NATIVE BAZAAR AT REMYO
NATIVE BAZAAR AT REMYO
But when she returned, her face expressed the greatest consternation, and she burst into a torrent of Burmese. Quite at a loss to understand her, I hurriedly offered her more money, but she refused it with scorn, and continued her explanations and entreaties, in which the numerous spectators of the scene presently joined, laughing as though it were the greatest joke in the world.
Presently the old lady picked up a bobbin of cotton, such as I had just bought, and waved it frantically in my face; I mechanically took it and pocketed it also. At this action on my part the spectators became still more hilarious, but the old lady looked annoyed, evidently considering the matter was getting beyond a joke.
At last, in desperation, I pulled out all my purchases and flung them on the stall. To my astonishment this proved to be precisely what she desired; the good lady beamed with satisfaction, gathered them together with her own fair hands, and returned them, and my change, to me with many bows and smiles. I do notknow to this day what was the reason of her excitement. Judging by the intense amusement it caused the spectators, I should say the story will serve as a popular after dinner anecdote for many generations of Burmans.
I do not think anyone but a Burman could find much amusement in their dearly beloved Pwés. The dances, composed entirely of posturing and grouping, are most monotonous, and the music is distinctly an unpleasant noise from a European point of view. Yet these easily satisfied folk crowd to such entertainments (which occasionally last many days) and camp out round the temporary building in which they are performed. They seem to derive the greatest enjoyment from watching these interminable performances, following the inevitable dramatic "Prince and Princess" through their adventures, and chuckling over the vulgar jokes of the clown.
The Burman loves to laugh. He is as equally amused at a fire or a drowningfatality in real life, as when in the play the clown trips up a fellow actor.
His proneness to laughter is annoying sometimes, especially if one misses a drive at golf, or falls down stairs (either of which misfortunes appear to him very droll) but on the whole his keen appreciation of "humour" helps him very comfortably through life.
We modern Europeans may think we have a higher sense of humour than these simple folk; but who is to judge?
The Burman is, perhaps, after all that truest philosopher who finds latent humour in all things, and makes the most of it—still, I pray that, for his sake, his keenness of appreciation may not become more highly developed, or some day he will meet a pun, and it will kill him.
"Thou didst eat strange fleshWhich some did die to look on."
"Thou didst eat strange fleshWhich some did die to look on."
"Thou didst eat strange fleshWhich some did die to look on."
"Thou didst eat strange flesh
Which some did die to look on."
——
Entertaining is nervous work, as all the world knows. The anxiety is considerably increased in a small country station like Remyo, because one cannot be sure that the rats will not devour the food beforehand, or that the cook will not take that opportunity of having "fever," a polite synonym for getting drunk, much in use among Burman servants.
The dinner party is the most general form of entertainment in Remyo, but not of very frequent occurrence; the reasons being, the limited number of available guests and the restricted nature of the menu. No sane person would dream of inviting another sane person to dine upon nothing but Burmese chicken, even displayed in various disguises from soup to savoury.
Once a week beef can be obtained, so dinner parties are usually given on "beef days." Should an invitation arrive for another date, great excitement prevails as to what special delicacy has been procured.
Once we were presented with a peacock, and gave a dinner party to celebrate the event, the peacock itself being the chief item of the celebration. Our guests arrived full of anticipation of some unknown treat; we received them "big with pride."
But alas! the vanity of human hopes. During the early part of the dinner, over the chicken entrées, the conversation turned upon the relative merits as food of various kinds of fowl. One of our guests, a man full of information on every subject, interesting and otherwise, suddenly announced cheerfully:
"One bird I may tell you is not fit for human food, and that bird is a peacock."
Thereupon ensued an awful pause, in the midst of which the servants entered, carrying the peacock in all its glory.
Nothing could be done. The bird was shorn of its tail, so to relieve our guest's mind we alluded to it as "goose," but no one could have been for an instant deceived. And the worst of it was, our guest was quite right, it was not fit for human food.
Another source of anxiety on giving a dinner party in Remyo is the decoration of the table. A Burmese loogalay has his own ideas about table decorations, and these ideas he will carry out, even if to do so obliges him to leave all his other work undone. In vain we may try to explain that we prefer to arrange the flowers ourselves, he looks pained, waits till we have completed our arrangements and have retired to dress, and then pounces upon the table and places his own elaborate decorations on the top of what we fondly imagined a triumph of artistic arrangement.
