CHAPTER XV.THROUGH CHINA INTO BURMAH—ENTERTAINED LAVISHLY BY BRITISH OFFICERS IN MANDALAY AND MADE TO BLUSH AT A “ZAT PWEI.”Days of intense heat reigned, and snow marked our progress through the Yunnan and Kwei Chan provinces. The snowstorm rivaled in force a Texas blizzard, so exhausting our coolies that they refused to go further. We gave them from our surplus store of clothing, and put upon their feet extra pairs of our thick woolen socks, so earning their gratitude that they consented to proceed a few miles further, where we came upon a large hut, which sometimes did service as a tavern. We were snow-bound here for three days before we could push our way to the British line.Wednesday, Dec. 23, our last day in China, found us up bright and early, and so impatient that we set out afoot in advance of our carriers. Up and down over the stone-heaped path, passing numerous Chinese forts, and over three ranges of mountains, we walked, climbed and stumbled until we sighted a more civilized land—Burmah. Pausing only to assure our gladdened hearts that our eyes did not deceive us, we plunged down aprecipitouspath, crossed a swaying suspension bridge of bamboo, and, with a loud hurrah, landed on Burmese soil. Mrs. McIlrath’s first action on the new territory was to flop downin the sand and cry; mine to crack the neck from a small bottle, and, with a prayer of thanksgiving, a toast to the United States, Queen Victoria, the Inter Ocean, and the good wheels we rode, we drank the bottle’s fizzing contents, and yelled like a pair of cowboys.THE McILRATHS AT BHAMO, BURMAH.—(See Page 79).THE McILRATHS AT BHAMO, BURMAH.—(See Page79).At the water’s edge were squatted a few of Great Britain’s defenders—the black Sepoys of India. We toiled up the hill to the stockade above, and as we approached, an individual, who introduced himself as Gordon, opened the barrier gates and invited us to come inside. Our advent was expected, and other formalities of introduction were unnecessary. We remained the guests of Gordon over night, as our coolies, with the bicycles, did not arrive until after sundown.As I looked back over the last eleven months, my recollections become almost kaleidoscopic in their variations. For eleven months we were the guests of the Mongolians, having them for companions both day and night; we had adopted their customs, ate, slept and journeyed with them for weeks isolated from a white face, and we felt on our arrival in Nampong that we were competent to judge as very few others the true character of thelong-queuedOrientals. Our trip from Shanghai had involved 4,200 miles of walking, riding and climbing. We had been pursued by howling mobs; we had slept in swamps and rice fields; we had been fired upon, cut at with knives, lunged at by spears, and stoned innumerable times; often running a gauntlet of maddened natives, with clods and stones falling about us like hail. Coolies of the lowest and officials of the highest type had sheltered and entertained us; pleasures and pain had been our lot; from a palace as honored guests we had been altered in forty-eight hours to besieged beings, expecting to fight for our lives; lost in snowstorms, wading in streams, creeping around landslides, our journey has been fraught with many dangers; death in the garb of pestilent disease had brushed shoulders, feasted at the same table and slept in the same apartment with us; we had been ragged and hungry, yet now, on Burmese soil, not a word of regret could be expressed for all the hardships we had suffered. For myself, there is due little credit. I simply accomplished that which I understood must be done when we entered China, but to the heroic little woman who pleaded to be allowed to share my hardships, is all credit due. Never did she falter when the mobs gathered around us, and when the last possible recourse permitting escape from death and torture seemed exhausted, she was firm and quiet.Of the Chinese as a people, individually and collectively, we learned them to be a weak race, morally and mentally. Opium, liquor and disease have set their marks upon millions. In trade the natives are unscrupulous, and chivalry or respect toward women does not exist.Cruel to the extreme, with a cultivated ferocity they are most arrant cowards, and yet, most overbearing when in numbers. The country itself is rich with precious metals, commercial minerals, oil and fibrous grasses, as yet either unknown to the natives, or else requiring too much labor to extract. Improvement or advancement in civilization or mercantile industries will never take place in China while governed by China. The supreme egotism of the natives prevents the adoption of anything modern or anything foreign. The official classes are no less corrupt. Banded together, as if a society for pillage, they prey upon the people, aided by the more unprincipled priests, and woe to the merchants and peasants who enter court to obtain justice. Such, briefly, is China as the Inter Ocean cyclists found it to be.The first Burmese village into which we wheeled was Myathit, situated in one of the dustiest, hottest, driest portions of all India. There were fine shade trees dotting the white, dusty road, and everywhere were to be seen the curiously attired people from all parts of India and Burmah. I could distinguish the Indians by their garbs of white, some cut into long frock coats and tight trousers, others into jackets, with long, flowing trousers gathered at the ankles. Huge white turbans were knotted about the heads of the Indians, a bit of bright color in the center being the only relief in the entire study of black hands and