17th January.--On the Irrawaddy Flotilla Company's S.S. "Java"--after
our British India S.S. experience it is delightful, the quiet utterly
soothing. It is hot it is true--hot as in the hot weather they say, but
the air is clean on the river.
We are now on the Bassein Creek, twenty-five miles long, going across
the Delta west from Rangoon River to the Irrawaddy to steam up it for
five days, tying up at night. It is better even than we were told!
This steamer is long, low, and wide decked, with a nice saloon forward
on the upper deck, eight cosy cabins on either side, and a promenade in
front of them, on the fo'csle head as it were. Aft, divided from us by
the pantry and a wire partition, there is a long stretch of deck going
right to the stern, all covered by a roof; on this deck sit and lie
Burmans, singly or in family groups, in pretty silks, on neat mats and
mattresses and pillows with tidy little bundles of luggage beside them.
We do not stop steaming to-night, for we have barely enough of the flood
to take us over the shallow midway part of the creek, where the east and
west tides meet, so as the sun went below the flat shore and reeds, and
it grew dark, the search-light on the lower deck was turned on.
Now we have wonderful theatrical pictures continually
changing--bluey-green round pictures framed by the night, first on one
bank then on the other, as the light sweeps from side to side, and
always down its rays a continuous shower of golden insects seems to come
rushing towards us. In the dark behind the lantern, the deck below is
crawling with them. The trees we light up on the banks have the green of
lime-lit trees on the stage, and the same cut out appearance. Fantastic
boats suddenly appear out of the velvet darkness. They have high sterns
elaborately carved, and the red teak wood and the brown bodies of the
rowers pushing long oars glow in the halo of soft light; other figures
resting on their decks are wrapped up in rose and white and green
draperies, and each soft colour is reflected quivering in the ripple
from the oars.
By the way, as we slept the Bassein mosquitoes did come on board, and
answered their description--they do raise lumps! Horses have to be kept
in meat safes on shore, and they say you can tell a man who has lived in
the district years afterwards, by the way he slips into a room sideways,
and closes the door after him. Two or three bites make a whole limb
swell; therefore travellers, bring mosquito curtains if you travel here
for pleasure.
18th.--Fresh--cool--sun--and this is a wide river in Fairyland, for the
colours of foliage, water, and sky are too delicate and bright for any
real country I have ever seen. Where, in reality, do you see at one
glance, delicate spires in gold and white rising from green foliage, and
dainty bamboo cottages of matting and teak; and women in colours as gay
as butterflies, coming from them into the morning sun; and fishermen in
hollowed logs with classic stems and sterns, their clothing of the
colour of China asters, their faces coppery gold, and their hair black
as a raven's wing, drawing nets of rusty red, of the tint of birch twigs
in winter, out of muddy water enamelled with cerulean.
Every now and then you meet with an extra big bit of fairyland coming
down stream in the shape of a native ship with high crescent stern and a
mat house near its low bow; all in various tints of a warm brown teak.
The crew stand and row long oars and sing as they swing, and you think
of Vikings, Pirates, and Argosies.... But down in the lower deck beside
Denny's engines it feels quite homely, as if you were going "doon the
water" in sunny June--the engines running as smoothly and quietly as if
they were muscles and bones instead of hard steel and 900
H.-P.--engineers, engines, and hull all frae Glasgie, all from banks of
old Cleutha.
... Now the river widens to nearly a mile, and the tops of ranges of
hills appear over the plains. What variety you have in the course of two
half days--yesterday amongst crowds and houses and ocean going craft,
to-day the calm of the open country with fresh, balmy air, and only
river boats.... Here comes difficult navigation though the river is so
wide; and we ship a pilot who comes off from a spit of sand in a dug-out
canoe.... We surge round hard aport then astarboard, following the
channel, through overfalls and eddies like the Dorris More or Corrie
Bhriechan in good humour, and there are a few sea swallows to keep us in
mind of the sea. It is pleasant to hear the rush, and the calm, of tide
race, alternating.
