FIGHT WITH DACOITS
Neither a boat in which to descend the river, nor a bullock-cart in
which to reach its banks, were to be hired until the harvest was ready,
so there was nothing for it but patience.
Neither Kirke nor Ralph felt themselves quite strong enough to be
inclined for excessive haste. Kirke's illness, and Denham's sufferings
in the jungle, made a little further rest still desirable before running
the risk of more danger and new fatigues. They therefore remained
quietly in the village contentedly enough, learning to know each other
and like each other better every day.
They had long conversations, discussions of every subject which occurred
to them. Each had undergone a training so different from the other that
they never saw any matter in exactly the same light, and their opposite
experiences were mutually valuable. Kirke's deep and dark knowledge of
life was a warning to Denham; his own boyish lightness and gaiety were
encouraging to his friend.
Meantime the rice ripened, was cut, and put up in stooks, ready for the
threshing floor, in true scriptural fashion; for the manner of husking
it by hand, as before described, was too slow and costly to be practised
upon large quantities; neither was the paddy grained at all for
mercantile purposes, as machinery was so much more convenient for the
purpose.
Much rice, indeed, is brought to England in the form of paddy; and
cleaned there by steam mills, of which there are many in Liverpool and
elsewhere.
In the valley where Ralph and Kirke found themselves, it was a
prosperous year. The people had been able to buy a sufficiency of
excellent young plants, the weather had been favourable to their growth,
the yield was good--the strangers had brought them luck.
But was it good or bad luck that the report of their riches should have
gone forth over the land, and created envy in the hearts of some among
their neighbours--idler, poorer, less fortunate than they?
But so it was. Down from the wild hillside came a party of four or five
men from a neighbouring outlying village, armed with guns and pistols.
They crept along, hidden by boulder and rock; crawling through gulley,
and channels of dried-up streamlets, to reconnoitre; to judge of the
wealth in the village, and the exact moment when it could be seized upon
to the greatest advantage.
Dacoity, as it is called, is the great curse of the hill and jungle
parts of Burma. The Burman hates hard work--it is so much easier to help
himself to his neighbour's rice than to grow it for himself. If his crop
fails, why should another man have more than he wants? Down he comes in
the night, sets the village on fire, kills the men, carries off the
maidens, and appropriates the property.
The English law is severe upon the dacoit, but, at the time when Ralph
Denham was wandering about in these wild regions, British Burma
consisted only of a long strip of seaboard, backed by a mountain-range
which divided it from Siam, and of the rice-growing lands in Pegu,
formed by the widespread delta of the Irriwaddy River.
It was very easy for ill-doers to escape over the borders of the British
possessions either to the east or north, and English law could not
reach them. Law and order elsewhere was conspicuous by its absence,
therefore the dacoit flourished.
The English authorities set a price upon these robbers' heads, so it was
short shrift for them if caught. To avoid this unpleasantness, they
killed their enemies whenever they found that this procedure suited
their convenience; and, in order to deter pursuit, they endeavoured to
strike terror into the hearts of those who might seek to apprehend them,
by a peculiar refinement of cruelty in the manner of killing them. Thus
they were not nice people to meet with--far from it.
The two young men were sitting together, in the cool of the evening,
upon the raised platform which ran round their hut, and formed a
verandah, roofed with thekkee,--a kind of dried grass,--but open on
every side to the air. There had been a magnificent sunset, whose
gorgeousness had yet hardly faded from the western sky. They had been
talking, but the soothing influence of the hour was upon them and they
were silent now.
Soft curls of smoke wafted away from Kirke's cheroot; and Ralph sat on a
mat, leaning against the bamboo support of the verandah, gazing dreamily
over the landscape before him.
Ralph's vision was very keen, and he now became aware of three or four
men, dimly perceptible among the gathering shadows, creeping along the
river-bank, stooping low to be thus better concealed by the reeds which
grew upon it.
Their movements were suspicious, and he quietly called Kirke's attention
to them. Kirke could not see them, and thought that Ralph had imagined
their presence.
