THE FOREST
And now I want to tell you something about the forest, which, as we
have seen from the river, practically covers the country.
We all enjoy our English woods, but these, lovely though they are,
convey no idea whatever of the luxuriant and bewildering beauty of a
forest in the tropics.
How shall I give you an idea of it? It is so big, so magnificent, and
at times so solemn. Everywhere you are surrounded by trees of many
kinds and immense size, whose huge trunks, springing from a dense mass
of undergrowth, rise 200 feet or more into the air. All are bound
together by a tangled mass of creepers, which mingle their foliage
with that of the trees to form one huge canopy of leaves, in which
birds of bright plumage and beautiful song live out their happy lives.
Monkeys also make their home there, and strange insects and
butterflies of rare beauty flit among the flowers, or hover in the few
stray sunbeams which penetrate the gloom.
[Illustration: IN THE DEPTHS OF THE FOREST.]
It is all very impressive, very beautiful, and still, except for the
drone of insects or soft note of the songbird. Perhaps the silence may
be broken by a herd of wild elephants crashing heavily through the
canes, or the shrill cry of the squirrel startles the forest and warns
its fellows of the nearness of a snake.
Bewilderment and wonder grow upon anyone riding through the forest for
the first time, but after a few days one gradually becomes accustomed
to these luxuriant surroundings, and is able to appreciate the forest
in detail.
How beautiful the undergrowth is! Palms and bamboos wave gracefully
above a mass of flowering plants, among and over which climb
convolvuli of many kinds, tropæolum, honeysuckle, and a variety of
other creepers, forming natural arbours, with whose blossoms mingle
those of the festoons hanging from the trees.
Teak, india-rubber, and cutch trees rise high above the undergrowth,
and in turn are dwarfed by such giants as the pyingado and the
cotton-tree. These grow to an enormous size. The pyingado, straight
and smooth, often rises 150 feet before it puts forth a branch, and I
have seen ponies stabled between the natural buttresses which support
the huge trunk of the silk-cotton tree, sometimes 250 feet in height.
Orchids of great size grow upon the boughs, and add to the wealth of
foliage, in which the large-leafed teak or rubber trees contrast with
the feathery pepper or acacia; and it is interesting to notice that
most of the feathery kinds bear thorns.
Though generally straight and tall, the trees are often twisted into
curious joints and elbows, which give them a very fantastic
appearance; but most strange of all are the creepers which bind these
forest growths. Some are very large, and stretch for immense
distances, linking tree to tree in twining loops, from which their
hanging tendrils reach the ground, or perhaps crossing some forest
glade or stream to form an aerial bridge for the lemurs or the
monkeys.
One creeper in particular I must tell you about. This is called
"Nyoung-bin" by the natives, and is a very strange plant. It very
often springs from a seed dropped by some bird into the fork of a
tree, where, taking root, it sends its suckers downwards until they
become firmly bedded in the ground, then, growing upwards again, it
slowly envelops the parent tree until it is entirely enclosed by the
new growth, which kills it, but which in its stead becomes a _new_
tree, larger and more lofty than the one which first supported it.
This is one of the many species of ficus, of which its equally strange
cousin, the many-trunked banyan, is another common feature of a
Burmese forest.
Naturally these forests are alive with birds. Parrots and parakeets
live among the tree-tops, and doves and pigeons, jays and mynahs, and
a great variety of small birds, find their home here. Woodpeckers are
busy among the tree-trunks, sharing their spoil of insects with the
lizards and the tree-frogs, and among the lesser growths tits,
finches, and wagtails rear their young broods.
The birds are not the only occupants of these wilds, however, for in
no country is there a larger variety of game than in Burma. Herds of
wild elephants roam the forests, in which are also tigers, panthers,
and bears. Many kinds of deer are there, to be preyed upon by man or
beast, from the pretty little gyi or barking deer to the lordly
sambur. Wild pig also are very numerous, and lurking in the dank
undergrowth or fissures of the rocks are many venomous snakes and
large pythons.
But though so abundant, all these wild creatures are shy, and one may
travel many days without adventure, and any sense of danger is soon
lost in admiration of the beauties of these wilds.
Riding through such a forest is very fascinating in the early winter
months. Then the ground is fairly hard, and riding would be easy were
it not for the thorny vines and fallen tree-trunks which lie among the
thickets. At this time, also, foliage and flowers are still luxuriant,
and all kinds of wild life abundant.
But from May to October the south-west monsoon, bringing in the
heavily-laden rain-clouds from the sea, pours upon the country its
torrential rains, which change this beautiful forest into a swamp. The
quiet creeks become turbid rivers, while the hill-sides are torn by
innumerable torrents, which, washing away the earth from the roots of
the trees, cause them to fall crashing among the dripping undergrowth.
Bridges are swept away, and the paths become morasses. Travelling in
the forest is then wellnigh impossible, though it is this time that
the native woodman and the large number of young Englishmen engaged in
forest-work find the busiest of the year.
Gradually the rains cease, and with the return of sunshine birds and
flowers spring into renewed life, more beautiful than ever, and at no
time of the year is the forest more lovely than immediately after the
monsoon rains.
