consequent shouting, disputing, and almost fighting that ensued
as each helped himself to the packages that seemed desirable baffled
description. At last all the baggage was distributed in little heaps,
and each man marked off the number of mules required on a primitive
tally, formed from a piece of bamboo, which he broke across into a
corresponding number of joints, and put up carefully against the day of
reckoning.
The next morning witnessed another scene of confusion and quarrelling,
as the panniers or pack-saddles were brought in order to have the
loads adjusted. The packs are secured to cross-trees, which fit into
transverse pieces of wood, fixed in the saddles; and a band passed
in front of the mule’s shoulders keeps all firm in its place. When
the burdens had been arranged, it appeared that there were more mules
than loads, and the disappointed proprietors furiously disputed the
possession of their lots with their more fortunate competitors; hands
were repeatedly laid on the hilt of the dah, but all ended in bluster,
and finally the loads were arranged. When all seemed ready for the
morrow’s starting, the _choung-oke_, or bailiff of the river, appeared
on the scene, accompanied by several Kakhyens, and informed us that
March 1st, being the 9th of some Kakhyen month, was an altogether
ill-omened day to commence any undertaking. This Burmese official
further confidentially informed Sladen that there was a quarrel brewing
between the muleteers and the chiefs, which would break out before
long; but he was disconcerted by the prompt action of the leader, who
sent for the chiefs, and, assuring them of his confidence, said that
he would abide by their arrangements for the transport. To this they
replied that we were their brothers, and that they would be true to us
for ever. The enforced delay at this place enabled us to make a short
excursion to the Manloung lake, about one mile and a half distant.
I went all round it in a small canoe, which held three people with
difficulty. The western bank is high and wooded, but broken by two
channels, through which the Manloung stream issues, uniting below a
small island, on which stands a Shan village of the same name. Besides
this, there is another island, and a village named Moungpoo. The high
bank is continued on the north, beyond the lake, as a prominent ridge
covered with tall trees, extending in a bold sweep to the foot of the
hills; it appeared evidently to be an old river bank, and that the
lake marks what was once the course of the Tapeng. The Manloung stream
falls into a remarkable offshoot of the main river, which afterwards
rejoins the Tapeng by several channels. This stream is deep and rapid,
and supplies several irrigating water-wheels. The lake is two miles
long and a mile broad, and according to native accounts very deep. To
the east extended a succession of swamps, hidden under a luxuriant
growth of high grass; careful search discovered no springs or streams
as sources of supply, although doubtless the former exist, as there is
a constant outflowing of water. It is probably also a reservoir, filled
annually by the overflow of the Tapeng, which during the rainy season
frequently floods the level plain to a depth of two feet for some days
at a time, the flood suddenly rising and as suddenly subsiding.
Manloung contained about eighty houses, and the women at this time were
all busily engaged in weaving cloth from cotton procured from the
Kakhyens, who grow it on the hills. The village boasted of a large and
flourishing monastery, far superior to any to be seen at Bhamô, and
with a large number of resident pupils. The dormitory was exhibited
with pride by the chief phoongyee; the beds were neatly arranged
along one side of the room, each possessing a nice clean mattress and
coverlet and superior mosquito curtains.
Thence we returned to Tsitkaw, where the filthy disregard of decency
exhibited by the drunken highland chiefs, which we were obliged to
tolerate, made our enforced sojourn still more insupportable; and an
additional source of anxiety was furnished by the information, imparted
by Sala, that Moung Shuay Yah, our Chinese interpreter, was really in
collusion with the hostile Chinese.
Daylight on the 2nd of March saw us all on the _qui vive_ in
expectation of an early start, but the mule-men, at nine o’clock, had
not eaten their rice, and then came a demand for an advance of mule
hire; a previous request for salt to be distributed to the people of
villages _en route_ had been complied with, but no sooner had the
baskets containing it been brought in front of the house than the
men helped themselves at discretion, and no more was heard of it. An
hour was now spent in the distribution of five hundred rupees, which
were laid out on a mat, while the eagerness with which the recipients
gathered round and handled the silver spoke volumes as to their greed
for coin. One of the tsawbwas had been seen eagerly watching Sladen’s
private cash-chest, and asked in the most pressing manner to be allowed
to take charge of it, while another dogged the footsteps of Captain
Bowers’ servant, endeavouring to coax him into entrusting his master’s
fowling-piece to his care.
During the morning the phoongyee of an adjoining khyoung arrived to
say farewell. He had been a constant visitor, and the kind reception
given him, and the toleration of his curiosity, which showed itself by
wandering about and prying into everything, had quite won his heart. He
was far superior to the usual run of Shan phoongyees, who, according
to Burmese Buddhism, are lax and unorthodox in practice and doctrine.
He spent much of his time in missionary visits to the ruder villages,
whose inhabitants he hoped to convert to conformity with stricter
religious rules. By way of a parting gift he presented each of us with
some sweet scented powder and a few fragrant seeds or pellets, which he
declared to be a sovereign remedy for headache or fever, “contracted by
smelling culinary operations!” His advice to Sladen at parting was so
shrewd and characteristic as to deserve quoting. “We have met before in
a former existence, and it is by virtue of meritorious acts there done
that I am privileged to meet you again in the present life, and advise
you for your welfare. Wisdom and prudence are necessary in all worldly
undertakings; use then special care and circumspection in your present
expedition; your enemies are numerous and powerful. We shall all hail
the reopening of the overland trade with China. The prosperity of the
priesthood depends on the condition of the country and the people; what
is good for them is also good for religion.”
[15] A distinguished continental Chinese scholar has informed me that
this title is a civil one, denoting commissioner. In the absence of the
Chinese characters, the exact title of this functionary cannot be given.
[16] The meteorological registers kept at the British Residency show
the annual rainfall at Bhamô to be 65 inches.
[17] One _tickal_ = rather more than half an ounce troy.
[18] Since the date of this visit, rest-houses have been erected for
the Kakhyens by the Burmese authorities, and also by the British
Resident; and some of these natives are always to be found temporarily
occupying them.
[19] For this the writer is indebted to the learning and industry of the
late Rev. Dr. Mason.
[20] Bayfield found no bottom at twenty-five fathoms.