THE FOREST (_continued_)
Though human habitations are not often met with in the forest, little
native settlements occur from time to time, where, surrounded by small
clearings, over which a primitive scarecrow mounts guard, sufficient
rice is grown for their needs. These little hamlets are occupied by
woodmen, or little communities of Chins, a kindred race to the
Burmans, though differing from them in many customs, most curious of
which is their habit of tattooing the faces of their young women
_black_.
Here and there one meets a fowler, who, with primitive snare or
decoy-bird, seeks to take his toll of the forest; and in the most
remote districts may be met some picturesque Burmese travelling-cart,
toiling laboriously over tracks which would almost seem to be
impossible for wheels. I have already mentioned the creaking of the
cart-wheels which no Burman would oil, for they believe that the
horrible groanings they produce, together with their own loud voices,
serve to ward off the evil spirits of the woods; for the Burman is
superstitious, and at frequent intervals may be seen tiny wicker-work
representations of pagodas and "zeyats" erected to propitiate the
forest "nats," and passers-by will deposit in these diminutive
shrines some offering of food or ornament, and in the Shan States I
remember seeing one whose enclosing fence was hung with spears and
"dahs," and other weapons of considerable interest and some value.
By the wayside the lonely grave of some traveller or woodman, marked
by its simple fence of twigs, gives a touch of pathos to the forest;
and among its natural wonders are the giant ant-hills, often 9 feet or
more in height.
Ants are probably the most destructive of all insects in Burma.
Voracious wood-eaters, they will attack fallen logs or growing trees,
which they will entirely consume till only the hollow bark remains.
This is one great reason why the wood of the teak-tree is so highly
valued, as it is the only timber these ants will not touch, and
consequently is the one of which all the more important buildings and
dwellings are constructed.
In many districts, within reach of some beautiful forest creek,
teak-cutting may be seen in full operation; and it is interesting to
watch the elephants at work, hauling logs or loading them on to the
little trollies, by which they are carried down to the water, where,
floundering along the muddy bank, they launch them in the stream.
Some of these creeks are very lovely, fringed as they are by flowering
grasses, behind which the forest rises tier on tier above the
shimmering water and gleaming sand-banks.
On the banks are the footprints of many wild animals who have come
down to water during the night. In the water are fish and
water-snakes, which alert herons constantly harass, and, strange as it
may seem, in the river-bed itself are the marks of cart-wheels, for
the Burmans often make a highway of these forest streams, which in the
dry season are generally easier to travel than the roads.
The forest itself is never monotonous, its growths varying according
to the levels of the hills. Sometimes the enormous trees and heavy
foliage I have already described produce a depth of gloom which might
well excuse the superstitious fear of the Burmans, and often recalls
to me the pictures in our fairy-books, where some bold knight is
depicted entering the depths of an enchanted wood, in search of the
dragon that well might dwell there. Descending the hill-side with a
suddenness which is almost startling, you may find yourself in a
bamboo forest, which is a veritable fairyland for beauty. From a
carpet of sand, on which lilies grow, these giant bamboos spring,
fern-like, in enormous clumps, spreading their arms and feathery
crests in all directions, and, meeting overhead, form avenues and
lanes, which remind one of some beautiful cathedral aisle.
Different in many ways from the forests I have described are those of
the cooler plateaus and mountain ranges of Northern Burma. On the
higher levels oak and pines are found among the other trees, and
bracken grows around the wild plums on the more open slopes. Sparkling
rivulets spring from the mountain-side, and, overhung by ferns and
mosses, flow gurgling over their pebbly beds to the deep valley below,
there to join the swiftly-flowing river, which, by many waterfalls
and rapids, eventually reaches the level of the plains.
From the river's edge, where reeds and wild bananas grow, the purple
wistaria spreads itself over the mass of vegetation which covers the
precipitous hills from base to summit.
Bamboos of many kinds wave among the trees or grow in masses by
themselves, and climbing geranium and ferns mount from one foothold to
another over tree-trunks or rocks, rooting as they go.
Nests of wasps and weaver birds hang from the canes. Jungle-fowl and
pheasant, snipe and partridge, are there to provide the traveller with
food, and often, flying heavily from tree to tree, a peacock offers a
welcome addition to your larder.
The forest is dense, and in places almost impenetrable, and as you
ride or cut your way through the thick undergrowth, monkeys of large
size follow you through the tree-tops, scolding and chattering at your
intrusion; and lemurs, fear overcome by curiosity, approach you
closely, as though to see what kind of creature is this that
penetrates these wilds.
Wildness best describes these leafy solitudes in which roads are
almost unknown, and which the larger beasts as well as men appear to
shun.
Along the river-bank, however, are many little hamlets, where in
dug-out canoes the natives fish the rivers, using many ingenious nets
and traps, or weirs which stretch from bank to bank.
Carts are never used here, and such traffic as is carried on must be
done by means of pack-ponies, whose loads are so contrived that,
should they stumble on their rugged path, they can easily free
themselves of their burden.
We are now near to the Chinese frontier, and many straggling groups of
Chinese, Shans, and Shan-tilok (which is a mixture of the two) may be
met bearing bales or baskets of produce on their backs to some distant
settlement; or occasionally a family party, bent upon some pilgrimage
or journey, carry their household goods and young children in baskets
slung from bamboo poles, which cross their shoulders.