faces framed in a setting of immaculate white. The Burmese women, as a rule, are handsome. I was aided in this discovery by Mrs. McIlrath, who pointed out to me, as a type, a beauty possessing a complexion like cream, with the pink tint of peach blossoms. When Mrs. McIlrath announces that a woman is beautiful I accept it without argument. She, and not I, is the censor in such matters.One could not imagine a more insipid place to live in than Bahmo, the military and trading coast where we were quartered. The hours of life are routine and monotonous, excepting when one is fortunate enough to own a membership or to have a card to the Bahmo Club. For thirty days in luxuriant idleness (of course not counting the many short trips awheel in and about the city), we lingered in Bahmo, living in the bungalow of the China inland missionary. Bicycling in the district of Bahmo affords limited journeys, but we managed to travel twenty miles away, and visit the government hospital, the provincial jail and a number of coffee plantations.We sailed from this large, but rather uninteresting, city on Jan. 25, 1897, taking passage on one of the Irrawaddy Flotilla Company’s mail steamers, the Monein. After three days' steaming theMoneintied up at the dock in Mandalay, the capital city of Burmah, and sung of by Mr. Kipling in his clever verses, “On the Road to Mandalay.” Duringthe reign of Kings Mindoon and Theebaw, in order that the palaces might be protected from invaders, the buildings were erected far to the inland, under the shadow of Mandalay hill. Wheeling over the hard macadam was a delight, and merrily we whirled off the miles intervening, until we alighted, at last, at the European hotel, the first that had welcomed us since leaving Hankow, China. In our journey of the globe, having been the guests of thousands of people, we must credit the members of the Burmah Club, fifty per cent of whom are British officers, with being the most attentive and kindly organization at whose hands we received courtesies. As a body they wined us, dined us, gave picnic excursions on the river, drives, bicycle rides, obtained invitations to various native celebrations, and put forth every effort to render our sojourn instructive and pleasant. Bicycling with several Europeans who were fortunate enough to own cycles was one of the most delightful features of our entertainment. The roads were excellent, and wheeling in the cool air of early morning, one of the many delightful temples or majestic pagodas the objective point of our excursion, is a pleasure to be enjoyed only on British roads in an Oriental country. It was our privilege, on Feb. 12 to witness a wedding of royal blood. The ex-Nyanugwe Saw Bwa “requested the pleasure of the company of Mr. and Mrs. McIlrath at his home, in South Moat Road, on the occasion of the marriage of his daughter Saw Kin Gwi with the Sawbued of South Theinni, and also on the same night, to witness a Zat Pwei.” The ceremonies were performed by the highest class native officials and Sir Frederick Fryer, first lieutenant governor of Burmah. To appear successfully at such a state function one is supposed to dress appropriately, and I felt greatly embarrassed in my knickerbockers as I mingled in the blaze of red uniforms, royal Scotch plaids, gold lace, decorations, and the jewels and dainty gowns of the ladies. Extravagant as are the English in costuming for each event and occasion of the day, the guests did not appear to notice the greasy, dusty and patched raiment which comprised my only wardrobe, and did all they could to make me feel at home. The verbal portion of the marriage ceremony was unintelligible to me, but the “business,” as an actor would describe it, made it quite plain to the most casual observer that the dusky pair who formed the center piece of a most interesting group were being united in the holy bonds of wedlock.The usual check from “papa” was not seen as we inspected the wedding gifts, but there was a profusion of diamonds and silver plate. The diamonds were just such as are admired by Burmans, huge yellow beauties, set in dull gold rings, the base uppermost and the radiating surface concealed. Just why the Burmans reverse the European ideaof setting gems is difficult to explain, but the prevailing idea is that the gem is so set to resemble the pagodas and pyramids so omnipresent and revered in Burmah. Diamonds valued as high as 30,000 rupees, or about $10,000 in our money, are set in this manner, and the color is invariably yellow. The Zat Pwei, which was next on the program, proved to be a theatrical performance. It began with an overture by the orchestra, the music typically Oriental; then came the dancers of the company, followed by the event of the evening, the drama. Just what the play was called, or what the plot was about, was vague to all the Europeans present, but as the dialogue progressed the audience warmed up and the actors became enlivened. Dropping their theatrical drawl and stagy manner which had characterized the first half hour, the performance developed into repartee of suggestive tone. In fact, the most unblushing French jokes would look well upon Sunday-school cards after listening to a series of Zat Pweis. As our party was entirely dependent upon a native interpreter for translation, and as this gentleman did not regard the performance from a European standpoint, the entertainment soon reached a stage which required the withdrawal of the ladies, and at midnight, with a farewell congratulation to our host, we returned to the hotel, satisfied that Zat Pweis were most interesting—to bachelors and a few other gentlemen.
