SURVEYING—THANKFUL FOR A HALT—LEAVE HLINEBOAY—KAREN HOUSES
INFESTED WITH BUGS—HALT NEAR WELL—RIGGING UP SHELTER FOR THE
NIGHT—TENT LEFT BEHIND—TEAK-FOREST—YUNNANESE—A SCARE—EXPLODING
BAMBOOS—TREES 130 FEET HIGH—A MID-DAY HALT—THE BRITISH
GUARD-HOUSE—A NIGHT CAMP—GLUTINOUS RICE, MODE OF COOKING AND
CARRIAGE—ELEPHANTS FEEDING—HEAVY DEW—JOURNEY DOWN THE YEMBINE
VALLEY—MOTION OF ELEPHANTS—DIFFICULT SURVEYING—A PRACTICAL
JOKE—RAILWAY TO RANGOON AND MANDALAY—HEATHEN KARENS—NO LONGER A
MISSIONARY—DIFFICULTY IN CONVERTING BUDDHISTS—VENISON FOR
DINNER—STUNG BY BEES—PASS BETWEEN THE THOUNGYEEN AND THE
SALWEEN—TREES 25 FEET IN CIRCUMFERENCE—LIMESTONE CLIFFS—OFFERING
TO THE DEAD—DESCENT TO THE THOUNGYEEN—THE FORD.
Surveying by time-distances and a prismatic compass, when on the march,
requires a steady hand, a quick judgment for selecting an object for
your angle, and a good memory. If the hand is unsteady, the ring of the
compass, which is balanced on a needle, will not come to rest. In a
jungle-clad country you must watch the foremost elephant as it winds
through the trees, and rapidly select the point for your next angle as
the animal is just passing from view. A good memory is required,
otherwise in noticing the trees, rocks, by-paths, width and depth of
streams, breadth of fields, size of villages, and taking sketches of,
and angles to, neighbouring hills, you will forget the object, twig,
branch or trunk of tree, that you have aimed at.
Having taken your angle, you must catch up the last elephant—for you are
taking your distances by the time it takes in passing over the
ground—and observe the time and your next angle on arriving at the
object you had formerly chosen. This constant observation, continuing
from dawn to dark with one interval for refreshment, is a great strain
upon one’s attention, and when joined with the necessity of taking
heights from the aneroid barometer, and temperatures from the
thermometer at every change of level, makes one thankful for a halt at
the foot or summit of a mountain pass, where one has to check the height
by the boiling-point thermometer.
For the first hour after leaving Hlineboay we passed over slightly
undulating ground, covered with stunted trees and scrub-jungle, and then
entered paddy-fields through which we proceeded to Quambee, a Talaing,
or Pwo, Karen village in a rice-plain over half a mile in breadth. To
the east of the plain amongst the forest appeared many isolated hills
and knolls, backed up by a boldly defined peaked range of hills, the
Dana Toung, distant about fifteen miles, which forms the water-parting
between the Thoungyeen and Salween rivers.
There being no _zayat_, or rest-house, in the village, and Karen houses
being generally infested with bugs, we decided to camp in a grove of
large trees in the vicinity of a well, from which we could draw water
for bathing and cooking. After the elephants were unloaded and we had
finished our supper, a shelter for the night was quickly formed with a
few bamboos, roofed with two large waterproof sheets which I luckily had
with me. My tent had been left behind in Maulmain through an oversight
of the boys; and although the Bombay Burmah party kindly brought it with
them to Hlineboay, it may be still at the latter place, as they had not
carriage sufficient to bring it farther. A tent is a cumbersome and
costly thing to carry about, and we managed very well for several months
without one.
The next day we resumed our short stages, hoping that Mr Bryce’s party
would catch us up. The country continued of much the same character as
between Hlineboay and Quambee—only, cultivated fields became rarer,
isolated hills more numerous, and teak-trees were frequently
interspersed in the forest. The first night from Quambee we spent in a
_zayat_ on the bank of the Hlineboay river.