"No," said Denham, "it is not imagination; they move a short way, and
then keep quite still for a full minute or more. It is that which makes
me think that they are up to mischief. Fix your eye upon that clump of
reeds the farthest to the left of four. Now, there, don't you see
something come out from behind it?"
"Ah! I do," exclaimed Kirke. "One, two, three, four, five things. They
are men's heads, as sure as a gun! Ralph, it strikes me that this means
dacoity."
"I believe it does," replied Ralph. "There is a large sledge there laden
with paddy. The beggars are after that to a certainty."
"Have at them!" cried Kirke. "Don't let us allow their knavish tricks to
succeed."
"Halt," replied Ralph. "Those fellows have guns, and long swords or
daggers. There are other things stuck into their waistbelts, which are
either pistols or knives, perhaps both. Have we weapons at hand? There
are five of them, we two could do little against them alone; we had
better call up old Shway Poh, and some of the villagers, to help."
"Moung Shway Poh won't be of much use. He will talk resignedly of those
scamps being the 'five enemies,' or the 'five duties,' or the 'five
great acts of sacrifice.' That rice is not his, he will be perfectly
resigned to the thieves annexing it."
"We must use a little gentle force then, to persuade him that one of the
ten precepts is to preserve your neighbour's goods when you accept
authority over him. Shway Poh did not get this village to eat just to
keep his own rice safe, or his own skin either. But, Kirke, it is not
only that lot of rice which the beggars want. They may be short of food,
and mean to have that, but what they are _really_ after is the village
wealth, the ornaments which the women wear, the money in the monastery,
the valuables generally. The important thing is to beat them off there,
before they creep into the village to find out what the people have."
"Perhaps you are right. Some of those girls wear really magnificent
jewellery at their festivals; and it seems to me that they sport more
and more of late. Even that little Sunshine child came out the other day
in a pair of ruby earrings that might make a duchess' mouth water. So
here goes. I bought these guns only last week for our journey. They are
not first-rate ones, but serviceable. And here is a good bowie-knife for
you, and one for me. Now for Mr. Golden Grandfather."
They found the head man of the village, who rejoiced in that lovely
name, squatted with his family around a huge tray of rice and chillies,
flavoured with oil and salt. He was shovelling his supper into his mouth
with vast relish, and was extremely averse to exertion, having already
gobbled up so much as to make movement inconvenient.
"The Englishman mistakes," he said. "Dacoits never come here. They know
well that I am a Friday's child, fierce and passionate as the tusked
elephant which protects my soul. They dare not incur my wrath. The
village is safe as long as I am its chief."
"_You_ fierce and passionate?" cried his wife contemptuously. "So you
may be, but your fierceness is like the flame of a chaff fire, it flares
up easily and is out again in one minute. Did we slave and labour for
our beautiful jewels simply to give them to the thief? No indeed. Show
me, golden[1] youth, where the dacoits are to be seen. Will they be
content with one sledge full if they are down upon us, Poh Pyin?[2]
Answer me that."
She went out into the verandah, but the house was situated behind a
grove of trees which hid the rice-sledge from her sight.
"We must go in the boats," said she.
"Then go armed," implored Ralph, "for the robbers are armed to the
teeth."
"You are sure?" asked she.
"Quite sure," said Ralph.
She called up some of the men; and the village chief having now plucked
up a little energy, a boat was prepared, and put off across the stream.
So much time was lost, however, that the robbers had already linked two
sledges together, and were punting them away with all speed. Upon seeing
the villagers' boat, which was impelled by six men, gaining rapidly upon
them, and followed by two more, they pointed their guns at the foremost.
"Stand back!" they cried, "or we fire."
"We had better return," whispered the fat old Shway Poh.
"Coward!" hissed out Kirke, thirsting for the fray. "What! they are but
five."
"They are desperate men," whined Shway Poh.
"If we lose our rice, there is nothing but dacoity before us, ourselves,
next winter," said one of the men.
The boat shot ahead, and tried to run athwart the first sledge. The
dacoits fired. Had five guns really been able to kill six men? There
were five rowers, and Shway Poh steering. Ralph had the sixth oar, and
Kirke's gun rang out in response to the attack, but only he and Denham
remained steady at their posts. All the Burmans were bowled over.