And his decorations are indeed elaborate; round every piece of glass, china, or cutlery he weaves a marvellous pattern, sometimes in bits of bracken, sometimes incoloured beads or rice, and occasionally in rose petals. When all is finished, the table looks like a kaleidoscope, and one is afraid to move a spoon or glass lest the design be destroyed.
On Christmas eve a large and important dinner party was given by some old inhabitants of the station. All the Europeans were invited, and it was intended that the evening should be spent in jovial and merry games like a typical Christmas eve at home. But alas! never was an entertainment beset with greater difficulties.
In the first place, nearly all the guests upon whom we most depended for amusement sent word that they had fever. We suspected that fever at the time, and suspected it still more next day, when we heard of a jovial bachelor gathering that same evening in the house of one of the stricken ones.
Then the weather was not cheering. It was a terribly cold night, and the houses in Remyo, being mostly of Government design, consequently the same for both hills and plains, are not calculated to keepout the cold; there are large chinks in the unpapered walls, and few of the doors and windows will shut. In this particular house there was no fire place, only a small stove which gave out about as much warmth as a spirit kettle. We all felt grateful to our host and hostess for their hospitality, and did our best to be entertained and entertaining in our turn, but it is hard to keep up a cheerful appearance and jovial spirits, in evening dress, in a mat house, with no fire and the temperature almost down to freezing point.
We played games such as "Kitchen Furniture" and "Family Post" which necessitated plenty of movement, and gave every one in turn an opportunity of occupying the chair by the stove.
That part of the evening which I enjoyed most was when I made the mulled claret. I had no idea how to make it, but I should obtain uninterrupted possession of the stove during the operation, so I volunteered for the task. I put the claret, and anything suitable and "Christmassy," I could think of, intoa saucepan, and stirred it over the stove until the other guests became suspicious, and I was forced to abandon my warm post.
I did not like the result at all, and I noticed the other guests lost interest in it as a drink after the first sip, though they clung to their glasses, using them as impromptu hand warming pans.
But what proved the greatest check upon the enjoyment of the evening was the great anxiety of the guests for the welfare of the furniture.
Our host and hostess were on the point of leaving the station, and as is the custom, had sold their furniture to the other residents, though they retained it in their house until departure. Now when one has just bought, and paid for, say, a set of drawing room chairs, or china ornaments, one does not enjoy seeing the former subjected to the rough usage of a game of "Bumps" nor the latter endangered by a game of Ball. Consequently, each and all were busily engaged during the evening in protecting their prospective possessions, and had littleopportunity of abandoning themselves to enjoyment.
One very amusing instance of this was the behaviour of the new owners of the carpet. It was a poor carpet, old, faded, and thread-bare, but it was the only carpet in the station and the recent purchasers regarded it with pride. They looked anxious all the evening, when chairs were dragged about over weak spots, and peg glasses were placed in dangerous proximity to restless feet.
But the climax of their concern was reached when "Snap dragon" was proposed. The game was hailed with delight by every one (there really is a little imaginary warmth in the flame), but the contempt of the carpet-owners was unbounded. They said nothing, but looked volumes; they did not join in the game, but crawled about the ground round the revellers, busily engaged in picking up the numerous raisins scattered on the floor, forcibly holding back feet which threatened to crush the greasy fruit, and showing by all means in theirpower that they considered "Snap dragon" a most foolish amusement.
Small wonder, considering all these disadvantageous circumstances, that the Christmas party was not an unqualified success, and that the cold and weary guests, plodding home in the early hours of Christmas morning, mentally vowed that such wild dissipation was not good for them and should never again be repeated.
Dances are necessarily unknown in such a small station as Remyo. An energetic bachelor did once make an effort to give one, but as the only available room was the ticket office at the railway station, the only available music the bagpipes of the Goorkhas, and the only available ladies five in number, he was reluctantly obliged to abandon the project.
A much enduring form of entertainment in Remyo is the musical afternoon, or evening party. The inhabitants assemble in turns at one of the three houses which boast a piano; but the repertoire of the combined station is limited, and as every one expects to sing on these occasions(ignorance of time and tune being considered no drawback), and further, intends to sing one or other of the few songs most popular in the station, things are not in any sense as harmonious as they should be.