Towards dark a party of Chinese from Yunnan, who had sold their goods at
Zimmé, came scampering by, armed with Shan _dahs_ or swords, spears, and
very antiquated horse-pistols. They were conducting a caravan of between
forty and fifty mules and ponies to Maulmain, intending to bring them
back laden with piece-goods and general articles of merchandise. They
ultimately camped about half a mile from us, as several times in the
evening we heard from that direction what we considered to be the
discharge of firearms. Chinamen were not likely to waste powder in
frightening off dacoits or wild beasts when they had any simpler,
equally efficient, and cheaper means at command; and next morning we
learnt our mistake in a very unexpected and alarming manner. We were
suddenly awakened by a fusillade of reports around our camp. I jumped
up, seized my Winchester, and rushed out, thinking that our party was
being attacked. I found the boys squatting quietly round the fire,
grinning like monkeys, and heaping on joints of green bamboos. The
liquid in the cavities turning to steam under the influence of heat,
caused them to explode, thus giving rise to the reports which had
startled us. The rascals had learnt the trick from Portow, and were
amusing themselves at our expense, being evidently bent on giving us a
good fright.
Leaving the _zayat_ a little before seven, we crossed the river and
clambered over a low hillock, and continued through the forest, with
teak-trees still appearing at intervals. Small hills and spurs from the
Kyouk Toung range were occasionally seen to the east, backed up by the
Yare-they-mare hill, a great spur of the Dana range, some four miles
distant. About half-past eight we crossed the Hlineboay river for the
last time, and shortly afterwards ascended 80 feet to the crest of the
high ground, 300 feet above sea-level, and seventeen miles from
Hlineboay, which forms the water-parting between the Hlineboay and
Yambine rivers.
Thence we passed through the forest, still occasionally with teak-trees,
following the course of the Yingan stream, with hills at times bordering
on either side, and halted at half-past eleven for breakfast by the side
of the stream, under a magnificent clump of _thyt-si_ trees, which
produce the celebrated black varnish. These monarchs of the forest, 130
feet in height, owing to great buttresses springing from the stem some
feet from the ground, were of enormous girth, and looked truly
magnificent. Here was a perfect place for a mid-day halt: hill, forest,
and water scenery all combined; a cool stream as a bath for the
elephants and ourselves; shelter from the heat of the sun; a pleasant
glade for a ramble whilst breakfast was being prepared. Nothing was
wanting but the songs of birds and the rippling chatter and laughter of
girls to make our picnic all that could possibly be desired. Day after
day, month after month, we enjoyed such picnics on our travels.
We struck camp at a quarter past two, and after a little more than an
hour’s journey, still following the stream, reached Teh-dau-Sakan, the
halting-place close to the Lanma-Gyee Garté, the last British police
post on our road to the Shan States—having thoroughly enjoyed our day.
The police station, which is situated twenty-four miles from Hlineboay,
consists of two thatched buildings built of bamboo, and surrounded with
a dilapidated stockade, which would have been useless as a defence
against dacoits. It was occupied by ten or twelve Madras constables, who
complained much of the feverishness of the locality, and begged for
quinine, saying they were out of it. I never met less intelligent men in
my life; they seemed to know nothing of the locality, and the idea of a
map was utterly incomprehensible to them—they had not been educated up
to it. There was no getting any information from them; the whole current
of their thoughts ran towards _carna_ and _pice_ (food and money), and
their bodily ailments.
We erected our shelter for the night about a hundred yards from the
station, in a grove of _thyt-si_ trees, each measuring from 30 to 40
feet in circumference five feet from the ground. A large party of Shans
from Lapoon encamped near us, and came over in the evening for a chat
with our men. Camp-fires were dotted around us in all directions. Each
elephant had, besides the mahout, an attendant to look after its wants,
lop branches off banian and other trees for its food, shackle its
fore-feet when we halted, and aid in its morning, noonday, and evening
bath.
Each couple of men built a fire for themselves, and kept it alight
during the night, partly for warmth and partly to scare wild beasts that
might be wandering around. Kouknyin, the glutinous rice eaten by the
Karens, is steamed, and not boiled. An earthen pot, or _chatty_, is
placed upon three stones or clods of earth, which serve as a tripod; on
the top of the pot is placed the basket containing the rice, and the
junction is made air-tight with a wet cotton rag. A fire is then lighted
under the pot, and the steam from the water in the pot rises into the
rice and cooks it. Whilst hot the rice is stuffed into joints of green
bamboos about a foot in length, and eaten when required. Joints of green
bamboos likewise serve them for kettles: placed slanting over a fire,
the water soon boils. The elephants feeding in the neighbourhood could
be heard crashing through the bushes, rending off branches that suited
their fancy. These animals were our sentinels, and would trumpet if a
tiger came roving in their neighbourhood.