[Illustration]
We stop at a village on the river side, and there's a pageant of little
boats, a little like Norwegian prams, perhaps sampans is the nearest
name for them; they are brightly coloured. The only passenger besides
ourselves, Mr Fielding Hall,[24] leaves our steamer here, which we
greatly regret; he has told us a little about Burmah, and something of a
book he has now in the press, "A Nation at School," and we would very
willingly hear more. I gather that its purport is that the Burmans under
our rule are really going forward, and that our organisations,
hospitals, and factories in Rangoon are proofs of this, though they
appear, at the first glance, to be the opposite and that "_toute est
pour le mieux_...." I am painting now in the cabin he vacated, and ought
to be inspired! This Java makes a perfect yacht--granted a cabin
apiece--but even with two in a cabin it is very A.1.
[24] The author of "The Soul of a People," an exquisite description of
Burmese life.
The colouring and sandbanks this first day are undoubtedly suggestive of
the Nile, but the Irrawaddy is wider; the sand edge falls in the same
kind of chunks; the Nile is silvery and blue, with colourless shadows,
here everywhere rainbow tints spread out most delicately, and here
instead of Egyptians in floppy robes you have refined people exquisitely
dressed. As the river is low, we do not see much beyond the edge of the
banks. They are topped with high grass and reeds and low palm ferns, and
over these appear cane matting roofs of cottages and fine trees.
Paints feel poor things, and a camera can't get these wide effects, at
least mine won't--a cinematograph would be the thing. Every five minutes
a new river scene unrolls itself. At present, as I look from my large
cabin-window, I see a belt of feathery grass, and then the blue sky. A
flight of white herons rise, and the sand throws yellow reflected light
under their wings; a long, dug-out canoe passes down with a load of
colour, red earthenware pots forward, a copper-faced man amidship, in
white jacket and indian-red kilt. He is paddling, behind him are green
bananas, and in the stern a lady sits in pink petticoat and white
jacket. The clothes of men and women are somewhat similar; the man's
coloured "putsoe," or kilt, often of tartan, is tied in a knot in front
of his waist, and comes down to the middle of his calf. The woman tucks
her longer skirt or "tamaine," above her bosom, as you might hitch a
bath-towel, and it falls rather tightly to her ankles, and both men and
women wear a loose white cotton jacket, which just comes to their waist,
with wide sleeves that come below the waist. The men wear their hair
long, tied up with a bright silk scarf, and the women wear theirs coiled
on the top of their heads with a white crescent comb in it, and often a
bunch of yellow orchids. I've heard Europeans say there is little to
distinguish the men from the women in figure or dress: but, to me, their
figures and faces seem very prettily distinguished.
[Illustration]
We stop the night at Henzada, and dine on deck, shut off from the night
by a glass partition. The captain tells us how in 1863 the Company was
formed to take over from the Government four river steamers previously
used for carrying troops and stores; and how the fleet has steadily
grown with the development of the province until it now consists of 360
vessels, of all sorts and sizes.
Captain Terndrup also tells us of the occupation of Upper Burmah. He
brought down the last of the Europeans before we attacked Upper Burmah,
and took up the Staff of our army. Government hired these Flotilla ships
for the purpose. He also had to do with the beginning of these gold
dredgings in Northern tributaries of the Irrawaddy, which are to make
mountains of gold!
A new passenger joins here, a Woods and Forest man. He is full of
interesting information about both Lower and Upper Burmah, the Mergui
Archipelago and natural history.
We are lying one hundred yards off the shore. From the jungle comes the
sound of Burmese music. A Pwe is being held--a theatrical entertainment
given by someone to someone in particular, and to anyone else who likes
to attend; generally, in the open air, they go on a whole moonlight
night.
20th February.--Almost afraid to get up--the last two days so full of
beautiful scenes--positively fear a surfeit--sounds nonsense but it is
true to the letter.
Cool and sunny in the morning, the river violet, and the sun faint
yellow through wisps of rising mist. We are coming to a village on the
bank, palms and trees behind it, and a white pagoda spire rising from
them, and one in gold above the village. The cottage roofs are of
shingle, buff-coloured and grey, with a silvery sheen. People are coming
down the dried mud-bank and across the sand to meet us, red lacquered
trays of fruit and vegetables on their heads, and some with their
baggage on their heads--their clothes of most joyous colours--
"The world is so full of such beautiful things,
I am sure we should all be as happy as kings."
to quote Robert Louis Stevenson, and so these cheery villagers, with
their flowers and pretty garments, seem to think. Here is one nation in
the world that has attained peace if not happiness: that has preserved
the happy belief of the Druids and all primitive peoples, of the
relationship of the inorganic to the organic, which scientists now
accept and divines begin to consider. Mr Fielding Hall[25] said the
other evening "their ideal is untenable in a world of strenuous
endeavour and capitalism"--they, of course, do not believe in strenuous
endeavour or capitalism, and laugh at "work for work's sake." But we
have brought the great "law of necessity" to them, and they must come
out of their untenable happiness and fall in line with the advance of
civilisation, and give up flowers and silks and simple beauty and
cultivate smoke stacks. Our occupation of Burmah really does these
people good; witness the hospitals in Rangoon, and the veil of soot from
its factories!