This great eagerness to perform entailed much manœuvring to obtain first possession of the piano, and it was amusing to watch the expressions of mingled indignation and scorn on the faces of others less fortunate, when they recognised the prelude to what they each claimed as their own particular song.
The singer's triumph, however, was not without compensating disadvantages, his efforts being assisted by a distinctly audible chorus in undertone which would cling to him throughout the song in spite of his endeavours to throw off the encumbrance by means of abrupt changes of tempo, and variations in the air; and this professed appreciation of the performance evoked from the singer such gratitude as one would expect under the circumstances.
No! On the whole we did not "entertain" much in Remyo; we contented ourselves with quiet, domestic lives, enlivened but occasionally by such outbursts of wild revelry as I have described.
"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.)
"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, andI 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 droveme 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 movedmuch, 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 mein 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 mightbe; 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 inthe 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 aspecially 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 hadcome 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 descendedthe 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 theentire 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 toBurmah 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.
The animals came in one by oneTill Noah, he thought they would never have done.And they all came into the Ark.For to get out of the rain.
The animals came in one by oneTill Noah, he thought they would never have done.And they all came into the Ark.For to get out of the rain.
The animals came in one by oneTill Noah, he thought they would never have done.
The animals came in one by one
Till Noah, he thought they would never have done.
And they all came into the Ark.For to get out of the rain.
And they all came into the Ark.
For to get out of the rain.
——
Rats! Hamlin Town (with Bishop Hatto thrown in) cannot offer a comparison with our sufferings from these pestilent vermin.
During the day time they contented themselves with playing in twos and threes about the house, getting in the way of our feet, and generally making themselves a nuisance. But at night when we had retired to rest, they came in their hundreds, from their homes beneath the house, and to use an expressive Americanism "simply bought the place."
I am not naturally a "Mrs. Gummidge," but in this instance I am certain I suffered more than any others in Remyo. Why the rats should have preferred my room I know not, but undoubtedly they did. They gave balls every night on my dressing table, and organised athletic sports, chiefly hurdle races, on the floor. They had glorious supper parties on my trunks, leaving the whole place scattered with half-eaten walnuts, bits of biscuit, and morsels of cheese. They had concerts and debating societies in the still hours of the night, brawls and squabbles at all times; and true to tradition, made nests inside my Sunday hats, helping themselves to such of my finery as took their fancy.
As I have said, they came in their hundreds, and I was powerless against them. In vain did I sit up in bed and "shoo" and clap my hands, they would pause for an instant, as the revellers in Brussels paused when they heard the cannon of Quatre Bras, then: "On with the dance let joy be unconfined, no sleep till morn when rats and walnuts meet," andthe noise would become more deafening than ever. I think they grew to enjoy my "shooings;" "the more noise the merrier" was evidently their motto; but one night when I dozed off after making myself particularly disagreeable, a large rat sprang upon my pillow, tore aside the mosquito curtains, and hit me violently with its tail. They are revengeful creatures.
And what appetites they had? Poison they scoffed at, but ate everything else that was not soldered up in tin boxes, (from our Christmas pudding, to the Baby's pelisses, and my best gloves). Their most criminal act of depredation, was in regard to my brother's pipe. It was a beautifully grained pipe which I took out from England for a Christmas present. On Christmas Eve the rats penetrated into the drawer where I kept it, tore away the wrappings, and set to work. In the morning nothing was left but the stem, the perforated and jagged remains of the bowl, and a little heap of chawed bits of wood. My brother was very angry when I broke the news to him, but it wasn't my fault, they were hisrats; he ought to have had them under better control.
We got a dog, but he was useless. He was a pariah puppy, of respectable parents; a cheery, popular fellow, who had so many evening engagements among his friends in the village, that he could scarcely ever spare a night at home; and during the day time he mostly slept. My sister and I both disliked him, she because he would worry the Baby's legs, I because he developed such an unbounded devotion to my shoes.
He never attached himself to other shoes in this way, but mine he would not leave alone. He carried some off every day and hid them behind the furniture, or if he had a quiet ten minutes to himself, he buried them in the compound. Many a long lost shoe did we discover when turning out the drawing room, or digging up the flower beds. The others were amused at this frolicsome trait, but it was rather a stupid joke really.