It would have been pleasant to sit in the open air and watch the stars
as they twinkled through the trees, if it had not been for the heavy
dew which commenced to fall soon after sundown. Loogalay’s
mosquito-curtains, made of stout cotton cloth, were dripping wet the
next morning, and he came with a long face and wrung them out before
us. Portow merely jeered at him, and asked why he had not erected a
leaf-shelter, as the other men had done. It is worse than useless
complaining of the effects of one’s folly in a company of wits.
Next morning, the 26th of January, we ordered two of the elephants to be
got ready to take us on an excursion down the Yembine valley, the
farther end of which I had visited on a tour up the Salween. This would
give me a chance of learning to survey from the top of an elephant. At
first thoughts one would deem such a feat to be impossible; the pitching
and rolling of the huge beast, which goes along like a Dutch lugger in a
chopping sea, would prevent the compass being brought to rest, and most
likely jam it into one’s eye. Yet, by giving way to the swaying
movements of the brute, I managed to get as perfect results as when
surveying on foot. From thenceforth, during my land journeys, I surveyed
from the back of an elephant.
The boys, in packing our breakfast for us, perhaps out of fun, omitted
not only to put in my cigars, but also our knives, forks, and spoons,
forcing us to improvise some out of slips of bamboo to avoid having to
feed native-fashion, with our fingers.
Following the stream of the Yingan till it joined the Yembine, we
continued down the valley of the latter, accompanied by the mournful
wailing of the gibbons in the forest, the plain gradually opening out to
more than a mile in width, but contracting at times to a quarter of a
mile, as spurs jutted in from either side. After travelling for three
hours and a half, we halted for breakfast at the Karen village of
Nga-peur-dau, which is beautifully situated on the hillside to the south
of the valley.
The hills opposite the village were bold, and in some places
precipitous, appearing as though they had been punched up from below,
and were most likely mural limestone. Clay-slate, limestone, and
sandstone are the chief rocks in this part of the country. Silver,
copper, lead, and iron pyrites are found in Bo Toung, a hill some miles
to the north of Nga-peur-dau, and felspar and porphyry are met with
along the Salween some distance above Yembine.
We were now within eight miles of the village of Yembine, which is
situated at the junction of the Yembine with the Salween. After walking
about a mile and a half farther along the hillside, it became evident
that a railway could be carried from Yembine to Teh-dau-Sakan with the
greatest ease, meeting no difficulties in its path. I had previously
ascertained, by visiting Yembine, that the Salween could be crossed in
the defile to the south of it by a bridge of four or five hundred feet
span; and, from my former experience in the country, I was aware that a
line could be carried from the Rangoon and Mandalay Railway to this
crossing through one continuous plain. It remained to be seen whether
such a line could be continued along the course we were taking to
South-western China, or whether the better course lay eastwards from
Maulmain to Raheng, and thence northwards to the same goal.
We learnt from the Karen villagers that the Karens in the hamlets
scattered through this region, and those to the north and the east, are
still heathens, and I was glad to find that the missionaries are now on
their scent. Most of the Karens elsewhere in Lower Burmah have become
Christians, and the American Presbyterian and Baptist missionaries, who
have so well worked the field, are turning their attention to Upper
Burmah, Karenni, the Shan States, and Siam. I was amused by reading in a
missionary report some months ago the complaint of a missionary that all
the Karens in his district had embraced Christianity, and he had not
another one to convert. He was a pastor, but no longer a missionary.
The Karens, Shans, Kakhyens, and other hill tribes, who are
spirit-worshippers and not Buddhists, are the stocks from which converts
are produced in Burmah and Siam. If you wish to have Burmese Christians,
it is necessary to train them in mission schools from childhood. A
Burmese adult behaves like a goat in the sheep-fold. He skips in and out
as it suits him. Too often he merely enters to see what he can get from
the shepherd. It is said to cost more to convert a Burman than it does
to convert a Jew. A Roman Catholic missionary told me some years ago
that he very much doubted whether his mission had ever made a real
convert out of an adult Burman. As the sapling is bent, so the tree
grows.
Having finished the inspection, we returned to camp, where I regaled
myself with my long-wished-for smoke. The boys, when scolded for their
delinquencies, pretended to look chapfallen; but I am afraid I had a
twinkle in my eyes when rebuking them, as I saw the three convulsed with
laughter before they were many paces away. During our absence the other
elephant-drivers had shot a deer, and on our return presented us with a
leg. This was a delightful surprise, as we had been subsisting on fowls
and tinned provisions for several days.