Presently the hot weather of March and April comes to strip the trees
of their leaves, while the dak and other flowering trees are a blaze
of crimson among the autumn tints. Then, when everything is dry and
withered, forest fires break out in many parts of the country,
consuming all but the larger trees, and leaving a blackened waste
where once was a paradise of flowers. It is sad to ride in the track
of such a fire, but this is no doubt Nature's way of _cleaning_ the
country, and destroying a vast amount of decaying vegetable matter and
keeping in check many venomous insects and reptiles. The forest
appears to be dead until the advent of the next monsoon restores to
the sun-bleached skeleton its usual luxuriant vegetation.
But I hear some one asking, How do you live and travel in such a
country? All through India and Burma at intervals along the main
routes of travel dâk bungalows have been erected for the use of
travellers. These are small houses, containing two or three rooms,
raised on poles above the ground. They are built of timber, with
matting walls and thatched roof, much like the Burmese dwellings I
have described. Native custodians are in charge of them, and although
specially intended for the use of Government servants, any traveller
may use them. In the forest similar houses, called "tais," smaller and
often built of bamboo, are erected, though sometimes very small huts
indeed, formed of bamboo and reeds, are the only shelter available.
These are draughty dwellings, and even the best-built "tai" is partly
open to the air, and affords little protection from the night cold,
which is often so intense that sleep is almost impossible.
After a scanty breakfast by candlelight, a start is made in the early
dawn, when the air is cold and damp, and the heavy dew dripping from
the reeds and kine-grass quickly soaks you to the skin. The sunrise is
curiously sudden, and very soon the sun is hot enough to compel the
traveller to leave the open glades and seek the shelter of the denser
portions of the forest. Hardy little ponies, sure-footed and willing,
are our mounts, while elephants carry the stores and provisions,
cooking utensils, and bedding, which every traveller must take with
him.
In distinction to the working elephants, those employed on a journey
are called "travellers," and are used for no other purpose. Their
drivers are called "ouzies," and sit astride the animals' necks, with
their legs hanging down behind their ears. There are several ways of
mounting, each pretty: sometimes the elephant will hold up its
fore-foot to form a step for its driver, or will drop upon its knees
and bend its trunk to form a step, by which the "ouzie" is able to
reach his seat.
When travelling they have a shambling sort of gait, half walk, half
amble, but manage to get over the ground very quickly, and for such
cumbersome animals are very nimble-footed. It is almost ludicrous to
see the huge beasts picking their way along a narrow "bund" or
crossing some ditch by a bridge of fallen logs, but they always do so
successfully.
Soft and boggy land, however, is a great trouble to them, their great
weight causing them to sink deep into the mud; and elephants will
often show their dread of such places by loud trumpeting and great
unwillingness to attempt the passage. Occasionally they will tear up
tufts of reeds or boughs of trees to make a foothold for themselves,
and I heard quite recently of a case where a friend of mine, while out
shooting from elephants, came to such a marshy place, which at first
they refused to cross. Then, before anything could be done to prevent
it, his elephant seized the driver with his trunk and, placing him in
the mud, used the poor native's body as a "stepping-stone." The driver
was, of course, crushed to death, and my friend only escaped a similar
fate by scrambling off his elephant by the tail. Generally elephants
are docile enough, but are not always fond of Europeans and very much
dislike a rider to approach too closely; but they rarely give trouble
to their drivers, for whom they often have a genuine affection.
Roads in the forest are few, and at best are only bridle-tracks,
difficult to ride over, and through which a way has often to be cut
with knives, so rapid is the growth.
Travelling is slow and often difficult, and towards the great heat of
midday men and animals are glad to rest, while another march in the
afternoon brings us, towards sunset, to our next halting-place. Then
fuel for the fires must be collected to prepare the evening meal, beds
made ready, and the animals attended to. The ponies are tethered
underneath the "tai," while the elephants, wearing a wooden bell
called "kalouk," are turned loose into the forest, where their drivers
quickly track them down again in the morning by the sound of their
bell.
About sundown a strange hush comes over the forest, and the leaves
hang limply after the great heat of the day. Insects and birds give up
their activities, and are preparing to roost or lying in the various
hiding-places they frequent. All Nature seems to be _tired_, and
little wonder when the thermometer has shown 105° of moist heat!
Suddenly with the cooling of the air a shiver and a rustle passes over
the tree-tops as the sundown breeze brings relief to the tired world.
Immediately the forest is alive again, but with new inhabitants. The
dancing fireflies weave rings of bluish light around the tree-trunks,
already half lost in the gathering darkness; crickets and tree-frogs
contribute to the growing sounds of the woody solitude; while the
stealthy tread of some prowling animal is faintly heard among the
withered debris of the undergrowth. It is no longer safe to wander
from the camp-fire, whose flames, shooting upwards in straight
tongues, light up the nearer trees in contrast to the blackness
beyond, in which many a dangerous wild beast lurks. Within the circle
which our camp-fire lights is safety, and in the now cold night air
its warmth is grateful. No one who has not experienced it can at all
appreciate the romantic pleasure of a forest camp, never more
enjoyable than in the hour before "turning in," when, in the light of
our blazing logs and surrounded by the dark mystery beyond, the last
pipe is smoked while listening to many exciting tales of adventure,
before we stretch our tired limbs in bed.
[Illustration: A OAK BUNGALOW. _Page 60._]