I was assured by the inhabitants of Remyo that mosquitos are unknownthere during the cold weather. If this be really the case, there must have been a special pilgrimage, and obviously I was the object of their attentions. Fresh from England, they welcomed me with a delight that ought to have been highly gratifying; nor could they do enough to show their unbounded appreciation of me. I obtained mosquito curtains, but I suppose I was clumsy in the manipulation of them, for I spent many a lively night in the company of two or three enthusiasts who kept me awake by their odious "ping-ping" song, and their still more odious attentions.
There is a district in Burmah, I am told, where the cattle are provided with mosquito curtains, and I can quite believe it, for if they can be so obnoxious in the hills in the cold weather, what must they be in the plains in the heat! All creatures have their work in this world, and I suppose the mosquito was created to subdue female vanity; one cannot well be vain with such a complexion as they gave me.
But let me quit this melancholy subject; it is impossible to be jocular with a mosquito, and strong language would be out of place in this book.
Rats are not the only creatures in Remyo with whom we were forced to share our meals. The place abounds in ants, beetles, and "creeping things innumerable," and all these must live; which necessity we recognised, but wished they could live elsewhere.
On the whole, I think the ant is the most objectionable of insects. There is a Burmese fable concerning an ant and a lion which tells how the ant was rewarded for assistance rendered to the lion, by receiving permission to go everywhere, and so that this prerogative may be fully exercised, the ant has, apparently, been gifted with matchless ingenuity in devising means to overcome all obstacles. Amongst other accomplishments it must have acquired the art either of swimming, flying or bridge building, for even the dishes of water, in the centre of which we placed our meals, were ineffectual.
The worthy Dr. Watts tells us to "go learn of the ant to be prudent and wise," but though it is with the most submissive humility that I venture to contradict such an authority on natural history as the gifted author of "How doth the little busy bee," yet I must confess that I do not recognise in the ants the first of the virtues indicated. They devastated a full box of chocolates in a single night, which surely was hardly prudent, unless they possess iron constitutions.
It was without doubt profitable for us to have constantly before us the example of the clever and industrious ant, and we tried to profit thereby, but at times we could not help feeling that the sluggard would have been the more acceptable companion; the ant is so painfully energetic, especially in the matter of absorbing food—the sluggard, I feel sure, had more regard for his digestion.
I never learned to distinguish the names of the innumerable crawling creatures whom we met at table at meal times. Their sole characteristic is greed,and they kept me continually reminded of the plagues of Egypt, for they came in unlimited numbers, settling on the food, darkening the air with their numberless forms, and devouring everything eatable! They are eminently objectionable, and I defy the most devout lover of natural history and "beasties" generally, to find any pleasure in their society.
One evening I was dining out, and towards the middle of dinner I perceived a large, hideous object nestling among the profuse flower decorations on the table. It didn't appear to me a very pleasant table companion, but as no one else remarked it, and as I dislike appearing disconcerted by the habits of strange countries, I said nothing about it so long as the creature remained quiet. But when at last it came out from its lair, and curling up its long tail made a run at me, I left the table hurriedly.
To my relief the other guests also displayed uneasiness, for the object of my dislike was a scorpion, which had, it was supposed, been brought into the roomwith the flowers, and had remained hidden from all eyes but mine until its unwelcome disclosure of itself. There ensued an exciting chase up and down the table after the animal, till it was at length caught between two table spoons and drowned in a finger bowl.
By little excitements of this kind the entertainments in Burmah are often enlivened. Some doubt has been cast upon this story by sceptical Europeans, but if any require proof, I can refer them to eminent members of the I. C. S., (men whom none would dare to doubt), who will assure them that such occurrences are frequent; in fact that the first place one would look for a scorpion would be among the flowers upon a dinner table!
When watching the antics of a plump good tempered Jim Crow, as he disports himself upon a pleasant English lawn, or when listening to his peaceful "cawing" among the shady trees on a hot summer's day, one little dreams that this same harmless, law-abiding creature, when exposed to the degenerating influences ofthe east, becomes transformed into the most disreputable vagabond upon the face of the earth.
The impudent thefts by jackdaws have long been famed, but no words can describe the unbounded presumption of the Burmese crows.
They are always on the watch, and if food be left for an instant in a room with open door or window, they enter, and settle on the table without a moment's hesitation, helping themselves to anything that takes their fancy, in the coolest manner imaginable. When the loogalays carry the dishes of food from the kitchen to the house, these same impish crows pounce down on them and bear away any tempting morsels, well knowing that the men have their hands full, and cannot make reprisals. They appear to know by instinct the approach of meal times, and settle in crowds on the veranda rail or the window ledge, ready to carry off the food directly one's back is turned, and in the meanwhile they pull faces at us, and make rude remarks,for all the world like a collection of vulgar little street boys.