CHAPTER XV.THROUGH CHINA INTO BURMAH—ENTERTAINED LAVISHLY BY BRITISH OFFICERS IN MANDALAY AND MADE TO BLUSH AT A “ZAT PWEI.”Days of intense heat reigned, and snow marked our progress through the Yunnan and Kwei Chan provinces. The snowstorm rivaled in force a Texas blizzard, so exhausting our coolies that they refused to go further. We gave them from our surplus store of clothing, and put upon their feet extra pairs of our thick woolen socks, so earning their gratitude that they consented to proceed a few miles further, where we came upon a large hut, which sometimes did service as a tavern. We were snow-bound here for three days before we could push our way to the British line.Wednesday, Dec. 23, our last day in China, found us up bright and early, and so impatient that we set out afoot in advance of our carriers. Up and down over the stone-heaped path, passing numerous Chinese forts, and over three ranges of mountains, we walked, climbed and stumbled until we sighted a more civilized land—Burmah. Pausing only to assure our gladdened hearts that our eyes did not deceive us, we plunged down aprecipitouspath, crossed a swaying suspension bridge of bamboo, and, with a loud hurrah, landed on Burmese soil. Mrs. McIlrath’s first action on the new territory was to flop downin the sand and cry; mine to crack the neck from a small bottle, and, with a prayer of thanksgiving, a toast to the United States, Queen Victoria, the Inter Ocean, and the good wheels we rode, we drank the bottle’s fizzing contents, and yelled like a pair of cowboys.THE McILRATHS AT BHAMO, BURMAH.—(See Page 79).THE McILRATHS AT BHAMO, BURMAH.—(See Page79).At the water’s edge were squatted a few of Great Britain’s defenders—the black Sepoys of India. We toiled up the hill to the stockade above, and as we approached, an individual, who introduced himself as Gordon, opened the barrier gates and invited us to come inside. Our advent was expected, and other formalities of introduction were unnecessary. We remained the guests of Gordon over night, as our coolies, with the bicycles, did not arrive until after sundown.As I looked back over the last eleven months, my recollections become almost kaleidoscopic in their variations. For eleven months we were the guests of the Mongolians, having them for companions both day and night; we had adopted their customs, ate, slept and journeyed with them for weeks isolated from a white face, and we felt on our arrival in Nampong that we were competent to judge as very few others the true character of thelong-queuedOrientals. Our trip from Shanghai had involved 4,200 miles of walking, riding and climbing. We had been pursued by howling mobs; we had slept in swamps and rice fields; we had been fired upon, cut at with knives, lunged at by spears, and stoned innumerable times; often running a gauntlet of maddened natives, with clods and stones falling about us like hail. Coolies of the lowest and officials of the highest type had sheltered and entertained us; pleasures and pain had been our lot; from a palace as honored guests we had been altered in forty-eight hours to besieged beings, expecting to fight for our lives; lost in snowstorms, wading in streams, creeping around landslides, our journey has been fraught with many dangers; death in the garb of pestilent disease had brushed shoulders, feasted at the same table and slept in the same apartment with us; we had been ragged and hungry, yet now, on Burmese soil, not a word of regret could be expressed for all the hardships we had suffered. For myself, there is due little credit. I simply accomplished that which I understood must be done when we entered China, but to the heroic little woman who pleaded to be allowed to share my hardships, is all credit due. Never did she falter when the mobs gathered around us, and when the last possible recourse permitting escape from death and torture seemed exhausted, she was firm and quiet.Of the Chinese as a people, individually and collectively, we learned them to be a weak race, morally and mentally. Opium, liquor and disease have set their marks upon millions. In trade the natives are unscrupulous, and chivalry or respect toward women does not exist.Cruel to the extreme, with a cultivated ferocity they are most arrant cowards, and yet, most overbearing when in numbers. The country itself is rich with precious metals, commercial minerals, oil and fibrous grasses, as yet either unknown to the natives, or else requiring too much labor to extract. Improvement or advancement in civilization or mercantile industries will never take place in China while governed by China. The supreme egotism of the natives prevents the adoption of anything modern or anything foreign. The official classes are no less corrupt. Banded together, as if a society for pillage, they prey upon the people, aided by the more unprincipled priests, and woe to the merchants and peasants who enter court to obtain justice. Such, briefly, is China as the Inter Ocean cyclists found it to be.The first Burmese village into which we wheeled was Myathit, situated in one of the dustiest, hottest, driest portions of all India. There were fine shade trees dotting the white, dusty road, and everywhere were to be seen the curiously attired people from all parts of India and Burmah. I could distinguish the Indians by their garbs of white, some cut into long frock coats and tight trousers, others into jackets, with long, flowing trousers gathered at the ankles. Huge white turbans were knotted about the heads of the Indians, a bit of bright color in the center being the only relief in the entire study of black hands and faces framed in a setting of immaculate white. The Burmese women, as