[25] But see this author's latest book "The Inward Light"--a most
exquisite description of what the Burman believes is the teaching of
Buddha.
Within a hundred years I can see a few odd Burmans going about with hair
long and some little suggestion of the old times, a red silk tie
perhaps, and a low collar. Foolish fellows, with quaint ideas about
simplicity of life, fraternity, and jollity, and old world ideals of
beauty. They will be called artists, or Bohemians, men without any firm
belief in the doctrine of necessity, or of the beauty of work for work's
sake; men who, when they get to heaven, will say, "First rate, for any
sake don't spoil it--don't make it strenuous at any price!"
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
We go ashore, the Captain and I, and Mr Buchanan, the Woods and Forest
man. The air is brisk and the sun hot--such a change from Rangoon. We
climb the clay steps and walk along the tiny village to the native
(Indian) store, to buy a famous headache medicine for G. It is the
principal thing they sell. The owner of the store got the recipe from a
British Medico, and sells it now all over Burmah, to the tune of 1,300
rupees profit per month--if I may believe my informant! Burmese suffer
a great deal from headaches; the sun is strong, and they don't wear
hats. There were six native clerks occupied with the sale of this
nostrum. I deposited my half rupee for six doses--I'd have taken a ton
with hope some years ago.
Then Mr B. showed us his teak logs tethered alongside the banks, waiting
for high water to take them on their road south. Some logs are said to
take nine years to come down from the upper reaches to Rangoon. Then he
rode away on a pretty white pony, first asking me to come and stay in
the jungle with him, and don't I wish I could. You feel inclined to stop
at Henzada for ever, it is so picturesque and fresh, and the walks by
the river under the high trees are very pretty, and there's no dustiness
or towniness.
I am sorry Mr Buchanan went; there's much to ask, about what he knew; of
trees and beasts and people, or of the geology of these mountains that
are beginning to appear to our left and right: to the west, the southern
spine of the Arrakan Mountains, and to the east, the ranges of the Shan
Highlands, which divide the Irrawaddy valley from the valley of the
Salwin river.[26]
[26] For short concentrated descriptions of Burmah and Shan States,
_see_ Holdich's "India."
I ought to be painting these boats that pass--but there's
breakfast-bell--boats my friends, with the colours of Loch Fyne skiffs,
as to their sails and woodwork, a little deeper in colour, perhaps, and
set off with brighter figures, with here and there a rose pink turban or
white jacket. The hulls have a quaint dignity about them, and the
carvings on their sterns are as rich as the woodwork in a Belgian
cathedral.
Prome.--The sandbanks withdraw, and the wooded ranges of blue hills show
more firmly in the background. It is as if we were at the beginning of a
very wide Norwegian valley. Fishermen's mat shelters break the monotony
of some long sandbanks--isolated signs of life, each on its sharply-cast
purple shadow; a naked boy and his sister run along the freshly broken
edge of a sandbank, and wave to us.
Round, bend after bend, each a splendid delight to the eye--till two
o'clock we look, and look, loath to leave the deck, though our eyes are
sore and appetites keen--then lunch, watching the passing scenes--and
Prome.
[Illustration]
Looking out of our windows, to our left across the river, the scenery
reminds me of loch Suinnart or loch Swene in Argyll: there are knolly
hills, with woodcock scrub, and terns, or sea-swallows, dipping in the
current. To the right the shore is flat, then rises steeply to the road
on the bundar, above which we see the tops of brown teak bungalows, set
amongst rich green trees like planes, and beyond these again, stand grey
stemmed teak trees, and over all, the deep blue sky, and the Shwe Sandaw
Pagoda spire glittering with gold, with lower spires of marble
whiteness.