Strange that the dacoits' shots should have hit them all, and missed
Kirke's broad figure standing erect in the bows. Did he bear a charmed
life?
There was another explanation of the mystery. He who fights and runs
away, may always live to fight another day. The six Burmans were all
prostrate at the bottom of the boat, and the shots had passed harmlessly
above them. Neither had they been taken with very true aim, for all had
gone wide of the mark.
A kick from Kirke aroused the man nearest to him.
"Get up, you scoundrel!" thundered the young man. "What are you funking
there for? Seize them before they can reload!"
He threw himself out of the boat, which had now crossed the stream, and
tore the pole from the hands of one dacoit. Ralph followed, and seized
another by the throat, but the fellow's body was thickly besmeared with
cocoanut oil, rendering him so slippery that he actually slid through
his hands, and Denham's foot slipped, throwing him down.
Up he sprang in an instant, and tried to grasp the fellow's garments;
but, with a wriggle and a twist, he was out of the coiled cloth in one
moment, leaving it in Ralph's hands, while he stood for the space of a
second, free of all impedimenta, then bounded into the jungle.
Ralph gave chase, but had no chance against the lithe limbs of the
Burman, well used to such encounters, and almost as supple as a snake.
After a short pursuit, he turned back to assist his friends, seeing the
undesirability of separating their party into single units.
He found himself needed. Upon the report of firearms, the natives in the
other two boats held aloof, and were now returning to the village,
towing, however, the rice sledges with them; and the valorous Mr. Golden
Grandfather was in the act of stepping into their own, with evident
purpose of following in their wake.
Kirke had knocked down one of the dacoits, who was either killed or lay
senseless on the ground. Using his long pole as a quarter-staff, and
whirling it round his head in true old English style, he was making play
against another, who, wholly unused to this style of thing, was
defenceless in his hands.
But the fourth was in the act of coming up behind Kirke with a knife in
his muscular hands,--a long curved knife of deadly power--and actually
had it raised in air, ready to plunge into the young man's back, beneath
the shoulderblade. Ralph caught his own dagger from his cummerbund, and
dashed upon the enemy's rear, with a cry of "'Ware, Kirke!"
Kirke turned, saw his danger, and faced it. Ralph plunged his dagger at
the dacoit, who raised his arm to protect his head, and received the
blow in the fleshy part of it. The fifth robber crawled up through the
long grass, and wounded Ralph in the leg, bringing him to the ground;
but Ralph caught his first opponent by the ankle as he lay, holding him
there with a grasp of iron, and brought him down over him.
Kirke's guns had been left in the boat, unfortunately; but the two
English lads had given the dacoits no time to reload theirs, so that the
fight was pretty equal. Now, however, Mr. Grandfather, regarding himself
as tolerably safe, began to blaze away from the boat to the assistance
of his guests, and the tide of battle turned.
The dacoits evidently thought this too long odds, and fled, leaving one
of their number behind. Kirke turned him over with his foot, as the
others disappeared, and found him quite dead,--an ugly sight, with his
dark, evil, scowling face set in the ashy hue of death.
"Pah!" cried Kirke. "What carrion!"
"Poor wretch," said the gentler Denham, "I am very sorry for him."
"Dacoit will revenge this upon some of us," said Mr. Golden Grandfather.
"This is a bad job for us."
"Nonsense, old fellow," said Kirke lightly. "The dacoits have had enough
of us for one while, and we will be prepared for them before they come
again. The rice is safe at anyrate, that is one good thing. You must get
it down to the creek with all speed. It would be the best way to set
off to-morrow with morning light."
"Yes, paya, you speak truth; but this bad job," reiterated Moung Shway
Poh.
The party returned silently to the village, there was no exultation over
their victory, all were exhausted now the excitement was over, several
had been more or less knocked about, and Ralph had lost a good deal of
blood from a flesh wound in his leg.
One of the women dressed it with some healing leaves, binding it up, and
they all retired to rest, but the women as well as the men were inclined
to look darkly upon the transactions of the evening, under the belief
that though their treasures were the original inducement for the
dacoits' arrival, those scoundrels would now never rest until they had
avenged blood by blood.