On the lower levels, where paths are more frequent, little bridges of
picturesque design cross the streams, from which rise warm miasmic
mists. In the early morning dense fogs fill the valleys, often
accompanied by frost; but as the sun gains power and the mists are
sucked up, the heat is intense; and these extremes of heat and cold,
combined with the smell of rotting vegetation and exhalations from the
ground, render this region a perfect fever-den, in which no white man
can safely live.
Though the general character of the country consists of lofty
mountains and deep valleys, through which wide rivers flow, there are
at intervals considerable stretches of flat land, which are under
partial cultivation. Here villages of some size are found, and among
the people which inhabit them are strange types we have not previously
seen in Burma, and customs which are curious. The Shans, for instance,
have the habit of tattooing their faces and legs and centre of their
chests, while, their scanty clothing not permitting the use of
pockets, they carry upon their backs little baskets of wicker-work, in
which are placed their knives, tobacco, and such other articles as a
pocket might have accommodated. The Yunnanese, wearing huge plaited
hats of straw and curious slippers of the same material, but whose
other garments are so thin and baggy as to mark them indifferent to
the cold, are in marked contrast to the Kachins, who wear an elaborate
costume of heavy woollen material of many colours. The men, whose hair
is long and tied in a knot on the top of the head, after the manner of
the Burmese, wear a simple scarf tied round the head in place of a
hat, while the women, who wear a costume much like the men, have as
their head-covering a handkerchief or scarf folded flat upon the head.
All have their ears bored, the lobes being so large as not only to
enable them to wear ear ornaments of unusual size, but often to serve
as a handy receptacle for a cigar! When travelling the Kachins usually
carry in their hands double-ended spears, whose shafts are covered
with a kind of red plush from which large fringes hang; but these are
only ceremonial weapons, and show that their intentions are pacific.
Like the Shans, they dispense with pockets in their clothing, but
instead wear suspended under their arm a cloth bag, which is often
prettily embroidered.
Though, as I have mentioned, the forests of Mid-Burma--and, indeed,
generally throughout the country--abound in game, which ranges from
elephant and rhinoceros down to the smallest deer, and while every
tree and thicket is a home for birds, all forms of animal life appear
to avoid the fever-infested highlands of North-East Burma. In some
places, however, strange freaks of Nature occur. On the high plateau
through which the Myit-nge River flows, though the forest and jungle
is more or less deserted, scattered over the plain are conical
limestone crags, which are alive with monkeys; and while the
innumerable species of insects which infest the warmer forests are
absent, nowhere in all Burma have I seen butterflies more numerous or
more beautiful than here. It is singular, also, to notice how human
habitations will attract certain forms of animal life, and in some
mysterious manner, though the surrounding forest may be otherwise
deserted, pigeons and doves and the various kinds of crow quickly
install themselves in the neighbourhood of a newly-established
settlement or camp.
It is impossible in two short chapters to describe the infinite
variety and charm of these Burmese forests--the rushing mountain
torrents, the sweeping rivers, and noble waterfalls; the sluggish
streams, which reflect the glories of the surrounding forest; its
teeming life, its solitude, and the wonderful effects of light and
colour; but perhaps I have said enough to convey to you some idea of
that wealth of exuberant beauty which has forced upon me the
conclusion that nothing in all the world is quite so beautiful as a
tropical forest.
So far I have not given you any example of the many adventures which
may befall a traveller in such wilds, but they are naturally of
frequent occurrence.
Often while painting, and quite unarmed, I have found myself in
unpleasantly close proximity to wild beasts of many kinds, and on
more than one occasion I have narrowly escaped the fatal bite of some
deadly snake which I have killed. Every one has a natural horror of
poisonous snakes, but sometimes an adventure with them has its element
of amusement. I remember an instance where one of my companions,
having come into camp from his work in the forest, lay down outside
his tent to rest, and, the better to enjoy it, took off his
riding-boots and loosened his breeches at the knee. While his "tiffin"
was being prepared he went to sleep, but presently awoke with a
horrible sensation of something lying cold against his thigh. To his
alarm, he discovered this to be a large cobra, which had sought
shelter from the sun. Remaining quite still, he called his native
servant, and explained the position, and the snake was soon secured
and dispatched, while my friend suffered nothing worse than a fright.
Though so docile as a rule when tamed, elephants in their wild state
are most dangerous, and I have heard of many narrow escapes from them
in Burma. Panthers, also, though shy of human beings, are fierce when
at bay, and I have been told that a scratch from their claws nearly
always results in fatal blood-poisoning.
[Illustration: THE QUEEN'S GOLDEN MONASTERY, MANDALAY. _Page 79._]
It is the tiger, however, which is most to be feared. General
throughout the country, a traveller through jungle or forest must be
ever alert, so stealthy are its movements, and so audacious is it in
its depredations. Its great strength, however, which is not so
generally recognized, the following will serve to show. Close beside
our lonely camp on the Nan-Tu River a tiger killed a sambur, upon
which the natives saw him feeding. Being unarmed themselves, they
ran for the "Sahib" to come and shoot him; but, on regaining the spot,
they found that the tiger had gone, carrying the huge carcass with
him. Following the trail, they came up with their quarry at the
river's bank; but the tiger, still retaining its hold upon its prey,
took to the water, and, although impeded by its heavy burden,
succeeded in reaching the opposite shore. The sad part of the story is
that a native, armed with a "dah," who had followed the tiger into the
river, though an extremely powerful swimmer, was swept away by the
current, and drowned in the rapids below.