ADVENTURES.
"Things are seldom what they seem"--"H.M.S. Pinafore."
"I haven't braved any dangers, but I feel as if I knew all about
it"--(Rudyard Kipling.)
But all this time I am wandering from the real subject of this book,
_i.e._, myself and my adventures, and as wandering from the straight
path is an unpardonable error, it behoves me to return speedily to my
subject, and recount a few of the soul-stirring incidents which befell
me during some of my many bicycling expeditions alone into the depths of
the jungle.
This bicycling out of sight of human habitation, into the depths of the
jungle, sounds rather a brave and fearless proceeding, so I will not
correct the statement, but in parenthesis, as it were, I will remark
that once only did I venture more than half a mile from Remyo, and that
whenever I had turned the corner of the circular road, which shut out
the last view of my brother's house, my heart sank, and I became a prey
to the most agonising fears. Every instant I expected a tiger to bound
upon me from the jungle at the side of the road, a cobra to dart out its
ugly head from the overhanging branch of a tree, or a body of dacoits to
pounce down upon me and carry me off to their lair in triumph. My mind
was filled with useless speculation as to whether I and my bicycle would
be swifter than a panther, and with what "honeyed words of wisdom" I
should best allay the wrath of the "Burman run amuck," should fate throw
one of these in my way.
I derived no pleasure from that lonely mile and a half of the circular
road, which must be traversed before again arriving at the haunts of
civilisation; I never entered upon it without a shiver of nervous
expectation, or left it behind without a sigh of relief, and yet I was
forced by my overweening craving for adventure, to ride out at every
opportunity to explore this dreary waste of jungle! Like the great
"Tartarin" of "Tarasconnasian" memory, my "Don Quixote" spirit drove me
to seek adventures, however gruesome, while my "Sancho Panza" mind ever
timidly pined for home and safety.
The first time my Quixotic expectations were fulfilled, was one evening
when I was riding later than usual. The sun had set, and the short
eastern twilight was rapidly darkening into night. I was cycling along
quickly, eager to reach home before being overtaken by the gathering
darkness, when suddenly, on turning a corner of the road, I saw, about a
hundred yards in front of me, a long black thing, presumably a python,
stretching half across the road, and curving up its huge head, as though
ready to attack.
I do not suppose any bicycle ever stopped so abruptly as mine did at
that moment, and I must confess that my descent from the machine was
rapid rather than graceful.
After I had sorted myself and the bicycle, I stood up, my senses
somewhat steadied by the sudden contact with mother earth, and
considered the situation. The python did not appear to have moved much,
and had, apparently, as yet taken no notice of my appearance; could it
be asleep? I suppose pythons do sleep sometimes?
If I turned back, behind me lay three miles and more of jungle bordered
road, full of endless possible dangers, which must be traversed before
reaching safety, and it was growing so dark. In front, if I could but
pass the python, I had but a quarter of a mile to ride and I should be
in Remyo. I felt that I positively dared not face that long, dark, ride
back; but dare I face the python? It still made no sign of movement; but
possibly it was shamming sleep.
Then suddenly there came to me in my need, not a mysterious voice, but a
timely recollection. It was a recollection of one of the stories told me
by the versatile policeman; a story of how he had behaved successfully
under similar circumstances, except that in his case the obstacle was a
leopard. I determined to follow his example.
Summoning all my courage to assist me in performing this fearsome deed,
I mounted my bicycle, and with beating heart and trembling limbs, I rode
straight towards the reptile, ringing my bell, shouting, and making as
much noise and commotion as possible. Straight on I rode, almost
desperate with fear,----and then suddenly I ceased to shout, I stayed my
reckless pace, and finished my ride in gloomy silence, for on nearer
inspection the mighty python, the object of all my terror, turned out to
be nothing more alarming than the fallen branch of a tree.
Another adventure (which but for my habitual prudence might have ended
more seriously) befell me at almost exactly the same spot, but in the
day time. I was riding along cheerfully, feeling particularly brave,
when suddenly I beheld about a quarter of a mile in front of me three
strange beasts.
They rather resembled to my mind rhinoceri, but each had two horns. I
had never seen them before (I have no particular desire ever to see them
again) and I had not the least notion what they might be; whether wild
beasts of the jungle or tame household pets, but their personal
appearance rather suggested the former. I dismounted hastily, and
considered the matter. I did not wish to appear cowardly, even to my
bicycle; on the other hand, being of a peaceful nature, I had no desire
to enter into a hand-to-hoof struggle with three utterly unknown
quantities.
On they came, usurping the whole of the road, with a sort of
"push-me-aside-if-you-dare" look about them, which I found particularly
unpleasant. Their gait was rolling and pompous, but they occasionally
relieved the monotony of their progress by prodding one another
playfully with their horns. This engaging playfulness of disposition did
not appeal to me.
But I remembered the python incident, and scorned my fears, I would go
on and face the beasts. I remounted, looked again at the horns of the
advancing animals, thought of my family and friends, and then, somehow,
my bicycle seemed to turn round by itself, and I found myself speeding
as quickly in the opposite direction as any record breaker who ever
rode.
On arriving home, I casually mentioned what I had encountered, and
learned that my friends were "water buffalos," animals of the mildest
disposition unless roused, but when roused, most unpleasant to
encounter. They have frequently been known to pick up a dog with their
horns, and break its bones over their backs. They can pick a mosquito
off their backs with the tip of their horns, in fact they are quite
skilled in the use of the latter, and had I not luckily decided to ride
in the opposite direction when I encountered these enterprising beasts,
they would, doubtless, have experienced no difficulty whatever in
puncturing my tyre!
Ostensibly, their duty in this life is to draw the plough, but in
reality they fulfil a far higher mission. To them, and to them only, it
is given to draw contempt upon the superiority of the Anglo Indian: to
compass the fall of the mighty.