a rule, are handsome. I was aided in this discovery by Mrs. McIlrath, who pointed out to me, as a type, a beauty possessing a complexion like cream, with the pink tint of peach blossoms. When Mrs. McIlrath announces that a woman is beautiful I accept it without argument. She, and not I, is the censor in such matters.One could not imagine a more insipid place to live in than Bahmo, the military and trading coast where we were quartered. The hours of life are routine and monotonous, excepting when one is fortunate enough to own a membership or to have a card to the Bahmo Club. For thirty days in luxuriant idleness (of course not counting the many short trips awheel in and about the city), we lingered in Bahmo, living in the bungalow of the China inland missionary. Bicycling in the district of Bahmo affords limited journeys, but we managed to travel twenty miles away, and visit the government hospital, the provincial jail and a number of coffee plantations.We sailed from this large, but rather uninteresting, city on Jan. 25, 1897, taking passage on one of the Irrawaddy Flotilla Company’s mail steamers, the Monein. After three days' steaming theMoneintied up at the dock in Mandalay, the capital city of Burmah, and sung of by Mr. Kipling in his clever verses, “On the Road to Mandalay.” Duringthe reign of Kings Mindoon and Theebaw, in order that the palaces might be protected from invaders, the buildings were erected far to the inland, under the shadow of Mandalay hill. Wheeling over the hard macadam was a delight, and merrily we whirled off the miles intervening, until we alighted, at last, at the European hotel, the first that had welcomed us since leaving Hankow, China. In our journey of the globe, having been the guests of thousands of people, we must credit the members of the Burmah Club, fifty per cent of whom are British officers, with being the most attentive and kindly organization at whose hands we received courtesies. As a body they wined us, dined us, gave picnic excursions on the river, drives, bicycle rides, obtained invitations to various native celebrations, and put forth every effort to render our sojourn instructive and pleasant. Bicycling with several Europeans who were fortunate enough to own cycles was one of the most delightful features of our entertainment. The roads were excellent, and wheeling in the cool air of early morning, one of the many delightful temples or majestic pagodas the objective point of our excursion, is a pleasure to be enjoyed only on British roads in an Oriental country. It was our privilege, on Feb. 12 to witness a wedding of royal blood. The ex-Nyanugwe Saw Bwa “requested the pleasure of the company of Mr. and Mrs. McIlrath at his home, in South Moat Road, on the occasion of the marriage of his daughter Saw Kin Gwi with the Sawbued of South Theinni, and also on the same night, to witness a Zat Pwei.” The ceremonies were performed by the highest class native officials and Sir Frederick Fryer, first lieutenant governor of Burmah. To appear successfully at such a state function one is supposed to dress appropriately, and I felt greatly embarrassed in my knickerbockers as I mingled in the blaze of red uniforms, royal Scotch plaids, gold lace, decorations, and the jewels and dainty gowns of the ladies. Extravagant as are the English in costuming for each event and occasion of the day, the guests did not appear to notice the greasy, dusty and patched raiment which comprised my only wardrobe, and did all they could to make me feel at home. The verbal portion of the marriage ceremony was unintelligible to me, but the “business,” as an actor would describe it, made it quite plain to the most casual observer that the dusky pair who formed the center piece of a most interesting group were being united in the holy bonds of wedlock.The usual check from “papa” was not seen as we inspected the wedding gifts, but there was a profusion of diamonds and silver plate. The diamonds were just such as are admired by Burmans, huge yellow beauties, set in dull gold rings, the base uppermost and the radiating surface concealed. Just why the Burmans reverse the European ideaof setting gems is difficult to explain, but the prevailing idea is that the gem is so set to resemble the pagodas and pyramids so omnipresent and revered in Burmah. Diamonds valued as high as 30,000 rupees, or about $10,000 in our money, are set in this manner, and the color is invariably yellow. The Zat Pwei, which was next on the program, proved to be a theatrical performance. It began with an overture by the orchestra, the music typically Oriental; then came the dancers of the company, followed by the event of the evening, the drama. Just what the play was called, or what the plot was about, was vague to all the Europeans present, but as the dialogue progressed the audience warmed up and the actors became enlivened. Dropping their theatrical drawl and stagy manner which had characterized the first half hour, the performance developed into repartee of suggestive tone. In fact, the most unblushing French jokes would look well upon Sunday-school cards after listening to a series of Zat Pweis. As our party was entirely dependent upon a native interpreter for translation, and as this gentleman did not regard the performance from a European standpoint, the entertainment soon reached a stage which required the withdrawal of the ladies, and at midnight, with a farewell congratulation to our host, we returned to the hotel, satisfied that Zat Pweis were most interesting—to bachelors and a few other gentlemen.
CHAPTER XV.THROUGH CHINA INTO BURMAH—ENTERTAINED LAVISHLY BY BRITISH OFFICERS IN MANDALAY AND MADE TO BLUSH AT A “ZAT PWEI.”