They know no fear; they only mock and mimic "shooings" and hand clappings, and would laugh, I am sure, at the most awe-inspiring scare-crow ever erected. They sometimes go so far as to deliberately settle on the table and take a peck out of the cake, while one is sitting there, and then before they can be caught, they give a cheeky "caw," bow ironically, and flutter back to rejoin their admiring comrades (who have doubtless dared them to the act) on the veranda. I do not believe there exists any other creature in the world possessed of such boundless cheek.
They have a strong sense of humour of a practical-joking kind, and one of their amusements in Remyo was to lure us away from the tea table by feigned attacks upon our pots of hyacinth bulbs, which they uprooted in the most devastating manner. We would fly out to the protection of our precious bulbs, and return to find our cakes devoured orcarried away, by a reserve body of crows, who had been waiting in ambush behind the door.
They occasionally combine forces with other thieves. The most wearing half hour I ever spent was one devoted to protecting the interest of the cake and the cream jug, from the hostile attacks of half a dozen crows and two kittens. While I lifted down the latter from the table the former settled upon the cake, and when I turned my attentions to them, the kittens returned to the charge. Mercifully, allies are not usually forthcoming; only young, ignorant, and disobedient kittens would associate with the disreputable crows; all properly brought up birds and beasts avoid association with them. Even the vultures, who sat all day on the trees shading the hospital, were contemptuous of those wicked "gamin" the crows.
Dogs abound in every Burmese village, and they and the pigs are the chief scavengers of the place. Their number is legion, for it is contrary to theBuddhist religion to take life, so all puppies are allowed to live; and as it is further considered an act of merit to feed them, they have a fairly pleasant existence.
The pariah dog performs his scavenging duties conscientiously, but he possesses few other merits to recommend him to one's esteem. He is at best a stupid, noisy, thieving brute, whose "customs are nasty and whose manners are none;" he occupies his time eating, sleeping, and fighting, and his chief amusement is to snap at the heels of the European, and lie across the road to upset the unwary bicyclist. Periodically, when the pest becomes unbearable, a day of slaughter is appointed by the Majesty of the Law, and all dogs who have no owner are poisoned. But in spite of this rigorous measure, there never seems much diminution in the numbers.
Our neighbour possessed three English dogs,—two terriers and a greyhound. They had, no doubt, been well brought up, but had been led astray by evilcompanions, and they joined in the campaign which the rats, crows, and other creatures carried on against us. They delighted to creep into our compound, trample on the flower beds, steal my cakes (perhaps the household was not altogether sorry for that), and make away with our tennis balls. One day, they drove a herd of ponies all over our beloved garden, and then retired chuckling, to watch from a safe distance, our desperate attempts to induce the bewildered creatures to find the gate.
The greyhound, I think, would have been a harmless creature, but the terriers possessed a full share of the devilry of their breed, and urged him to accompany them in all their audacious tricks. I believe it was they who persuaded three goats (the chief destroyers of our kitchen garden) to commence their raiding expeditions into our grounds, for the goats always appeared from the neighbourhood of the dog's kennels, and there was generally one terrier, at least, watching when Po Sin's energetic chase of the goats over the radish beds began.
Other animals there were in the neighbourhood of Remyo, dwellers in the jungle, very different from the mischievous crew I have just described. Tiger, bear, panther, cheetah, soft-eyed gyee, hares, jackals, and others. Sometimes, as night drew near, I tried to picture how the inhabitants of the jungle would be waking from sleep and preparing for their busy night's work.
The "Jungle Books" had of course inspired me with a great interest and affection for all these animals, especially "Baloo" the bear, and "Bagheera" the black panther, and I continued to love them so long as they remained at a respectable distance, but when, at times, they made expeditions into our neighbourhood, my admiration changed to awe.
A tiger was the first visitor; he killed two ponies in the stable of a neighbour. Then a black panther commenced to parade, nightly, the road between our house and the club. He snapped up a little terrier which was trotting along at its master's heels one evening; he was reported to have been seen many timesabout dusk, slinking along by the road side, and one man broke a record on his bicycle, followed by an innocent and admiring pariah dog which he mistook for the panther. There is no doubt that the panther really did for a time haunt the road, but he was so useful as an excuse for the men to stay late at the club till they could get a lift down in someone else's dog-cart (an excuse that appeared quite convincing to their nervous wives) that he almost became an institution.