Pagoda spires are all along the river side every mile or two, but they
do not bespeak a population; most of them are in ruins, they are simply
built with sun-dried bricks, some are white-washed, others gilt, only
the famous pagodas are ever repaired, for a Burman obtains more evident
merit by building a new one. To judge by their number, one might think
there must be so many people that game could not abound, but this is not
the case at all.
We go ashore by the gangways (two broad planks) past Indian coolies and
Burmese laden with bales and boxes slung from either end of bamboos
balanced across their shoulders, through ramparts of bales and sacks
piled on the sand and gravel shore. On either side of the path there are
women sitting with snacks of Burmese food to sell to travellers,
sugar-cane, sweet cakes, cheroots, soda-water, and ngapi; this is a
great Burmese delicacy and has a peculiar smell! It is composed of
pounded putrid fish--as unpleasant to us as a lively old Stilton-cheese
would be to a Burman.
Up the bank some forty feet we find we are again in the track of the
Royal Procession! There are tiny decorations going up amongst the trees.
A triumphal arch, quite twenty feet high, is being covered with coloured
paper and tinsel, and a line of flags and freshly cut palm leaves leads
to the little siding on the line that goes to Rangoon. The place is so
pretty that you feel it is a pity that its natural features should be
disturbed by ornament however well intentioned.
We go to the pagoda and climb slowly up the steps, for they are high and
steep, and at every flight there are exquisite views out over the jungle
of trees, palms, and bamboo, and knolly "Argyll hills," and looking up
or down the stairs are more pictures; on both sides are double rows of
red and gold pillars, supporting an elaborately panelled teak roof, with
carvings in teak picked out with gold and colour. Groups of people with
sweet expressions, priests, men, women, and children pass up and down.
On the platform there is heat and a feeling of great peace, the subdued
chant of one or two people praying, the cluck of a hen, the fragrance of
incense, and now and then the deep soft throb of one of the great bells,
touched by a passing worshipper with the crown of a stag's horn. There
are spaces of intense light, and cool shadows and shrines of glass
mosaic, inside them Buddhas in marble or bronze--the bronzes are
beautiful pieces of _cire perdu_ castings--flowers droop before them,
and candles are melting, their flame almost invisible in the sunlight,
and two little children play with the guttering wax.
[Illustration]
As we come down the stairs we meet khaki-clad Indian soldiers, with high
khaki turbans, and indecently thin shanks in blue putties. They do not
fit their uniforms or boots, or the surroundings, and only the sergeants
seem to feel their rifles less than a burden. They are told off to posts
in the jungle at each stage of the ascent, and we feel our retreat is
menaced, but it is only a rehearsal for the Royal Visit to-morrow.
Little Prome is all agog! for the Prince comes down the river and is to
land here and train to Rangoon.
Before we go aboard we walk through the marketplace by the side of the
river; it is lit with a yellow sunset from over the river, the umbrellas
stand out brown against the sky, and the burning tobacco of the girls
white cheroots begins to show red, and the oranges have a very deep
colour, the blue smoke hangs in level wisps in the warm dusty air--and
you could lean up against the smell of the ngapi. It is in heaps, and of
finest quality they say. Here is a jotting from a sketch in colour; I
made also one in line to immortalise the Prome triumphal arch.
[Illustration]
There are more than a dozen flags on it now, and you see two natives
putting up two lamps; and the governor, you can imagine--he is training
his pair of carriage ponies to stand this unusual display. They go up
and down the mile of high road on the bundar in such a lather, one
nearly out of its skin with excitement. What would be better than an
arch, and would please every one, would be to collect all the Burmese
residents in the district in their best dresses, and allow them to group
themselves as their artistic minds would suggest; their grouping and
posing would be something to remember. Burmese woman study movement
from childhood, and nothing more beautiful could be conceived than their
colour schemes; I've seen arrangement of colours to-day in dresses,
delicate as harmonies in Polar ice, and others rich and strong as the
colours of a tropical sunset.
But one line more about the town.--Before the Christian era, Prome was
within six miles east of being one of Burmah's many ancient capitals; it
marked the ancient boundary between Ava and Pegu, otherwise Upper and
Lower Burmah. It is seventy five miles above Rangoon, and has 27,000
inhabitants, and has streets here, and a law court there, and an
Anglican church, so it is moving--one way or the other.