THROUGH CHINA INTO BURMAH—ENTERTAINED LAVISHLY BY BRITISH OFFICERS IN MANDALAY AND MADE TO BLUSH AT A “ZAT PWEI.”
THROUGH CHINA INTO BURMAH—ENTERTAINED LAVISHLY BY BRITISH OFFICERS IN MANDALAY AND MADE TO BLUSH AT A “ZAT PWEI.”
Days of intense heat reigned, and snow marked our progress through the Yunnan and Kwei Chan provinces. The snowstorm rivaled in force a Texas blizzard, so exhausting our coolies that they refused to go further. We gave them from our surplus store of clothing, and put upon their feet extra pairs of our thick woolen socks, so earning their gratitude that they consented to proceed a few miles further, where we came upon a large hut, which sometimes did service as a tavern. We were snow-bound here for three days before we could push our way to the British line.Wednesday, Dec. 23, our last day in China, found us up bright and early, and so impatient that we set out afoot in advance of our carriers. Up and down over the stone-heaped path, passing numerous Chinese forts, and over three ranges of mountains, we walked, climbed and stumbled until we sighted a more civilized land—Burmah. Pausing only to assure our gladdened hearts that our eyes did not deceive us, we plunged down aprecipitouspath, crossed a swaying suspension bridge of bamboo, and, with a loud hurrah, landed on Burmese soil. Mrs. McIlrath’s first action on the new territory was to flop downin the sand and cry; mine to crack the neck from a small bottle, and, with a prayer of thanksgiving, a toast to the United States, Queen Victoria, the Inter Ocean, and the good wheels we rode, we drank the bottle’s fizzing contents, and yelled like a pair of cowboys.THE McILRATHS AT BHAMO, BURMAH.—(See Page 79).THE McILRATHS AT BHAMO, BURMAH.—(See Page79).At the water’s edge were squatted a few of Great Britain’s defenders—the black Sepoys of India. We toiled up the hill to the stockade above, and as we approached, an individual, who introduced himself as Gordon, opened the barrier gates and invited us to come inside. Our advent was expected, and other formalities of introduction were unnecessary. We remained the guests of Gordon over night, as our coolies, with the bicycles, did not arrive until after sundown.As I looked back over the last eleven months, my recollections become almost kaleidoscopic in their variations. For eleven months we were the guests of the Mongolians, having them for companions both day and night; we had adopted their customs, ate, slept and journeyed with them for weeks isolated from a white face, and we felt on our arrival in Nampong that we were competent to judge as very few others the true character of thelong-queuedOrientals. Our trip from Shanghai had involved 4,200 miles of walking, riding and climbing. We had been pursued by howling mobs; we had slept in swamps and rice fields; we had been fired upon, cut at with knives, lunged at by spears, and stoned innumerable times; often running a gauntlet of maddened natives, with clods and stones falling about us like hail. Coolies of the lowest and officials of the highest type had sheltered and entertained us; pleasures and pain had been our lot; from a palace as honored guests we had been altered in forty-eight hours to besieged beings, expecting to fight for our lives; lost in snowstorms, wading in streams, creeping around landslides, our journey has been fraught with many dangers; death in the garb of pestilent disease had brushed shoulders, feasted at the same table and slept in the same apartment with us; we had been ragged and hungry, yet now, on Burmese soil, not a word of regret could be expressed for all the hardships we had suffered. For myself, there is due little credit. I simply accomplished that which I understood must be done when we entered China, but to the heroic little woman who pleaded to be allowed to share my hardships, is all credit due. Never did she falter when the mobs gathered around us, and when the last possible recourse permitting escape from death and torture seemed exhausted, she was firm and quiet.Of the Chinese as a people, individually and collectively, we learned them to be a weak race, morally and mentally. Opium, liquor and disease have set their marks upon millions. In trade the natives are unscrupulous, and chivalry or respect toward women does not exist.Cruel to the extreme, with a cultivated ferocity they are most arrant cowards, and yet, most overbearing when in numbers. The country itself is rich with precious metals, commercial minerals, oil and fibrous grasses, as yet either unknown to the natives, or else requiring too much labor to extract. Improvement or advancement in civilization or mercantile industries will never take place in China while governed by China. The supreme egotism of the natives prevents the adoption of anything modern or anything foreign. The official classes are no less corrupt. Banded together, as if a society for pillage, they prey upon the people, aided by the more unprincipled priests, and woe to the merchants and peasants who enter court to obtain justice. Such, briefly, is China as the Inter Ocean cyclists found it to be.The first Burmese village into which we wheeled was Myathit, situated in one of the dustiest, hottest, driest portions of all India. There were fine shade trees dotting the white, dusty road, and everywhere were to be seen the curiously attired people from all parts of India and Burmah. I could distinguish the Indians by their garbs of white, some cut into long frock coats and tight trousers, others into jackets, with long, flowing trousers gathered at the ankles. Huge white turbans were knotted about the heads of the Indians, a bit of bright color in the center being the