From the first I distinctly disliked jackals. My bedroom window opened upon the back veranda, and one night I was awakened by a noise, and looking out I saw two of these beasts (I did not know at the time what they were) walking softly up and down devouring some food which the loogalays had left there.
For some time I watched them, fascinated by these shadowy dark forms creeping about in the moonlight. Then, remembering that the back door was unfastened, that I was most probably the first person they would encounter shouldthey enter, and that I had promised faithfully to return to England in six months, I thought it time to rouse my brother-in-law.
Accordingly, I crept from my room, wakened him and my sister, and told them to get up, to bring their guns, and follow me, as the back veranda was full of wild animals, who might at any moment break into the house. They were both singularly uninterested in my information (indeed my brother only sleepily murmured "let them break" and went to sleep again) but I insisted, and at last he rose in a very bad temper and came to inquire into the cause of my alarm.
Of course, the noise he made tumbling about and opening the door scared our visitors, and when he went out, the veranda was empty. A few scathing remarks about my powers of imagination were all the thanks I received for thus saving the lives of the family. Ingratitude, thy name is brother-in-law!
After that my visitors came frequently, but I felt that I would rather die than riskmore sarcasm, and when I found they had no evil intentions I grew rather to enjoy watching them. Their marvellous quickness, their caution, and the silence of their movements seemed to give a faint suggestion of what jungle life must be, though, of course, the jackal compared with the nobler animals, is no more than "Jacala, the belly that runs on four feet."
After a while, our visitors were inspired to show their gratitude by nightly serenades. Gratitude is always delightful to meet with in man or beast, but I wished their's had taken some other form. A jackal's voice is powerful but unpleasant, and has a mournful effect upon the nerves.
Of dead beasts I saw many. The jungle round Remyo seemed to be a perfect menagerie, and a noble panther, tiger or bear was often borne in triumph into the station and deposited in the centre of the Club compound, to be admired of all beholders.
When no time could be spared for anorganised shoot, a reward would be offered for the carcase of any panther or cheetah which might have been annoying a neighbouring jungle village, and the animal, when killed, was always brought in to be shown to my brother by the claimants of the reward. It was a little startling at first to have bears, panthers, etc., casually brought and deposited at one's front door, but we grew accustomed to it after a while, as one grows accustomed to all things but hanging. On one occasion some natives brought in the body of a huge leopard which had killed and eaten a man near their village (a most unusual proceeding for a leopard), and a terrible looking animal it was, with huge claws and teeth, and a sneaking deceitful face. The whole incident was disagreeably gruesome.
On another occasion we were presented with two live bear cubs, whose parents had been killed. They were dear little fluffy brown creatures, and we longed to keep them, but they generally become a great nuisance when older, as they are alwaystreacherous, and capable any day of trotting into the village and killing half a dozen people as a morning's amusement.
I was strangely lucky (or unlucky, I hardly know which to call it) in the matter of snakes, for I did not see a single live snake during my visit. I constantly expected to meet one in the compound or jungle, but I never even found one coming up the water-hole in the bath-room, or coiled up in my bed. The creatures never came near me, even though I spread out the skin of a huge rock snake in the compound, in the hopes that its relations (as is invariably the custom with snakes in books) might be induced to assemble.
The most wise looking creatures (always excepting the elephants) which I saw were the Burmese bullocks. Their grave, thoughtful, placid faces reminded me of the images of Gaudama. As they crawl along their way drawing the creaking bullock carts to the bazaar, or trot merrily through the jungle, taking gaily-attired Burmans to attend a Pwé, they have everthe same patient, quiet, abstracted expression, as though this menial work is to them a mere appendage to the deeper life of meditation. This is what their expression conveys to me; some think it denotes stupidity.
The cattle belonging to the Burmese appear to be most independent animals. Each morning they wander away into the jungle at their own sweet wills, returning at night of their own accord for the milking. We were much astonished one day, when, in answer to our request that the milk might be brought earlier in future, the milkman replied with much "shekkohing" and humility that it could not be, as the cow did not wish to return earlier from her walk. The Burmans are very casual in their treatment and care of the cattle, numbers of which fall victims to tigers and other rapacious beasts.