For no sooner does a European appear riding in his pride by the river
bed, where the water buffalo lies wallowing in the mud, than all the
worst passions awake in the breast of the afore mentioned water
buffalo, and he is instantly aroused to anger. He leaves the delights of
the mud bath, and starts in pursuit of the white face, no matter who he
may be. "Tell it not in Gath" but the water buffalo, being no respector
of persons, has even been known to put to ignominious flight the "Indian
Civilian" and the "Bombay Burman." The pursuit is long and determined,
the attack almost inevitable, unless the pursued be rescued by the
opportune advent of a native, for to the water buffalo the word of the
Burman is law, while the word of the Anglo Indian is a mere nothing.
This then, "the scorning of the great ones," would seem to be the
purpose of the water buffalos upon this earth. "How are the mighty
fallen"! when the highest among the ruling race must trust for rescue to
the interference of a five year old Burman.
One day, late in the afternoon, I sallied forth on my bicycle to a spot
half a mile down the Mandalay road, where I had noticed a specially
beautifully blossomed wild cherry tree. My intention was to rob the tree
of its treasure, and bear the blossom home in triumph to decorate our
drawing room for a dinner party that evening.
The place was quite deserted, so finding I could not reach the blossoms
from the ground, I leant my bicycle against the tree trunk, and after
much scrambling, and one or two falls, I succeeded in climbing the tree,
and began to gather the flowers.
So absorbed was I in my two-fold task of holding on to my precarious
perch, and breaking the branches of blossom, that I did not notice what
was going on below. Imagine then my horror and astonishment, on looking
down, to find my tree surrounded by about a dozen of the most
extraordinary looking natives I had ever beheld. Their clothing was most
scanty and they were covered from head to foot with elaborate "tattoo."
They wore tremendously large Shan hats, their hair was long and matted,
their teeth were red with betel juice, and most of them were armed with
long Burmese "dahs" (knives). They had come silently along the road out
of the jungle, and now stood in a circle round my tree, pointing,
staring, and chattering vigorously in an unknown tongue.
Evidently I had fallen into the hands of a band of dacoits, and to judge
by their appearance, they were gloating over their capture.
It was no dream this time--I assured myself of that by a series of
violent and judicious pinches; no! it was grim, very grim, earnest.
Escape appeared impossible. I told them in as much strong English as I
could remember, to go away, but they neither understood nor heeded. I
tried to recollect my Burmese, but could only remember words referring
to food, and thought it better not to put that idea into their heads;
they might be cannibals. I tried one or two shouts, but that made no
impression on them. There seemed no hope; they still stood there,
pointing and grinning savagely; they had evidently no intention of
relinquishing their prey.
Then, trying to smile in a nervous and conciliatory manner, I slowly
descended the tree. How I longed for false teeth, a glass eye, a wooden
leg, or some other modern invention, with which people in books of
adventure are wont to overawe the natives who thirst for their blood.
Alas! I had nothing of the sort.
I could not, obviously, sit in the tree all night, so sadly and
doubtfully I descended to throw myself on their mercy.
I reached the ground, and stood with my eyes shut waiting the end.
The end showed no intention of coming, so I opened my eyes, and
discovered to my astonishment that not I but my bicycle was the object
of all this attention. I was to them a matter of no interest whatever,
but the cycle they could not understand.
Joyous with relief I hurriedly demonstrated the workings of my bicycle
to this party of, not dacoits, but most harmless wood cutters, and then
mounting rode away, followed for some distance by an awe-struck and
admiring crowd. My fears as usual were unfounded, but the drawing room
was not decorated with cherry blossom that or any other evening.
It is difficult, for those to whom the bicycle is now as common as
blackberries, to imagine the astonishment with which the natives view
the machine for the first time. In Remyo itself bicycles were well
known, but frequently on the roads I met strangers from neighbouring
villages, and the astonishment and terror depicted on their faces when
they beheld me riding on this unknown thing was almost laughable. They
would fall back into the ditch with their mouths open, and remain
staring after me as long as I was in sight.
Once, I remember, I and another lady rode out to a little village in the
jungle about three miles from Remyo. The road, a mere jungle track, was
awful, but we succeeded at last in arriving at our destination. We left
our cycles in the compound of the "hpoongyi kyaung," and climbed a
neighbouring hill to see a quaint pagoda, which crowned its top. After
thoroughly examining the pagoda, and the numerous images which surround
it, we returned to our cycles.
What was our astonishment to find the entire population of the village
assembled in the compound, all having apparently taken up their
positions there, preparatory to seeing some entertainment. The Head of
the village approached us humbly, and in a long speech explained that
though he (evidently a travelled gentleman) had told his subordinates
all about the wonderful machines we rode, yet they would not believe
him. Would we, as a great condescension, mount and ride round the
compound, that all might see that his words were true.
Willing to oblige him, I consented at once, mounted, and did a little
"gymkhana business," rather cleverly, I thought, considering the rough
ground. Imagine my astonishment and indignation, when the whole audience
became convulsed with merriment, hearty, overwhelming merriment, rolling
on the ground, and shrieking with laughter. I cannot explain the reason
of it; I suppose they looked upon me as a sort of travelling acrobat,
and their laughter was a sign of approbation of my tricks. But I was
very angry. I had not gone out to Burmah to become the laughing stock
of ignorant natives, so I said a hasty farewell to the "Thugyi," who
seemed quite pleased with the reception his companions gave me, and rode
out of the compound and away, followed by the amused shrieks of my
audience. I would have shaken the dust of that village from my feet, but
that is a difficult thing to achieve successfully on a bicycle.
The Burmans are a merry folk, but methinks at times their humour carries
them too far.
[Illustration: Decoration]