only relief in the entire study of black hands and faces framed in a setting of immaculate white. The Burmese women, as a rule, are handsome. I was aided in this discovery by Mrs. McIlrath, who pointed out to me, as a type, a beauty possessing a complexion like cream, with the pink tint of peach blossoms. When Mrs. McIlrath announces that a woman is beautiful I accept it without argument. She, and not I, is the censor in such matters.One could not imagine a more insipid place to live in than Bahmo, the military and trading coast where we were quartered. The hours of life are routine and monotonous, excepting when one is fortunate enough to own a membership or to have a card to the Bahmo Club. For thirty days in luxuriant idleness (of course not counting the many short trips awheel in and about the city), we lingered in Bahmo, living in the bungalow of the China inland missionary. Bicycling in the district of Bahmo affords limited journeys, but we managed to travel twenty miles away, and visit the government hospital, the provincial jail and a number of coffee plantations.We sailed from this large, but rather uninteresting, city on Jan. 25, 1897, taking passage on one of the Irrawaddy Flotilla Company’s mail steamers, the Monein. After three days' steaming theMoneintied up at the dock in Mandalay, the capital city of Burmah, and sung of by Mr. Kipling in his clever verses, “On the Road to Mandalay.” Duringthe reign of Kings Mindoon and Theebaw, in order that the palaces might be protected from invaders, the buildings were erected far to the inland, under the shadow of Mandalay hill. Wheeling over the hard macadam was a delight, and merrily we whirled off the miles intervening, until we alighted, at last, at the European hotel, the first that had welcomed us since leaving Hankow, China. In our journey of the globe, having been the guests of thousands of people, we must credit the members of the Burmah Club, fifty per cent of whom are British officers, with being the most attentive and kindly organization at whose hands we received courtesies. As a body they wined us, dined us, gave picnic excursions on the river, drives, bicycle rides, obtained invitations to various native celebrations, and put forth every effort to render our sojourn instructive and pleasant. Bicycling with several Europeans who were fortunate enough to own cycles was one of the most delightful features of our entertainment. The roads were excellent, and wheeling in the cool air of early morning, one of the many delightful temples or majestic pagodas the objective point of our excursion, is a pleasure to be enjoyed only on British roads in an Oriental country. It was our privilege, on Feb. 12 to witness a wedding of royal blood. The ex-Nyanugwe Saw Bwa “requested the pleasure of the company of Mr. and Mrs. McIlrath at his home, in South Moat Road, on the occasion of the marriage of his daughter Saw Kin Gwi with the Sawbued of South Theinni, and also on the same night, to witness a Zat Pwei.” The ceremonies were performed by the highest class native officials and Sir Frederick Fryer, first lieutenant governor of Burmah. To appear successfully at such a state function one is supposed to dress appropriately, and I felt greatly embarrassed in my knickerbockers as I mingled in the blaze of red uniforms, royal Scotch plaids, gold lace, decorations, and the jewels and dainty gowns of the ladies. Extravagant as are the English in costuming for each event and occasion of the day, the guests did not appear to notice the greasy, dusty and patched raiment which comprised my only wardrobe, and did all they could to make me feel at home. The verbal portion of the marriage ceremony was unintelligible to me, but the “business,” as an actor would describe it, made it quite plain to the most casual observer that the dusky pair who formed the center piece of a most interesting group were being united in the holy bonds of wedlock.The usual check from “papa” was not seen as we inspected the wedding gifts, but there was a profusion of diamonds and silver plate. The diamonds were just such as are admired by Burmans, huge yellow beauties, set in dull gold rings, the base uppermost and the radiating surface concealed. Just why the Burmans reverse the European ideaof setting gems is difficult to explain, but the prevailing idea is that the gem is so set to resemble the pagodas and pyramids so omnipresent and revered in Burmah. Diamonds valued as high as 30,000 rupees, or about $10,000 in our money, are set in this manner, and the color is invariably yellow. The Zat Pwei, which was next on the program, proved to be a theatrical performance. It began with an overture by the orchestra, the music typically Oriental; then came the dancers of the company, followed by the event of the evening, the drama. Just what the play was called, or what the plot was about, was vague to all the Europeans present, but as the dialogue progressed the audience warmed up and the actors became enlivened. Dropping their theatrical drawl and stagy manner which had characterized the first half hour, the performance developed into repartee of suggestive tone. In fact, the most unblushing French jokes would look well upon Sunday-school cards after listening to a series of Zat Pweis. As our party was entirely dependent upon a native interpreter for translation, and as this gentleman did not regard the performance from a European standpoint, the entertainment soon reached a stage which required the withdrawal of the ladies, and at midnight, with a farewell congratulation to our host, we returned to the hotel, satisfied that Zat Pweis were most interesting—to bachelors and a few other gentlemen.