This chapter would not be complete without a word or two about the Burmese ponies; but who am I, who never could make head or tail of any pony's propensities, to presume to describe their character?Very small and wiry are they, very devoted to polo (which they understand quite as well as their masters, and which they play with the same keenness); conceited and obstinate; but obedient and affectionate to their masters, and possessing as great a love of a joke as a Burman himself.
One of our ponies, "Pearl," a lovely little animal, and a splendid polo player, possessed all these characteristics. With her master or mistress she was as gentle and submissive as anyone could desire, but she assumed the most unpardonable airs towards all the rest of the world. She received caresses and attentions with a haughty disdain, turned up her nose at any but the very best food, and led her poor sais a most trying time. I admired her from afar, but we never became intimate; she evidently despised me, and had the most disagreeable knack of making me feel ignorant and small. She was too much of a lady to show her dislike by kicks or snaps, and treated an enemy with scornful indifference until he attempted toride her, when (to use a modern colloquialism) she soon managed to get a bit of her own back.
"Stunsail", another of our ponies, was a good old soul, of worthy character but worthless value. He had missed his vocation in life, for he ought most certainly to have been a circus pony. He was full of tricks, not frolicsome or spontaneous ones, but tricks carefully acquired by long hours of practice, such as bowing to ladies, salaaming for bananas, and lying down, pretending to be dead. It was nice of him to have taken the trouble to acquire these accomplishments, but his fondness for displaying them at all times was often very disturbing to his rider.
Our third pony "John" we always thought a quiet, easy-going individual, until we lent him to a lady who was paying a short visit to Remyo. She was not an accomplished horse-woman, but would not for the world have confessed to the fact, for she liked to pose as quite fearless, and devoted to riding.
"John's" strong sense of humour firstbecame apparent in his treatment of her. He soon gauged the extent of the lady's equestrian powers, and enjoyed himself immensely. He did not unseat her or bolt with her: his humour was of a much finer quality; he merely consistently refused to do anything she wished. When she intended a short ride, "John" would keep her out for hours; when she was prepared for an afternoon's expedition, "John" would bring her home after a half-mile canter. If she announced her wish to visit her friends at the far side of the station, "John" would take her for a gallop through the jungle; when she donned her oldest habit to go a quiet country ride "John" would insist upon her calling upon her smartest neighbours, and would walk up to the front door and stand there until she was obliged to dismount and enter.
There was no limit to the mischievous devilry of that pony. When poor Mrs. F. rode out with the rest of the station, her troubles were even greater. When her companions suggested a gallop,"John" wilfully assumed his slowest walk; and when everyone was riding slowly and conversing pleasantly together, the poor lady would suddenly, without any apparent reason, break off in the middle of a sentence, and set off at the wildest gallop through the jungle, or turn round and ride furiously for home. Nothing would induce her to confess that she could not manage her pony, so she was obliged to invent the wildest excuses and explanations for her conduct. Others thought it was her eccentricity, but we knew it was "John."
In Burmah the Tiger story takes the place occupied by the fish story in this country, and is stamped, I suspect, with the same unblushing characteristics. Judging from the tiger stories I heard, I could come to no other conclusion than that the Anglo-Indian is possessed of amazing nerve and ingenuity (qualities useful to him alike in the exploit and in the telling of it), and I heard him with ever increasing interest and wonder. The tiger is the favourite theme, though he is but of small account whose chronicle does not also embrace some experiences in the pursuit of the elephant, the bear and other fearful wildfowl indigenous to the country.
Most men own to being a little chary about elephant hunting I found, but our friend the Policeman appeared to have shot them like snipe. At first I was rather inclined to make light of elephant shooting, they are such exceedingly large animals that I thought even I could hardly fail to bag one if I got him broadside on; but the Policeman set me right on that point.
From his explanation, I gathered that the elephant is invulnerable save only in one vital part, a spot behind the ear, and the sportsman (according to my narrator) must be as dead on that spot as "Homocea."
My informant also told me terrible stories of how the elephant will turn on his pursuer and trample on him, or tear him in pieces with his tusks, and he gave me further such blood-curdling descriptions of the terrifying noise made by an approaching herd of elephants crashing through the jungle, and trumpeting in their rage, that I felt devoutly thankful that I was visiting this particular district.The wild elephants of the neighbouring jungle, in their almost human intelligence, recognised the danger to themselves of conduct other than the most retiring and unprovocative character in a locality where the peace was preserved by such an ever threatening Nemesis as our Policeman.