The next day was Sunday, so we had a delightful day’s halt. I sent some
of the Karens off to the neighbouring villages to obtain sufficient
fowls and rice for our journey to Maing Loongyee, where we could obtain
a fresh supply. Veyloo and Jewan went off on a lark, but soon returned
in a dismal plight to seek my aid. In attempting to get honey, one had
been stung on the eyelid, the other on the neck. An application of Perry
Davis’s pain-killer acted like magic, taking away the pain; and a little
ointment sent them off again light-hearted—putting down their
punishment, I hope, to their yesterday’s conduct.
On Monday we started a little before seven, and followed the Yembine and
its branches to the crest of the pass over the range which divides the
drainage of the Salween from that of the Thoungyeen. The pass—32 miles
from Hlineboay—has its crest 612 feet above sea-level, or 446 feet above
our camp at Teh-dau-Sakan. On our way we met a party of Shans proceeding
to Maulmain. A descent of about 50 feet from the crest brought us to the
plateau, interspersed with detached hills, which is separated from the
narrow plain through which the Thoungyeen runs, by a row of cliff-faced
masses of limestone 1000 and 2000 feet in height, between which the
drainage of the country flows to the river.
Close to the northern foot of the pass we came to the Tee-tee-ko stream,
flowing through a pretty and pleasantly wooded valley, along which we
proceeded. Turning up a northern affluent, when the Tee-tee-ko turned to
the east on its way to the river, we halted for the night under some
noble Kanyin trees. These trees, from which a brown resin and superior
wood-oil is procured, have stems, often 25 feet in circumference, rising
straight as a dart 120 feet from the ground to the first branch. The
dense foliage completely shuts out the rays of the sun, thus affording a
splendid shade for a mid-day halt. You do not realise their enormous
size until from a distance you notice how dwarfed people camping under
them appear. An elephant by their side looks like a pig under an
ordinary tree.
The next morning, at a distance of two miles from the pass, we crossed
the Meh Pau, a stream 60 feet wide and 7 feet deep, which, flowing from
our right, enters the Thoungyeen some distance below the Siamese
guard-house and below our point of crossing. We then clambered up a
circular knoll rising 700 feet above the plateau, and had a fine view of
the Pau-kee-lay Toung—one of the precipitous limestone masses lying
three-quarters of a mile to the east. Descending from the knoll, which
is ascended by the track to save half a mile of extra distance, we
breakfasted on the bank of the Koo Saik Choung, just above its rapid
descent between two great limestone precipices to the river.
At the junction of one of the many roads which diverged to Karen
villages and the Thoungyeen from our track after leaving the pass, we
noticed the death-offering of some Sgau Karens belonging to a
neighbouring village. The offering was a propitiatory one to the spirit
of the deceased, and proffered in order to induce it not to return and
haunt the village. A silver coin had been placed in the ground beneath a
rudely carved figure, on the top of which narrow strips of red and white
cloth were hung; around the figure was a tiny fence, roofed in with a
small bamboo platform. Miniature jackets and trousers were suspended
from small poles at the sides of the fence. Food, which had been placed
on the platform, was no longer there—the thieving birds having most
likely deprived the poor ghost of it.
After breakfast we entered the defile, and descended from the plateau in
the bed of the Koo Saik Choung, which falls 135 feet in the distance of
a mile in a series of gentle cascades, separated by ice-cold running
pools as clear as crystal; the towering precipices on either side
looming through the trees, with their crests hidden by the dense
foliage, and the natural colonnade formed by the evergreen forest
through which we were passing rendering the air delightfully cool. How
charming it would have been to have breakfasted in this pleasant retreat
among the lichen-covered limestone boulders, mosses, and ferns! Leaving
the defile, we followed the Thoungyeen down-stream past the Siamese
guard-station, which lies on the other bank—the river forming the
frontier—to the ford.
The river at the ford is 250 feet wide from bank to bank, with the
channel reduced to 70 feet by a great shoal of boulders, now uncovered,
stretching from the western bank. The current being swift and the water
chest-deep, some of the men were nearly swept away whilst crossing. The
boys went in up to their hips, and stood trembling, afraid to proceed
farther. I therefore told them to return to the strand, and I would send
elephants from the camp to bring them across.
The bank of the river is about 206 feet above mean sea-level at
Maulmain. After passing the ford, we crossed the Meh Tha Wah, passed the
guard-house, and camped about half a mile off, near the stream and some
rice-fields. As soon as the elephants were unloaded, I sent two back for
the boys; but meanwhile they had found their way to the ferry, and
crossed the river in a boat. The guard-house is 38 miles from Hlineboay.