Days of intense heat reigned, and snow marked our progress through the Yunnan and Kwei Chan provinces. The snowstorm rivaled in force a Texas blizzard, so exhausting our coolies that they refused to go further. We gave them from our surplus store of clothing, and put upon their feet extra pairs of our thick woolen socks, so earning their gratitude that they consented to proceed a few miles further, where we came upon a large hut, which sometimes did service as a tavern. We were snow-bound here for three days before we could push our way to the British line.
Wednesday, Dec. 23, our last day in China, found us up bright and early, and so impatient that we set out afoot in advance of our carriers. Up and down over the stone-heaped path, passing numerous Chinese forts, and over three ranges of mountains, we walked, climbed and stumbled until we sighted a more civilized land—Burmah. Pausing only to assure our gladdened hearts that our eyes did not deceive us, we plunged down aprecipitouspath, crossed a swaying suspension bridge of bamboo, and, with a loud hurrah, landed on Burmese soil. Mrs. McIlrath’s first action on the new territory was to flop downin the sand and cry; mine to crack the neck from a small bottle, and, with a prayer of thanksgiving, a toast to the United States, Queen Victoria, the Inter Ocean, and the good wheels we rode, we drank the bottle’s fizzing contents, and yelled like a pair of cowboys.
THE McILRATHS AT BHAMO, BURMAH.—(See Page 79).THE McILRATHS AT BHAMO, BURMAH.—(See Page79).
THE McILRATHS AT BHAMO, BURMAH.—(See Page79).
At the water’s edge were squatted a few of Great Britain’s defenders—the black Sepoys of India. We toiled up the hill to the stockade above, and as we approached, an individual, who introduced himself as Gordon, opened the barrier gates and invited us to come inside. Our advent was expected, and other formalities of introduction were unnecessary. We remained the guests of Gordon over night, as our coolies, with the bicycles, did not arrive until after sundown.
As I looked back over the last eleven months, my recollections become almost kaleidoscopic in their variations. For eleven months we were the guests of the Mongolians, having them for companions both day and night; we had adopted their customs, ate, slept and journeyed with them for weeks isolated from a white face, and we felt on our arrival in Nampong that we were competent to judge as very few others the true character of thelong-queuedOrientals. Our trip from Shanghai had involved 4,200 miles of walking, riding and climbing. We had been pursued by howling mobs; we had slept in swamps and rice fields; we had been fired upon, cut at with knives, lunged at by spears, and stoned innumerable times; often running a gauntlet of maddened natives, with clods and stones falling about us like hail. Coolies of the lowest and officials of the highest type had sheltered and entertained us; pleasures and pain had been our lot; from a palace as honored guests we had been altered in forty-eight hours to besieged beings, expecting to fight for our lives; lost in snowstorms, wading in streams, creeping around landslides, our journey has been fraught with many dangers; death in the garb of pestilent disease had brushed shoulders, feasted at the same table and slept in the same apartment with us; we had been ragged and hungry, yet now, on Burmese soil, not a word of regret could be expressed for all the hardships we had suffered. For myself, there is due little credit. I simply accomplished that which I understood must be done when we entered China, but to the heroic little woman who pleaded to be allowed to share my hardships, is all credit due. Never did she falter when the mobs gathered around us, and when the last possible recourse permitting escape from death and torture seemed exhausted, she was firm and quiet.
Of the Chinese as a people, individually and collectively, we learned them to be a weak race, morally and mentally. Opium, liquor and disease have set their marks upon millions. In trade the natives are unscrupulous, and chivalry or respect toward women does not exist.Cruel to the extreme, with a cultivated ferocity they are most arrant cowards, and yet, most overbearing when in numbers. The country itself is rich with precious metals, commercial minerals, oil and fibrous grasses, as yet either unknown to the natives, or else requiring too much labor to extract. Improvement or advancement in civilization or mercantile industries will never take place in China while governed by China. The supreme egotism of the natives prevents the adoption of anything modern or anything foreign. The official classes are no less corrupt. Banded together, as if a society for pillage, they prey upon the people, aided by the more unprincipled priests, and woe to the merchants and peasants who enter court to obtain justice. Such, briefly, is China as the Inter Ocean cyclists found it to be.
The first Burmese village into which we wheeled was Myathit, situated in one of the dustiest, hottest, driest portions of all India. There were fine shade trees dotting the white, dusty road, and everywhere were to be seen the curiously attired people from all parts of India and Burmah. I could distinguish the Indians by their garbs of white, some cut into long frock coats and tight trousers, others into jackets, with long, flowing trousers gathered at the ankles. Huge white turbans were knotted about the heads of the Indians, a bit of bright color in the center being the only relief in the entire study of black hands and faces framed in a setting of immaculate white. The Burmese women, as a rule, are handsome. I was aided in this discovery by Mrs. McIlrath, who pointed out to me, as a type, a beauty possessing a complexion like cream, with the pink tint of peach blossoms. When Mrs. McIlrath announces that a woman is beautiful I accept it without argument. She, and not I, is the censor in such matters.