Bears, too, our Policeman had frequently hunted, and many a hair-breadth escape had he effected by running up hill (bears cannot run up hill, you know), or swinging from tree to tree and performing other acrobatic feats which the bear was too heavy to attempt with success.
On one occasion, he said he had been overtaken by the bear, and his left arm chawed in fourteen places (I forget why the bear couldn't be content with one spot and how he protected himself from the animal's further attentions); but he didn't mind the bear so much as the well meant efforts of his companion, who, the hero of the episode complained, stood afar off and poured in a devastating fire, directed in a distracted and indiscriminate manner at him and the bear alike. Many and variedindeed were the dangers through which this seemingly fearless hunter had passed unscathed.
Several tigers visited the neighbourhood during my visit, and caused great excitement among the men at the Club, who thought nothing of sitting up all night in an uncomfortable tree, over an unsightly "kill," in hope of compassing the animal's undoing.
Often, alas! they were doomed to disappointment. On one occasion when my brother and a friend were awaiting a tiger's approach, a mist gathered round them, effectually obscuring everything from their sight. So there they were, obliged, perforce, to sit in darkness, not daring to descend, and of course unable to see, and cheered by listening to the tiger comfortably devouring its prey, within a few yards of their ambush. The Engineer, when he heard this story was for patenting an electric flash light, which could be turned on to light the Sportsman when the tiger was comfortably settled down to his meal, but this original suggestion wasungratefully rejected, much to his disappointment.
But one afternoon the Thugyi brought in word that a large tiger had been marked down in the neighbouring jungle, and a beat was arranged for the following day. Then it was that the Policeman earned our undying gratitude by proposing that we ladies, who had been behaving of late in an exemplary manner, should, for once, be allowed to accompany the Sportsmen, to see the great sight of our lives, a tiger shoot.
I doubt whether the suggestion met with the entire approbation of the other males, but as the Policeman was organising the beat, and as we all promised to be very good and obedient, they agreed reluctantly to take us. Women, perhaps naturally, are considered very much "de trop" on these occasions. A tiger shoot is a serious, sometimes a dangerous business, and female frivolities and nerves would decidedly be embarrassments.
I heard a story of a girl, reputed to be a great Sportswoman and a good shot, whoaccompanied her male friends upon one of these expeditions. Platforms had been built for the Sportsmen in the trees in the line of the beat, and she shared one with a man who was more accustomed to shooting and hunting than to the society of the other sex, whom he held in much greater awe than any wild animal, however dangerous. When the tiger made its appearance, the girl promptly fainted, and her poor companion spent a most unhappy ten minutes between the unconscious girl and the enraged tiger, being far more alarmed at the former.
However, to return to my story, when we had given assurances that we never fainted, nor had hysterics, nor grew tired; and had promised faithfully not to move a muscle, not to speak a single word, not to disobey an order, and above all not to want to shoot, the men folk graciously allowed us to accompany them; but it was not to create a precedent.
How excited we were and how nervous! A seat in a tree did not appear to me to offer much security against the tiger'sattack, however high it might be. Tigers, I had always been told, are near relations to cats, and I knew cats climb trees. When I nervously breathed these doubts to the Policeman, he solemnly assured me that tigers will not climb, and by standing on their hind legs can only reach up about fourteen feet; but this did not convince me, for had I not seen in my nursery days (and early impressions are lasting ones) brilliantly coloured pictures of tiger shoots wherein the tiger was invariably depicted, leaping into the air, or climbing fiercely up the side of an elephant, while the nervous occupant of the howdah peered cautiously over the edge? Was I to ignore the lessons of my youth? I can only explain this inconsistency by suggesting that tigers may have changed their habits with the advance of civilization.
Nothing was talked of that evening but tigers and tiger shooting. The Policeman and other local sportsmen were in great request, and their stories were listened to with an interest and belief which I should think quite astonished them. Even tothe village did the excitement spread, for the love of sport is as prevalent among the Burmans as among Englishmen; and the natives are well paid for serving as beaters.
Early in the morning the hunting party assembled in our compound, and, after partaking of a cheery "chota hazri," we set out, a merry cavalcade consisting of seven men, and three women, and accompanied by a miscellaneous collection of servants and native "shikarries."