One could not imagine a more insipid place to live in than Bahmo, the military and trading coast where we were quartered. The hours of life are routine and monotonous, excepting when one is fortunate enough to own a membership or to have a card to the Bahmo Club. For thirty days in luxuriant idleness (of course not counting the many short trips awheel in and about the city), we lingered in Bahmo, living in the bungalow of the China inland missionary. Bicycling in the district of Bahmo affords limited journeys, but we managed to travel twenty miles away, and visit the government hospital, the provincial jail and a number of coffee plantations.
We sailed from this large, but rather uninteresting, city on Jan. 25, 1897, taking passage on one of the Irrawaddy Flotilla Company’s mail steamers, the Monein. After three days' steaming theMoneintied up at the dock in Mandalay, the capital city of Burmah, and sung of by Mr. Kipling in his clever verses, “On the Road to Mandalay.” Duringthe reign of Kings Mindoon and Theebaw, in order that the palaces might be protected from invaders, the buildings were erected far to the inland, under the shadow of Mandalay hill. Wheeling over the hard macadam was a delight, and merrily we whirled off the miles intervening, until we alighted, at last, at the European hotel, the first that had welcomed us since leaving Hankow, China. In our journey of the globe, having been the guests of thousands of people, we must credit the members of the Burmah Club, fifty per cent of whom are British officers, with being the most attentive and kindly organization at whose hands we received courtesies. As a body they wined us, dined us, gave picnic excursions on the river, drives, bicycle rides, obtained invitations to various native celebrations, and put forth every effort to render our sojourn instructive and pleasant. Bicycling with several Europeans who were fortunate enough to own cycles was one of the most delightful features of our entertainment. The roads were excellent, and wheeling in the cool air of early morning, one of the many delightful temples or majestic pagodas the objective point of our excursion, is a pleasure to be enjoyed only on British roads in an Oriental country. It was our privilege, on Feb. 12 to witness a wedding of royal blood. The ex-Nyanugwe Saw Bwa “requested the pleasure of the company of Mr. and Mrs. McIlrath at his home, in South Moat Road, on the occasion of the marriage of his daughter Saw Kin Gwi with the Sawbued of South Theinni, and also on the same night, to witness a Zat Pwei.” The ceremonies were performed by the highest class native officials and Sir Frederick Fryer, first lieutenant governor of Burmah. To appear successfully at such a state function one is supposed to dress appropriately, and I felt greatly embarrassed in my knickerbockers as I mingled in the blaze of red uniforms, royal Scotch plaids, gold lace, decorations, and the jewels and dainty gowns of the ladies. Extravagant as are the English in costuming for each event and occasion of the day, the guests did not appear to notice the greasy, dusty and patched raiment which comprised my only wardrobe, and did all they could to make me feel at home. The verbal portion of the marriage ceremony was unintelligible to me, but the “business,” as an actor would describe it, made it quite plain to the most casual observer that the dusky pair who formed the center piece of a most interesting group were being united in the holy bonds of wedlock.
The usual check from “papa” was not seen as we inspected the wedding gifts, but there was a profusion of diamonds and silver plate. The diamonds were just such as are admired by Burmans, huge yellow beauties, set in dull gold rings, the base uppermost and the radiating surface concealed. Just why the Burmans reverse the European ideaof setting gems is difficult to explain, but the prevailing idea is that the gem is so set to resemble the pagodas and pyramids so omnipresent and revered in Burmah. Diamonds valued as high as 30,000 rupees, or about $10,000 in our money, are set in this manner, and the color is invariably yellow. The Zat Pwei, which was next on the program, proved to be a theatrical performance. It began with an overture by the orchestra, the music typically Oriental; then came the dancers of the company, followed by the event of the evening, the drama. Just what the play was called, or what the plot was about, was vague to all the Europeans present, but as the dialogue progressed the audience warmed up and the actors became enlivened. Dropping their theatrical drawl and stagy manner which had characterized the first half hour, the performance developed into repartee of suggestive tone. In fact, the most unblushing French jokes would look well upon Sunday-school cards after listening to a series of Zat Pweis. As our party was entirely dependent upon a native interpreter for translation, and as this gentleman did not regard the performance from a European standpoint, the entertainment soon reached a stage which required the withdrawal of the ladies, and at midnight, with a farewell congratulation to our host, we returned to the hotel, satisfied that Zat Pweis were most interesting—to bachelors and a few other gentlemen.